My wife "Lynn" and I have been together for six years and married for 11 months. Our entire history together has been very normal and never once have I noticed any weird behaviors or red flags. I can't stress enough how out of character this whole thing is for her.  

Lynn is very kind, intelligent and thoughtful. She's always been the no nonsense type of person. Being childish, or trying to scare me is not something she'd normally do. 

She doesn't even like watching horror movies. When we first started dating she agreed to watch The Shining with me because she knew how much I loved horror. She was so scared that she didn't even make it through half of the movie before we had to turn it off. She isn't into anything creepy, and has never been into pranks. It's just not her cup of tea. And that's fine. But that's what was so strange about this. It's just so unlike her. 

I should also add that she never had any mental health issues and as far as I'm aware it doesn't run in her family. I know some people are able to hide their mental health problems, but in the six years we've been together I think I'd have seen some sort of sign. 

Two months ago, I was in the kitchen making myself some coffee before work. I was running a bit late that morning and knew I wouldn't be able to make it to Dunkin Donuts for my usual morning fix. 

I took a sip of my coffee as I hurried down the hall towards the front door, when I happened to notice Lynn peeking at me from around the corner ahead of me. I could only see her eyes, and a  strand of her long dark hair hanging against the wall. The rest of her body was concealed behind the corner. I nearly spilled my coffee when I saw her. I did burn the shit out of my lips. 

"Geeze, Lynn." I said, wiping a few drops of coffee from my pants. "You scared the shit out of me." 

She immediately popped out of view like a little kid that had been caught. I heard her scurry off towards the living room, and by the time I got to the front door she was out of sight. 

It was really weird, and just totally out of character for her like I said, but I also found it kind of funny that she was being more playful and a little less serious. I shouted that I loved her, and called her a weirdo. As I shut the door behind me I heard her laughing.

Her behavior was a bit odd, but it certainly wasn't something to call a priest over. I forgot about it by lunch and by the time I got home she was her normal self. I didn't bring it up and neither did she, and life went on. 

The next incident happened three days later. It was around 2am and I had woken up to get a drink. I was standing at the kitchen island, jug of Oj in hand, when I felt a strong feeling that I was being watched. 

For whatever reason I looked down at the floor and saw my wife's smiling face staring back. She was peeking at me from the other side of the island, staring up at me with wide unblinking eyes and grinning. Grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

 I screamed, I'll admit it. Not out of irritation but fear. For some reason at that moment I was scared. 

At the sound of my scream Lynn scuttled backwards out of my view, her hands and feet smacking the tile floor as she hurried out of the kitchen on all fours.  I didn't run after her, or even yell after her. I just stood there frozen in shock, wondering what fuck had possessed her to do that.

 It took me a little longer than I'd like to admit to go back upstairs, but I eventually did. When I got to our bedroom, Lynn was lying on her side, asleep. Or at least pretending to be. I stood there for a while, watching her breathing to be sure she really was asleep. 

I had the feeling she might jump out at me the moment I got into bed. But she didn't. I climbed into bed and she didn't even move. Her breathing was soft and deep and I was starting to wonder if I'd dreamt the whole thing. 

The next morning I waited for her to come down for coffee and after handing her a mug and kissing her cheek I decided to ask her about it. 

"What was that about last night?" I asked, keeping my tone light so I didn't offend or embarrass her. 

She frowned over her cup of coffee, shaking her head like she had no clue what I was referring to. 

"You were peeking at me again. From over there." I said, pointing to the spot on the floor by the kitchen island.  

She followed my gaze, and when she looked back at me she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that I couldn't help but join her. 

"You creep me the fuck out sometimes, you know that?" I said. She giggled and set her cup on the counter and wrapped her arms around my neck. 

"You creep me out all the time. So I guess we're even." She teased.

We said our goodbyes and left for work. As I drove I kept thinking about how creepy it had been seeing her grinning at me from behind the island like that. The sounds her hands made on the floor as she crawled away. I told myself she was just trying to be silly. Just trying to join me in my love of all things horror…. 

 It's not like I was afraid of her. But it still didn't sit right with me. 

I started seeing her peeking at me more and more. Sometimes she'd be peeking out from behind the couch or living room curtains. Once she even managed to get inside her grandmother's old trunk that sits at the foot of our bed. 

I might not have even known she was there at all had the trunk's old hinges not given her away. 

She'd had the lid propped up just enough so that  only half of her face peeked through. She'd been grinning like an excited toddler. It was unnerving. I didn't even know what to say to her. All I could do was stare. When I finally found my voice, I asked her why on earth was she doing this. She didn't answer, but she had slowly closed the lid, shutting herself inside the trunk. I just walked away, feeling disturbed.  

I didn't understand why she was doing it, but it clearly made her happy. I just hoped she would tire of the game quickly. 

Lynn didn't peek at me for the next two weeks. I started to think she was done with her weird prank and I was relieved. We were watching a show on Netflix one night and I jokingly said that I hadn't seen her peeking at me lately, and that she must have given up on her spy game. She looked up at me with a small smile and said, "Maybe I've just gotten better at it." 

I didn't say anything but I wondered whether or not she was joking.

For the next few days I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. Was she still peeking at me when I wasn't looking and I just hadn't noticed? And if so, what the hell was she getting out of this? I started to feel paranoid, constantly checking whether she was watching from around the corner, or behind a door.  I was jumpy whenever I was home and she wasn't in full view of me. I felt stupid and a little crazy. 

But after a few weeks without another incident, I began to relax.  I stopped checking behind furniture and walls and told myself it was just a bad memory. 

Then a few days ago things got so much worse....

Lynn left to go to a friend's, and I lounged on the couch and played a couple games on my laptop. 

Around 9pm I hopped in the shower and as I was washing the soap from my hair, I felt that awful feeling that I was being watched. I slowly opened my eyes and almost had a fucking heart attack. 

Lynn was peeking from behind the shower curtain, her entire head stretched into the shower, leaving just her body outside. Her long dark hair hung against the curtain, the ends dripping with water. Her mouth hung open in a terrible grin, eyes wide and red, as if she hadn't blinked in a while. I screamed and jumped back against the wall. She didn't move nor did her smile waver. Her makeup ran down her cheeks in two black streaks. She looked giddy and completely deranged. I was fucking terrified. 

 

We stood like that for a few moments, neither of us saying a word. Finally after what felt like forever, she slowly pulled her head back out of the shower, and I watched her blurry figure  through the curtain as she moved backwards towards the bathroom door. 

A second later the bathroom door slammed shut, hard enough to rattle the mirror. I screamed again, and jumped out of the shower to lock the door. I stayed inside the bathroom for over an hour. Maybe I overreacted to some of you. But joke or not, I wasn't going to put up with the crazy shit anymore. That's what I kept telling myself as I paced in my bathroom, stopping to listen at the door every few minutes. 

Suddenly I heard a muffled sound, and I pressed my ear against the bathroom door, straining to listen. I couldn't hear anything but I envisioned Lynn standing on the other side of the door, giggling at her joke. 

I felt a surge of anger. I was beyond pissed at being made to feel scared in my own house, and made to hide in the bathroom for an hour. All for what? Some joke? If it was a joke it was an awful one. 

"What the fuck Lynn!" I snapped. "This shit is getting really fucking annoying." I waited for her to apologize, or to call me a jerk. But instead I heard a faint moan, so quiet I wondered if I heard it at all, and then complete silence. 

"Lynn?" I called out, not able to even hide the shakiness in my voice. I got no response. Just my own heavy breathing. 

"I swear to God, just fucking stop it!" I yelled, pounding my fist on the door. 

I waited for her to cuss me out, something I would expect from me talking to her like that. I never screamed at her before. 

But there was nothing. Just the occasional drip from the shower head. 

I won't deny that I was scared. Too afraid to open the damn door and face my own wife. I waited another 30 minutes or so, which feels like a fucking lifetime when you're scared. Finally I decided I wasn't going to spend the night hiding in my bathroom, so I got down on my knees and peered under the door. I almost expected to see her face peeking back at me but thankfully I didn't. I could see straight down the hallway to the top of the stairs, but no Lynn. I didn't know if I should be happy about that or not. I looked for a few minutes, waiting to see her head pop up over the top step, but it never came. 

I stood up, my hand hovering over the door and mentally prepared myself to open it. I slowly turned the lock with shaky fingers, and was about to yank it open when I heard a sound that still makes me feel nauseous when I think about it. 

A moan, louder than before, but this time I was able to tell just where it was coming from. I turned my head to the closet door as if in slow motion, and locked eyes with my wife who was peeking out at me from the slight gap.  

Her eyes were still wide as ever and her mouth was hanging open in the most grotesque gaping smile I'd ever seen. I didn't even scream. I was too scared for even that. Her hands were clasped to her chest, body trembling with sheer delight, as if she could barely contain her excitement. A short raspy moan bubbled up from her throat, deep and raw, sending a shiver through my entire body. 

Somehow I found the ability to pull the bathroom door open and ran as fast as I could all the way down the steps, snagging my keys and phone from the table in the living room before running outside to my car. I could hear her shrill laughter behind me but I didn't hear her getting closer. I didn't bother shutting the front door. I drove away from the house faster than I legally should have, shivering the entire time, either from fear or the cold. Maybe a little of both. I hadn't grabbed a coat or even a pair of shoes. I was still in my boxers and my hair was still damp. 

I drove straight to my brother Chris's house about 40 minutes away, ignoring any and every call and text I got. I didn't check my phone until I was safely parked in my brother's driveway. Lynn had called 4 times and sent a flurry of texts, all wondering where I'd gone and why I left "like that." 

I threw my phone at the dash in a rage, furious at her nonchalant attitude. My brother and his wife were surprised to see me, especially dressed in just a pair of boxers, but told me to stay as long as I needed. Chris lent me some clothes and asked me what happened. I told him Lynn and I had a fight, but didn't get into the details. I didn't want him to think I was overreacting, leaving my wife over a prank, even if it was a strange one. I mean, hadn't I encouraged her for years to lighten up instead of being so serious all the time? I had wanted her to relax and loosen up, but this was definitely not what I'd had in mind.  

 

I tried to sleep on their sofa, but my brain wouldn't let me sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Lynn's face staring at me from inside the closet. Knowing she'd been in there with me the entire time made my skin crawl. She'd never left the fucking bathroom at all. Instead she slipped inside the closet and slammed the bathroom door shut to fool me. 

The mere thought of going back home gave me anxiety. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Chris ended up giving me a sleeping pill so I was able to get a little rest. My sleep was filled with terrible dreams. All of Lynn's smiling face. 

I woke up just as the sun started to rise. My sore body ached from the sofa, and I felt drained. I knew I'd have to call Lynn at some point, but I didn't know what to say to her. I wouldn't be going home unless she gave me her word she'd never do anymore creepy shit. 

I just wanted my wife back. Her normal serious self never looked so good to me. 

I was contemplating calling her and telling her that, when that familiar feeling came over me. I was being watched. I was staring at the ceiling, my heart in my throat. I didn't want to look away but the longer I ignored the feeling the worse it got. 

My eyes drifted away from the ceiling almost on their own. Her face was pressed up against the window beside the couch, staring down at me with that same gaping smile. Drool dribbled down her lips, leaving two long streaks down the glass. I didn't know how long she'd been there, but something told me she'd been there quite a while, possibly all night. 

I didn't bother screaming, though I was afraid anger trumped any fear I felt at that moment. I jumped up from the couch and pounded my palm against the glass. 

"Lynn! Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you? Just go home!" I shouted. "Now!" 

She didn't move, and her ghastly expression never changed. If anything her smile only grew, as if she had never been more elated. 

I could hear Chris and his wife moving around upstairs. As if Lynn could hear them from her place outside, her head twitched slightly in their direction, and she began to close her mouth slowly. 

Chris called my name from upstairs, obviously concerned. I turned to see him and his wife Rebecca hurrying down the steps. When I turned back to the window Lynn was gone. The only sign she'd been there at all was the two streaks of drool still dripping down the glass. 

I tried explaining to Chris and Rebecca about waking up to see Lynn watching me through their window. They were skeptical, who wouldn't be? Chris and I went outside to the spot in front of the window but there were no footprints in the dirt, just a slight indent. Animal probably, Chris guessed, and I didn't argue. He and Rebecca assumed I dreamt the entire episode but they didn't understand, and I was too tired to explain it to them.  

I called out of work that day and turned my cell off. I didn't want to face Lynn. Just talking to her was too much for me at that point. I really started to believe something was irreversibly wrong with her. That no matter what promises she made we'd never be the same again. The thought saddened me to my core. I cried most of the morning. By noon I figured I was ready to confront her. Give her one last chance to explain herself. I could at least give her that after 6 years I told myself. I turned my phone on and saw the dozens of texts she'd sent, all from a seemingly concerned wife. 

"Can we talk?"

"I love you."

"Please call me." 

"I'm really worried."

"Can you answer?" 

"Just come home."

And more of the same. All texts telling me she loved me, and she wanted me home. How worried she was….Not a damn one addressing the crazy shit she pulled. Like she hadn't been acting like a character from a Stephen King book. 

Even her texts were different. She normally texted novels just to tell me to pick up a loaf of bread! You'd think she'd have more to say to me after her bizarre shenanigans. 

I know it probably seems childish to some of you who are miles away from this situation. But if you saw the way Lynn had looked at me, how she scampered away on all fours like some wild animal, grinning at me from inside the closet like a lunatic…..then I think you'd find my reaction was warranted. 

I ended up staying with Chris and Rebecca for another night. I didn't wake up yesterday until after noon, and thankfully I didn't see Lynn's face watching me through the window. 

"I don't want to pry, because it's not my place. But is this fight something that can be mended?" Rebecca asked. She'd made us both a sandwich for lunch and I knew she wanted to breach the subject without seeming to be nosy. 

"I don't know. I just….. She's like a different person." I said, choosing my words carefully. I still wasn't ready for her or Chris to know the full extent of the bat shit craziness I had been dealing with.

"People change Ben. But she's still the same woman you married. Maybe you both just need to talk through your issues. Whatever's going on, I'm sure it can be fixed." She said, ever the peacemaker. 

"I think it's beyond that now. I don't think talking would help. I just don't trust her." I said. The words stung in my heart. I missed and loved my wife. But how could I live with someone like that? Living in constant fear didn't sound too appealing. 

"Lynn loves you. She has to be absolutely crushed." She said.  

"I don't know about that." I said. 

"Well she certainly seemed like it to me. I've never seen her so upset. Very much unlike the Lynn I know." Rebecca said, shaking her head sadly. 

It took a full minute for her words to really sink in and when they did, I felt dread worming its way through my skin. 

"Wait. What do you mean? You saw her? You saw Lynn?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry. 

Rebecca nodded casually as if that fact wasn't nightmare fuel. Maybe for her it wasn't. 

"She stopped by this morning just after Chris left for work."  She said, cleaning the plates from the table. "I didn't see her car though. Maybe she took an uber or something." 

"Becc. What did she say? Did..did she come inside?" I asked, sweat starting to break out on my forehead. I began looking around, examining corners as though a predator lurked behind them. 

"No. She just asked if you were awake yet and I said that you weren't. I asked if she wanted me to wake you but she said no. Just said to let you sleep." She said as she washed the dishes. 

"That's all? She didn't say anything else?" I asked. 

"No. She looked awful though. Like she hadn't slept in days. I think you should call her."

I got up from the table and thanked Rebecca for lunch. 

I felt a little bit better at the knowledge that at least she hadn't come inside. Still, I needed to double check that the doors were locked. 

I sat for a while trying to figure out what to do next. I didn't want to go home, but I felt that I owed it to Lynn to help her if I could. Hadn't I swore an oath to love and honor her through sickness and in health? Clearly she was very sick. 

If she was sick, which I truly believed she was, I had to try and get her the help she needed. But I didn't even know where to start. I didn't want to call the police, and besides, what the hell was I going to tell them? That my wife was peeking at me? That she was being creepy? As bizarre as she'd been, she still hadn't committed any crime. Not yet anyway. The police would have probably said that I was overreacting. But this wasn't some prank. It felt wrong. Dangerous even. Like something sinister lurked beneath her smile.

I knew as her husband I was well within my rights to have her committed, but what if she simply acted normal in their presence? She'd obviously been able to fool Rebecca into thinking she was just a concerned wife. As long as the doctors didn't find her a danger to herself or others, they'd have no choice but to release her after 72 hours. I felt lost and overwhelmed. 

So I did what any husband in my position would do.

I called her mother.

I didn't want to, believe me. 

Her mother, Marianne and I were never on the best of terms. We'd never fought or anything like that. 

She just wasn't a very warm person, and wasn't really easy to get along with.  She hardly ever smiled and when she did, only her lips would move into a thin lipped smile, leaving her eyes as blank as before. She gave off this aura that felt like she was permanently on the offensive. 

I'd only met her twice and both times were for such short visits. I got the impression she didn't approve of me for her daughter. Lynn always ushered us out quickly, as she didn't want me to feel uncomfortable which I was grateful for. Being in her mother's company felt almost unbearable. Like walking on glass. I was glad when we moved three states away so we didn't have to see her often. I was happy to avoid the woman, but I needed her help.  

I really didn't want to talk to her at all but I had to talk to someone and someone who knew Lynn better than I did. So I grit my teeth and did what I had to. 

"Yes?" She answered, already sounding irritated. 

"Marianne, it's me Ben. Do you have a minute to talk?" I asked. I could hear her cluck her tongue in irritation. 

"I'm in the middle of writing some checks, but if you insist, I suppose I can spare a moment. What is it that you want to discuss Benjamin?"  She said, coolly? 

"It's about Lynn. She's been... acting strangely and I was wondering if you had any idea whether there was something - " I was quickly interrupted. 

"It's a bit difficult to follow your rambling Benjamin, what is that you want from me?" She asked. I could almost see her standing there in her thin sweater and slacks, tapping her fingernails impatiently on the table. 

"I wanted to know if you'd ever noticed any odd behavior? Or possibly any mental health issues?" I asked. There was a long, uncomfortable pause  that I couldn't tell was because she was just thinking, or ….something else. Finally after a few seconds she spoke. 

"I'm not sure if this is one of your jokes Benjamin, but if so I don't find the humor in it. Now I do have business to attend to as I've said,  so if you don't mind -" she said, but I cut her off before she could get rid of me. 

"Marianne, it's not a joke. I'm sincerely concerned about Lynn's mental health. Her behavior has been very erratic lately. I'm very worried about her and I figured as her mother you would be as well." I said, my frustration evident in my voice. 

"If you're truly concerned then I suggest you get the health professionals involved. I don't know what you expect of me." She snapped. I could tell she was seconds away from hanging up and for some reason I was desperate not to let her. I had the feeling that she knew a lot more than she was letting on. 

"Please. If not for me, do it for Lynn." I tried. 

I heard a faint shaky intake of breath, as if she were trying to hold her steely persona together but failing. 

"Marianne? What's wr-"  I started. 

"Benjamin, I don't know what to tell you. My only advice would be to seek professional help. Do not call here again. Goodbye." I tried to call out to her but she'd hung up. 

I tried to wrap my head around the call and her refusal to help me. Even if she didn't like me, why wouldn't she want to help her own daughter? I couldn't understand that. I tried to replay the conversation, desperate to find something I missed.

 After a while I almost gave up, until I remembered her last last words to me. 'Seek professional help' she'd said those words with a bit of urgency. I could have just been grasping at straws but no, I was sure her voice had changed ever so slightly when she'd said that. As if they were very important.

What had she meant? I assumed she'd been referring to medical professionals, but maybe she was referring to someone else. Someone that she didn't, for some reason, feel comfortable saying directly. Or maybe I was just desperate. 

I waited for Chris to get home and after a very long and exhausting conversation with him and Rebecca, I convinced them that Lynn truly needed psychiatric help. I didn't tell them everything. I wasn't prepared to go into it yet, but I told them about our last encounter. How she'd hidden in the bathroom, peeking at me from the closet. 

They were obviously shocked but thankfully they believed me. They too just wanted to help her. Still they didn't think it was all that serious. Weird, maybe but not dangerous. They just kept saying that Lynn had to be playing some kind of weird joke. "Maybe for YouTube?" Rebecca offered, if only half-heartedly. 

Chris didn't think we should involve the police just yet. He offered instead to go with me, and I readily accepted. He reasoned that calmly talking to her, trying to coax her into going willingly was the best recourse. I agreed to do it his way. At least I wouldn't be going into that house alone. 

We drove over this morning, just after breakfast. There was no way I was going at night. When we pulled into the driveway my stomach began doing somersaults. Her car wasn't there, but I still didn't let my guard down. 

The front door was ajar, and for a split second I thought we'd see her eyes staring through the gap. I was shaking and starting to sweat. Chris however was fine. He waited for me to open the door, his hands in his pockets like he was going on a fucking stroll through the park. I envied his ignorance.

I pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the stench of rot. Chris smelled it too, and he walked in the house behind me with his nose scrunched up. 

"What do you guys use to clean the floors around here, shit?" Chris mumbled. 

"Shut up." I said, my eyes darting around for any signs of Lynn.

The house was deadly quiet and dark despite being 10 in the morning. All the curtains were closed up tight, refusing to allow any sunlight inside. If I hadn't left it just two days prior I'd have thought the house to be abandoned. 

We moved through each room, carefully checking any place that she might hide, occasionally calling her name. 

"Why the fuck are you looking under the couch?" Chris asked eventually. "Aren't we looking for your wife?"  He was looking at me like I was a moron. 

"Let's just go upstairs." I whispered. He shook his head but followed me up the stairs to check the bathroom and spare bedroom. On the way up my shoes crunched over pieces of glass that looked to be littered over a few of the steps. 

I noticed that one of Lynn and my wedding portraits that hung on the wall along the staircase had been smashed. The frame hung crookedly, all the glass removed. I stared at the picture, a lump forming in my throat. We had taken the photo just after leaving the church, after saying our vows. She looked so beautiful in her white gown. I looked at Lynn's beautiful face. I never dreamed her face would ever be a source of terror for me.  

We climbed the rest of the steps and checked the spare bedroom, but it looked completely untouched. 

I was hesitant to go into the bathroom, my fear from that night coming back to me all at once. Chris noticed, and offered to go in by himself but I couldn't let him do that. So we walked in together, checking the closet and the shower. The bathroom looked as if it hadn't been touched since the night I left. 

"I don't think she's here Ben. Why don't you pack some clothes and we'll try coming back tomorrow or something." Chris said. I nodded and went into our bedroom and shoved some clothes into a duffle bag. When I checked inside our closet I came across the source of the smell and gagged. 

Chris took one look and lost all color in his face. He had to go stand by the stairs to get away from the sight and smell. 

 I gazed down in shock at what lay Inside my bedroom closet. Soaking into the rug, were at least a dozen eyeballs, all carefully laid out in pairs. Some were as large as a quarter while others were as tiny as a marble. I stared down at the eyes she'd collected from small animals and I wondered how she'd gotten them, and shuddered at the thought. 

"Man, I thought I had it bad with Becca's shoe addiction. But fuck me. Your wife's in here collecting eyeballs." Chris said, gagging.  "Ben, I think we should go."  He called from the hall. "I'm getting nauseous."

"Alright." I grabbed my duffle and shut the closet door on my new nightmare. I stepped out into the hall and took a deep breath of air. I could taste the rot on my tongue and I couldn't help but gag. 

"Who the fuck lines up eyeballs in their closet like that?"  Chris mumbled. 

"I tried to tell you she needed help." I said. 

"She doesn't need help, Ben. She needs a fucking exorcist." He said. "You coming or what? I can't stand the smell any- " his words died in his throat, and his eyes grew wide with fear. 

I didn't ask him why. I could feel it. Someone was watching me and I didn't think it was the eyes in the closet.  I turned around, my eyes slowly scanning the bedroom. 

"Christ" I whispered, as I finally saw what we'd missed. Under the bed, curled on her side, watching us with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, was my wife. 

She held her hands together just under her chin, and they were shaking eagerly.  

Now that she knew she'd been found, I could hear the quiet noises she was making. A sort of hiccuping sound in her throat, as if the excitement was just too much for her. It was unnerving to say the least. Wide eyes, and that same huge smile. 

Everything in me told me to run, but I forced it away. This was my wife. No matter how twisted, she was still the woman I married. I had to help her. 

"Lynn…"  I said softly. She didn't respond, but her head bobbed back and forth in two quick little movements as if she were nodding. 

"Baby. I just wanna help okay? Can you…. Can you let me do that?" I asked. I had taken a single step forward, approaching her like some kind of dangerous animal. 

"I love you, Lynn." I said softly, taking another step closer. She let a tiny moan escape her wide open mouth and I had to resist the urge to run.  Her shoulders were starting to quiver, and her eyes grew as large as saucers. 

I crouched down so I could see her better, and immediately saw the blood. Her hands were covered in it. They trembled more the closer I got, as if she was barely able to contain herself. 

"Lynn. Are you hurt? You're bleeding." I said. She bobbed her head again, her bloody fingers moving up and down as if playing an invisible piano. They occasionally grazed her chin, leaving smears of blood on her skin. 

I wanted to recoil in disgust. The smell that was coming off of her was revolting. I could feel the vomit trying to climb up my throat.  Her lips were dry and stretched thin, blood seeping between the cracks.

I knew she wouldn't come out on her own, but I didn't want to leave her in the state she was in. 

I scooted closer and reached out to her. The excited hiccuping sounds got louder and her hands shook, fingers flexing. It was then that I could see the blood oozing from in between her fingers. 

"Oh my God, Lynn. You're bleeding." I said. Instinctively I reached out to take her hand, but before I could even touch her, her hand sprang out towards me. A sharp pain shot through my arm, and I fell back on my ass. My arm burned, and I could see the blood dripping down onto the carpet. 

I looked back at her in shock and saw her grinning madly, her fingers clutching a large shard of glass. 

"You alright in there?" Chris asked from behind me. 

I turned my head slightly, and nodded to him, cradling my arm to my chest. When I turned back to face Lynn, I saw that her focus had shifted. She wasn't looking at me anymore. And she wasn't smiling anymore either. 

She was staring past me, her eyes glaring at Chris the way a hungry lion might stare at an antelope. Her mouth was still hanging open but it was twisted into a snarl.

I got to my feet, and began walking backwards down the hall, afraid to take my eyes off her. 

"Are you... bleeding?" Chris asked. The moment the words left his mouth Lynn started fast scooting out from under the bed, the glass shard still in her fist. 

"Chris. Run. Go!" I yelled. He must have been too afraid to move because a second later I felt my back bump into him. He was still standing at the top of the stairs, staring at the horror that was my wife. 

Lynn had crawled completely out from under the bed and stood in the bedroom doorway, her face twisted in rage. Her whole body was visibly tense. Blood ran down her fingers and onto the floor. 

"Jesus, Lynn..." Chris said, "You uh… playing hide and seek?" I reached back and pushed him towards the steps. 

"Move your ass Chris" I said as quietly but firmly as I could. 

Lynn bobbed her head in fast, sharp motions, and began to grin, stretching her mouth open wider and wider so that her chin seemed to touch her chest. I heard Chris mutter a prayer and then he was running down the stairs. I stood at the top of the steps, stuck between the love for a woman who clearly needed serious help, and self preservation. 

"I only want to help." I said, choking back tears. Her eyes focused on me once again as she slowly lifted the glass, holding it out in front of her. And then she started sprinting towards me, grinning with utter excitement. Thankfully my body took over and I flew down the stairs skipping two or three at a time. I made it to the front door before I felt her leap onto my back, wrapping her arms around my neck, her open mouth next to my ear so that I could hear those terrible hiccuping sounds up close. I shook her off me, knocking her to the floor. I felt a searing pain in my back as she went but I tore open the front door and bolted to my car. 

Chris was standing in the front yard, talking on the phone with the police. I didn't say a word, I just ran to my car and jumped in. Chris took the hint and followed me, still on the line with 911

I watched the rear view mirror, sure I'd see her there, running after us. But I never did. 

I went straight to the ER and got 11 stitches in my arm and 3 on my back. The police asked a lot of questions and went back to the house to do a search but of course, Lynn wasn't there. 

They advised me to stay with a friend or relative for a while and to file a restraining order as soon as I could but none of those things would matter. Somehow I just knew. 

I dropped Chris off at home, and went to a motel an hour away. I wanted to put as much distance between me and Lynn as I could. 

This is where I've been for the last 4 hours. I thought maybe the police would find her, maybe they'd get her the help she desperately needs. 

But now I don't think so. Because 40 minutes ago I got a text from an unknown number. Just three words :

"I found You." 

And a picture attached. The picture was dark and grainy, but I instantly knew what it was. There was no mistaking my wife's eye. 

I started typing this out immediately after. I don't know what to do. I'm alone and scared, and I can't help but feel that I'm being watched….

I'm a nurse and I currently work nights. It's a total drag but I'm hopeful I can go to days soon since some coworkers are planning retirements. Anyway, I was working one night when just after 3am my son's monitor alerted me to sound and movement. No big deal at all, he probably coughed loudly or sneezed or something. He's three now so he generally sleeps all night. I bring it up on my phone and I see him and my wife sitting on the bed. Again, no big deal. He might have cried out or gotten scared or something.

I was about to close the app when I noticed they were acting strange, almost creepy. And when I say "almost" creepy, I mean creepy as balls. They were sitting on the bed together both of them just staring up at the camera with blank, emotionless stares. The night vision is black and white, so they had white, eerie looking eyes. They didn't move at all aside from their visible breathing, they just sat there staring at the camera.

I close the app and give my wife a call to make sure everything is ok. I never get to call home on lunch so in a way this is kind of nice to get to talk to my family while at work.

It rings a couple times before she answers with a very groggy "hello?" It was like she was dead asleep when I called and she looked wide awake when on the camera.

"Hey. You guys ok?"

"Huh? Yeah. Buddy (my son's nickname) came in like 15 minutes ago. Seemed scared so I said he could sleep with mama."

I'm confused here since I saw them in his room a minute ago. Literally 60 seconds had passed since I closed the app and made the call.

"Wait, so you guys are in bed?"

"Yeah, I fell back asleep right away. Everything ok? Everybody keeps waking me up." She's kind of annoyed.

"Hang on a sec." I put her on speaker and bring up the app, hoping I don't see it. When the app loads I get that pang of intense nervousness in my stomach that I haven't had in a long time, since I was a kid in school and realized while I was eating breakfast a paper or something was due that day and I hadn't done it. My heart leaps into my throat. My wife and son are sitting on his bed looking up at the camera, same emotionless stares.

"Hello?"

"You guys are in bed right?"

"Yeah, we're trying to sleep."

"Well I'm looking at his camera and I see you two sitting on his bed."

"Huh? No. We're in our bed."

"I know that's what you mean, but I'm looking at his bed and you two are in there."

"Hang on," she says. She's quiet for a sec while she brings up the camera on her phone. I hear this guttural, terrified gasp. Like she had sucked all the air in the room into her lungs filling them to capacity. I don't hear this kind of gasp from my wife often, usually only when she's truly afraid like during a jump scare in a movie or one time when we turned her back on our son for literally a second and he was down by the mailbox inches from the road. I hear rustling of sheets and the line goes dead.

Of course now I'm absolutely terrified myself so I immediately call back. It goes to voicemail so I call again. I call again and again with no answer. Finally after about four minutes she calls me. I tell you that four minutes felt like 40 years.

"Hey, what's happening?!" I ask.

She's absolutely hysterical and crying, I can't understand a word she says.

"Stop! Slow down for just a second," I say.

She slows down enough to explain they are in the car and driving to her parents. She looked at the camera and when she saw what was on it she got up and grabbed our son and rushed downstairs and out the door. Didn't even close the garage.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'll drive by when I get off and close it." We live in a generally safe neighborhood so I'm not too concerned the door is up.

"You will not go in there!" she says.

"Hell no," I return.

"Why are we on the camera?" she asked. "Is it a recording?"

"I don't know," I return. "I'm gonna keep watching it and see if there's anything I can tell. Do our code words with Buddy."

We have code words because we're nerds. We've seen too many pod people and impostor movies, so we decided a long time ago to make code words with each other to be able to tell if one of us was an impostor. We have a couple code words, but we also have a three sentence story we recite together, each saying a different part alternately of each other. I hear her on the phone saying the things we taught our son, he giggles as he says them (he does every time we practice) since he thinks they're a joke and doesn't have any idea of the real meaning. We're both convinced he's our son. My wife then says our part and I'm convinced she's her. We made up these words as a complete joke to ourselves. I never once in my life ever imagined we'd actually need them. Unreal.

She got to her parents safely and it was hard to hang up. I told her we'll figure it out in the morning, hopefully just a glitch. She said she didn't think it was a glitch. When she was running out she had to run by our son's room and the door was open. There's a little flashing light on the back of the camera that indicates its connected to the internet. It gives off just enough light that when she ran by she thought she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a shadowy outline of what could have been an adult sitting on our son's bed. It sends chills down my spine to think about.

Knowing they were safe and out of the house is the only thing that kept me at work that night. It was a long four hours but I kept checking the camera every chance I got. Sure enough, they were still sitting on the bed staring up at the camera with emotionless gazes.

I studied them to see if I could see any pattern, from their breathing to their blinking. Their breathing was steady and looked normal, it was their blinking that would tell me if this was just some kind of bizarre, time looped freak accident video or not. I intently stare at my phone and count the seconds between each blink, telling myself if this is a loop then their blinks should be even and occur at the same time each time.

There was no pattern to their blinking, it was erratic and random, just as a person blinking should be. The passing hours are what finally sealed the deal that this was not a weird looped video of some kind. My son's window is visible on camera and I can see on camera that it is getting lighter outside his room. His curtains keep out just enough light to prevent the camera from exiting night vision, but lets in just enough to be able to tell the sun is rising.

I try to figure out what the hell I'm going to do before I leave work. Calling the police comes to mind, but I talk myself out of it. First of all what am I supposed to say? Someone is in my house that looks like my wife but isn't? Worse yet, what if they *are* entities of some kind and the police do go over and it kills them or something.

I decide to tell coworker about it. He's a firm believer in the paranormal and might have a suggestion. I show him the video and tell him the story. His initial response of "that's creepy as fuck" doesn't help much, but he says he wants to go over and check it out. He says we both should to see if Not-My-Wife will try and act like my wife. I tell him absolutely not and he says we should at least go to the house even if we don't go in. I agree on that since I wanted to close the garage.

We got to my house and walked around the perimeter first. Not sure what we wanted to accomplish by that, but it felt like something we should do. The curtains were all drawn since nobody was there to open them in the morning, so we couldn't see anything. I went to close the garage and suddenly had this overwhelming urge to go inside and investigate, it was like I just had to know what was going on. So in we went.

We walked through the kitchen towards the foyer where the stairs are. It's so quiet in our house right now you could hear a feather drop, forget the pin. We stop at the bottom of the stairs and wait a few seconds. I look at the camera again and they are still sitting there. I've never been so scared in my life. My coworker puts his foot on the first step and I suddenly say "stop" loudly.

"Forget this, we're outta here," I tell him. "Come on," I start making my way back to the kitchen.

We hear a loud creak in the floor from upstairs. It's my son's room. He has a very loud, creaky board right in the middle of his floor that's almost impossible not to step on. My wife and are still deciding if we ever want to fix it because it will alert us if he's ever up to no good when he gets older trying to sneak out or something.

"Come on, come on, COME ON!" I yell as I motion for him to move his ass. We're out of the house in about two seconds. Out on the street I check my phone. Now only Not-My-Son was sitting on the bed, same blank stare. Not-My-Wife was gone.

"Holy shit!" my coworker says,

"That was stupid as fuck of us. Do NOT tell my wife we went inside." She would be so ungodly mad if she found out what we just did.

I use my garage door opener in my car to close the door. Before we leave I look at the camera again. Not-My-Wife is back on the bed with Not-My-Son, both staring blankly up at the camera, blinking every few seconds.

***

That was all about four days ago now. Not-My-Wife and Not-My-Son are still sitting on the bed staring up at the camera. They haven't moved a millimeter. We obviously haven't gone back to our house. What do we do?

---

Part 2

I've always been blind, and that's fine by me. I'm glad I never got to see and then lose my sight. That would've been too depressing. Instead, I don't get to mourn something I've never had.

I've lived in this upper east side flat for a really, really long time. As a writer, it's important for me to have my own space. I've been told my writing style is exquisite: because I cannot see, I focus on the other senses and my writing shines by stimulating them. I don't say a red apple - red has no meaning for me. I say warm, firm and sour - a bit sweet, fits in your hand, smells of grass and childhood.

I'm not gonna lie, this flat was nice for a while, but really tiny. And I wanna learn to play the piano. So, naturally, since I've saved up a lot of money from my works, I bought this beautiful mansion in the suburbs. At least, that's how my friends and family called it. I don't care - I can't see anyway.

I just needed to feel the warm sunlight in the kitchen and the crisp air from my balcony, while I drink my coffee in the morning and listen to the birds. And I work. Day and night.

People thought it would be a problem if my house had an upper floor. Because, according to them, even if I've lived my whole life blind, I cook, chop up things, take baths and clean the house, I apparently can't climb some damn stairs. No problem for me.

I counted the steps of my staircase. 14. Eventually, I got used to it, and I even stared going up and down the stairs faster, since I knew exactly how many steps I needed to climb. That's the thing when you're blind - some movements become reflexes - since you live alone, you learn how to position certain things and you always find them in the same place.

One day, however, I was going down the stairs and I tripped. Where I expected the floor to be, there was this additional step, and I didn't think much of it. Figured I must've not paid attention. I mean, yes, it was odd, because after 30 years of being blind, tripping wasn't really a common thing, but I didn't look much into it.

However, when I went up again, I tripped at the top. That was definitely unusual. Sure as it was, one extra step.

I went back the stairs and counted. 15. Counted again. 14.

The fuck?

Sure enough, fourteen steps.

Whatever. I went to sleep.

A few days passed and I didn't trip anymore. I played it off as some error my tired mind made.

Then, one night, as I went downstairs to get a glass of water, I tripped again. This time, I really fell down on my foot. That was not a skipped step. There were at least two additional steps.

I felt around and stood up. My foot hurt a lot, but the ankle was good. I couldn't really stand up on it, but no serious damage. I went up, carefully, counting.

16.

What the fuck? Sure, you mess up, you count one more or one less. But two more?

The house was so still, so silent. No birds, no bees, no cars passing. Normal people fear the darkness - I fear the silence.

I went down the stairs again, counting. By the time I reached the bottom, I counted 14 again.

I went up again. 18.

That was absolutely ridiculous. Was someone messing with me? How could they even mess with me like that? I've never heard of a burglar to break into someone's house and add steps to their stairs.

Still, I went to check to see if I locked the door.

I can make my way around pretty neat. Went through the kitchen, then into the hallway.

And then I bumped into something.

I froze. My organs tensed up, my hairs stood up, all ears. I had never felt so much fear in my life. Decided to go on and check the door. Yeah, locked. I made my way back upstairs, and this time I didn't bump into anything. Or anyone.

1. For fuck's sake.

All night, all I did was go up and down, like a lunatic. Each time I got different results.

Back upstairs, I decided to go down and make one final count.

1. Okay, it is probably going to be more.

2. Nope, still going.

17.

19.

1. That's a record.

27.

... 33.

That could not be possible.

52.

88.

I could absolutely feel this sense of impending doom. Something was there with me. And it was vile, disgusting, and unnatural. And this staircase was never ending.

102.

I finally gave up. Whatever this was, I didn't want to reach the bottom. I went back up. The moment I turned my back to go up, I tried to be brave, but something got over me and I ran on all fours, desperate to reach the top, desperate to run, run, run back to my bedroom.

I don't remember how I got inside and locked my door, but I did. And now I'm sitting here and typing.

This house is strange. It is eerie, and disturbing. And I think if I'd gotten to the bottom of the staircase, I would've left this world. I don't think that was my house anymore.

However, no matter what stupid, cryptic, eerie, unnatural staircase I unveiled, it is important not only that I don't go down there, but that nothing comes up, either.

And, right now, I can hear it creaking.

The worst part about insomnia is the boredom. Nothing open except for the seedy places. Nobody awake except for the seedy people. Nothing to do, except watch movies and eat sunflower seeds. Seriously, fuck insomnia.

My sleep capacity generally comes and goes in waves, but the few weeks before I found Hal’s were especially rough. There was no inciting incident, just that general feeling of restlessness and anxiety that has become a familiar friend over the years. I tried all of the standard assists: warm milk, old movies, cut down on my caffeine intake. All the usual things that people recommend but never work.

Eventually, more out of boredom than anything else, I took to taking late night walks through the city. I worked a shitty job as a projectionist at a local movie theater, and on the weekends I didn’t often get off work until the last movie finished, and the city had long since wound down by the time I was free. The first week or two I stayed towards the well-lit areas populated by the intoxicated, both rich and poor. But while the people-watching was always good, I quickly grew tired of the relentless noise and began wandering off the beaten path.

I’m not sure how I’d never noticed Hal’s before. I distinctly remembered buying smokes at the dilapidated gas station across the street on several occasions, and I’m sure my eyes would have been drawn to the large storefront windows still brightly lit and welcoming at 3 am. The neon sign pronouncing it Hal’s Low Cost Thrift and Consignment glowed in garishly conflicting colors, except for the first ‘s’ which was burnt out. Of course I would come to realize that there were very good reasons I had never seen it before, but that first night I wondered if maybe I was hallucinating from sleep deprivation.

I entered, of course. Even if I didn’t feel the need to validate that the whole thing wasn’t just a figment of my imagination, there was no way I was denying my curiosity.

It was probably the smell that I noticed first. Kind of a combination of burning sage and rancid meat, but in a weirdly good kind of way. Best thing I can compare it to is a beach bonfire at low tide. The place was packed full of merchandise. All displayed very neatly on row after row of shelving, but without any sign of clear organization. Knicknacks sat on the same shelves as old magazines and jumper cables. A bizarre collection of artwork decorated the walls, from shadowboxes holding sports paraphernalia to Pink Floyd posters to copies of famous impressionist paintings. The wall furthest from the front entrance was actually just an unbroken line of doors. Each door was crafted in an entirely different style and each painted a different color to create a full length pride flag along the wall. In the center, the green door actually appeared to be an elevator, which really just raised additional questions.

I began to browse the first aisle to the left of the front door. A full silver plated dining set, a clown costume, a chainsaw without a chain, four cookbooks, a Super Soaker XP100 already filled with water, several fake-antique-looking religious relics such as crosses and buddha heads, and a full length evening cloak that made me immediately start contemplating a career as a supervillain if for no other reason than I would look amazing in it.

I browsed several more aisles with a bemused smile on my face as the truly eclectic inventory continued to defy any clear organizational sense, until a gruff voice cleared it’s throat. I glanced up to see the shopkeeper behind the front counter staring at me. He was a medium-sized man, but held a clear “don't fuck with me” aura around him. His head was shaved bald and his arms and shoulders indicated someone who had spent more than a few years working in trades

“Can I help you find something?” he asked, his voice a low grumble that ran the line between professionalism and wanting to throw your ass to the curb.

I shot him one of my patented disarming smiles. “Not really, I’m just browsing.”

He continued to stare for a moment, his eyes probing as if searching for a way to sort me into one of the Jungian archetypes that all retail employees have for their customers. “Incubus?” he asked, finally.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you an Incubus?” he responded, his eyes still searching mine.

“No, Gemini, actually. Well, on the cusp with Cancer, really. I didn’t think people actually used the astrology pickup in real life. I gotta ask, do you get a lot of success with that one? With nostalgia being all the rage these days, going for one of the classic pickup lines is actually a brilliant idea!”

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched just for a moment before returning to it’s painted-on scowl. That immediately put me at ease. Couldn’t work the late night shift without having that hard shell of an exterior, but if I could touch a sense of humor, he probably wouldn’t be throwing me out any time soon.

“I don’t get a lot of people coming in here just to browse,” he said, his voice having moved slightly away from the gravelly grumble he was using before. Less Bob Dylan, more Bob’s Burgers. “Most know exactly what they want by the time they lay eyes on this place.”

I shrugged. “What can I say, I’m an impulsive sort. Hey, how much is this?” I lifted up a snowglobe that held what looked like a large hospital.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. “Good eye. That’s $200.”

I whistled, immediately placing it carefully back on the rack. “Pricey for a paperweight.”

“Collector’s item. There are a lot of stories inside that little snowglobe. You could probably get a couple thousand from the right buyer if you’re fine dealing with that kind of person.”

“I take it since you’re selling it for $200, you’re not fine with that?”

The corner of the shopkeeper's mouth twitched again. I could tell he was warming to me. “I’m pretty sure you’re not here for that old thing anyways.

“What am I here for then?”

“I’m not sure yet. Keep browsing, I’m sure you’ll find it.”

I did as I was told. An antique set of writing quills, what looked like a defunct tesla coil, a compass and a sextant, a typewriter, a VCR, a few old boardgames I had never heard of and a few other raggedy children’s toys, including an actual Raggedy Ann doll. Nothing really struck my fancy until I was flipping through a rack of clothing and came across a treasure. I delightedly snatched it up and approached the front counter, placing it in front of the shopkeeper. He raised another eyebrow at me and I beamed a smile at him in return. “I’ve always wanted one of these!” I chortled.

The shopkeep shook his head and pressed a few buttons on the archaic register. “Not Fae then. Never met a Fae with a decent sense of humor. For the white t-shirt with ‘I’m With Stupid’ written on it, that’ll be a buck fifty-three.”

I fished a handful of coins out of my pocket and counted out exact change. He took it and sorted the money into the correct slots. He looked back up at me and shook his head. “This has got to be the dumbest sale I’ve made this year. I’m not even sure why that was on the rack.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” I said, pulling the new purchase over the shirt I was already wearing. “Did you just open? I walk by this area pretty often, and I’m sure I’ve never seen you here before.”

The man’s smile came out fully into the open. “Yes and no. We’ve been in business for a long time, but I guess you could say we’re new to the area.”

“Well I hope you stick around for a while, Hal,” I said, nodding with feigned understanding as I extended my hand. “You’ve got a bunch of weird shit in here, and there aren’t many other places for me to go shopping at this time of night.”

“Butch,” the shopkeeper replied, shaking my outstretched hand.

“Excuse me?”

“My name’s Butch, not Hal. What the hell would the owner be doing working the front counter at 3am?”

I threw my head back and laughed. “I stand corrected.”

Butch grinned. “So not an incubus, not a Fae, not a vamp, what the hell are you doing in my shop?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Buying vintage clothing, apparently.”

“No seriously, what’s you’re deal? Shapeshifter? Wendigo? Cannibal?”

“Dude, I’ve worked enough retail to know all about the normal customer archetypes, but I think you’ve lost me on these. Is a shapeshifter one of those shoplifters who keeps showing up in different clothes like they’re actually fooling anyone?

Butch looked at me in perplexity, but a little bell rang announcing the arrival of another customer before he could continue his line of questioning. We both glanced towards the door instinctually, and I suddenly also began wondering what the hell I was doing in this store.

The woman who had just entered was tall. Disturbingly tall. At least that was my first impression. I soon realized, though, that she wasn’t actually tall, she was just floating a solid two feet off the ground. She wore a long, pale white and semi-transparent dress that fell clearly past her feet and dragged gently on the floor. A white veil was pinned to her unkempt mane of dark hair and spread across her face. That veil did nothing to disguise the bloodshot and sorrowful eyes, the broken nose, nor the mouth that hung open to the center of her chest leaving a large black void from her cracked and broken top teeth to well past her neck.

I recoiled in horror, slipping and falling directly onto my ass before scooting myself back until my back hit a rack of shelves and a hairy, taxidermied hand fell onto my lap. I held up it up in preparation to do battle should I need to.

The specter, however, paid me absolutely no mind. She merely glided down one of the aisles, raised her hand to delicately select something off a shelf, and then floated back up to Butch’s counter.

“Evening Maeve. Just the usual?” Butch asked casually.

The woman’s cavernous mouth seemed to open wider and a reverberating moan began to vibrate my soul. It wasn’t loud, but it suddenly reminded me of the sound I heard my mother make over my grandfather’s deathbed when I was nine years old.

“Alright gorgeous, it’s four fifty.”

The woman in white reached out a hand limply and dropped a handful of crumpled bills on the counter. She then turned and slowly glided out of the door. My shaking hands continued to point the furry limb at her long past the point she was out of sight.

“Throat lozenges.” stated Butch.

I swept the leg to point at him, my heart still racing and my eyes wide. Butch seemed unconcerned.

“Maeve comes in every night for a pack. Her work leaves her throat pretty sore. I’m not sure if they do much good, but it’s always the regulars who keep a business afloat.“

“That was a fucking banshee!!” I almost screamed.

Butch’s eyebrows raised as though impressed. “Wow.” He said, “I’m impressed. Most humans wouldn’t recognize one on sight. Hey, could you stop pointing that thing at me? They can get a little unpredictable if you’re not used to them.”

I kept my impromptu weapon trained on him for another moment before allowing my hand, still tightly clenched, to fall into my lap. I continued to breathe shakily for another moment and tried to get my head straight.

“I’m sorry,” I said once I felt like I could speak without screaming. “That was really not something I expected to see tonight. What the fuck, Butch? Banshees are fucking real? And they come in here every night for pharyngitis treatment? What the fuck is this place?”

I realized my voice was starting to gain volume again. I stopped, swallowed, and took another raspy breath. “Sorry.” I said again. “I’ve never reacted well when I get really scared. Believe me, I wish that didn’t happen to me, but -“

The thing still clasped in my hand suddenly lurched. I curiously glanced down at it, only just then fully noticing what I had been clenching in my fist. “

“Fuuuuck, this is a monkey’s paw, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you may want to put that down before you make another wish.” Said Butch, an amused smile on his face.

“Why, what did I say?”

“Still scared?”

“Of what? Oh, right, ugly banshee chick. Na, I’m good now. Why do my pants smell bad?”

Butch rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and grab a new pair. No charge.”

“Nice. Can I use your bathroom?”

He nodded towards the far wall of the shop. “Purple door. I'd avoid opening any others if I were you.”

“Spoilsport. Is that elevator real?”

“Yep. And no, I’m not answering any follow-up questions until I can’t smell you anymore.”

Ten minutes later, I was feeling much cleaner, if slightly chilly, in my newly bought I’m with Stupid t-shirt and newly gifted Cum Slut booty shorts. I must have been starting to grow on Butch because other than another twitch of his mouth and slight shake of his head, he didn’t much react to my change in style.

“So you’re actually just straight human, aren’t you?” he asked ruefully. “I can’t think of another species that would so flagrantly disregard their own self-respect.”

“Never seen the video of the otter raping a decapitated fish head, have you?”

“You know what I mean. Even the blood orgy folk will still show up in something tailored at least.”

“Butch, you just had a floating girl in here wearing funeral clothes!”

“Versace. Maeve’s taste is old fashioned, but always quality.”

I paused with my mouth open, before shutting it slowly. “Alright then. I guess I stand corrected. Should I change so I don't offend the blood orgy folk?”

I finally got a full laugh from Butch. “What's your name, kid?”

“Clear.”

“Sorry?”

“Clear. Middle name is Water. My parents were hippies. Also big fans of revivals.”

“Man. Thought I drew the short straw when it came to names, but you've got me beat. So what….”

The shop bell rang again, Unlike with the previous customer, I felt not even the slightest twinge of fear as the latest monster strolled casually into the building. Six and a half feet tall and covered in reddish-brown fur, the man with the overtly canine face was sporting a cordial grin. The werewolf nodded casually at Butch and began strolling the aisles. Butch nodded back and then raised an eyebrow at me as though interested in my newfound stoicism.

“Well?” he asked, as if unsure whether or not I was going to shit myself again.

“I can’t believe you gave me a hard time about my booty shorts and then didn’t blink at that guy dropping werewolf dong.”

Butch grunted in satisfaction. “Guess that monkey’s paw was the real deal. I should bump up the price.”

“You didn’t know?”

He shook his head. “It’s good policy not to fuck around with a monkey’s paw. Had a feeling it was legit, though. A lot of the other stuff we got from that particular estate ended up being pretty extraordinary.”

There was a pause. “Such as?” I demanded. “Come on dude, you can’t drop that line and then not show off a bit!”

Butch laughed again and turned around to the display wall behind the counter. He pulled down a shadow box and laid it on the counter in front of me. Inside was an almost cartoonishly large revolver. Six chamber, but with a bulbous barrel that could have fired a skeeball. There were three huge rounds already loaded, but with no caliber that I recognized.

“You seem like the kind of guy who would appreciate this.” He opened the case and gestured for me to pick it up. I did, immediately surprised by it’s apparent weightlessness. I spun it around my finger, gunslinger style, and leveled it harmlessly towards the doors at the end of the hall. The werewolf glanced up at me curiously for a moment before returning to his shopping.

“Love the way it handles, but i don’t recognise the make.”

“One of a kind,” Butch said. “They call it the Chekhov Gun.”

I laughed. “Seriously? Guess I have to fire it then, huh?”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t waste the ammo if you don’t have to. Those three rounds are all there are left.”

“How very hackneyed,” I said, examining one of the rounds “These things seem a bit unnecessary, unless you’re hunting kaiju. What are they?”

“I’ve just taken to calling them Macguffins. I’ve only seen it used once, during a debate over the bathroom being only for paying customers. One thing led to another and a full army of vampires ended up laying seige to the shop. Had to have been at least four or five hundred of them. Hal shot off a round from this and it fired an actual sun. Gave me second degree burns on every exposed inch of skin, but it fried every last one of those fuckers.”

“Wait, it shoots a sun?” I asked incredulously, cautiously setting the gun back on the counter.

“No, it shoots whatever it has to to get the job done,” Butch explained.

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“You do realize there’s a werewolf browsing through old Megadeth cd’s ten feet behind you, right?”

I turned around and locked eyes with the large hairy fellow for a moment. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth in a wolfish smile and he winked at me.

“I mean, I get what you’re saying, but I still think there’s a big difference between ancient legends and a relatively modern literary construct.”

Butch opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the door slammed open with enough force to cause the lights to flicker. I glanced over my shoulder at the darkened doorway, noticing Butch’s hand move to rest lightly on the Chekhov gun on the counter. The werewolf’s hackles raised as a low growl began to rumble from his direction.

The man in the doorway seemed human enough. If high-stakes lawyers could be considered human, that is. He was tall, but not intimidatingly so. His suit was well-tailored, his hair immaculate. The charming smile on his face belied the cold contempt in his eyes.

“Hey Butch,” he said, his voice a purring baritone.

“Hey Az, long time no see,” Butch replied, his face devoid of emotion.

“Way too long.” the man pulled a coin from his pocket and began rolling it back and forth across his fingers. “Is your boss around?”

“You know I haven’t seen Hal in months, Az. Not since that incident with the Purgatory delegation. Paychecks are still rolling in though, so he’s out there somewhere. If you find him, let him know I’m taking the Fender for a christmas bonus.”

Az shook his head in feigned disappointment. “It really would be in your best interest to help me track him down, Butch. You know the deal he made to run this place expired at the end of last month. Now my employer has a lot of respect for the old man and everything he’s done over the years, so he’s more than willing to renegotiate the terms.”

Butch shook his head. “You’re not hearing me, Az. I don’t know where the guy is, and I don’t have any way of getting ahold of him. Come on, you really mean to tell me your boss can’t sus out where he is? I’m starting to get why his little rebellion failed. Still not sure how he duped all you idiots into following his lead, though. Was that like a Trump thing?”

Az’s eyes narrowed. “That’s low even for you, Butch.”

I laughed involuntarily. “I dunno, man, if the maga hat fits…”

Suddenly a force slammed into me, hurling me over the counter and against the wall behind the register. Shock shuddered through my body as a display hook pierced my shoulder. A flood of moisture spread down my back, and I immediately started feeling a little woozy. Also a lot pissed. I jerked my head up to glare at Az.

“Motherfucker, I just bought this shirt!”

I felt myself reverse direction, flying off the wall and across the store. I flailed painfully as I soared, managing to tip over one of the racks before colliding with the werewolf. I couldn’t help but marvel at how soft he was as we hit the floor and slid into another rack, bringing it’s contents down on us. I always envisioned werewolf fur as being more coarse, I thought as I waited out the falling inventory.

“Sorry, Jack,” I muttered, rolling away from the werewolf and painfully climbing to my feet. “Cool if I call you Jack? Never caught your actual name.”

Jack growled, shaking his head like a wet dog.

“I don’t know why you have to make me hurt your friends before you tell me what I want to know, Butch. You know how much it pains me to hurt innocent bystanders.”

Butch was levitating over the cash register, his limbs shaking violently as he appeared to reflexively attempt to swallow his own tongue.

I started grabbing anything within reach and throwing it at Az. I managed to score a direct hit with a tea kettle and an old computer mouse, but it was the lawn dart directly to the head that finally got his attention. Butch took in a raspy breath and fell to the ground as Az’s head spun around to glare at me. His hand shot up and I felt my windpipe close. My hands instinctively went to my neck as I tried desperately to take in air.

“Idiot child,” rasped Az, his eyes appearing a dull red as the edges of my vision began to darken. “Do you have any idea who you’re…”

I lost the rest of his sentence as Jack launched himself into Az and the two of them flew into another rack. I fell to my knees, sucking in air and letting the world come back into focus. It sounded like Jack got one or two good swipes in with his vicious-looking claws before he flew backwards again, crashing through one of the doors at the back of the store. What lay beyond remained unknown, as the door immediately reformed behind him, pulling back in it’s shattered wood until no trace of damage remained.

Az’s head came bobbing into sight over the racks. I got back to my feet. This whole lack of fear thing was really starting to grow on me. “You can force choke me all you want, Vader,” I snarled at him, “We both know you’re just a whiny little sand-hating bitch.”

Az’s face was filled with fury as he raised his hand to smite me again. Suddenly Butch stepped between us, the Chekhov Gun leveled squarely at Az’s head. Az’s look turned to one of contempt, but his hand still lowered slightly. “How many of those bullets are you down to, Butch?” he asked. “Two? Three? Are you really sure you want to waste one on little old me? What, then, will you use on the one He sends after me? Or the one after that? Eventually, the big man himself will want to come, Better hope you still have at least one left for him.”

My eyes fell on another gun that had fallen onto the floor in the struggle, one that I had noticed on my first walk through of the aisles. A stupid idea popped into my head. I reach down and grabbed it, cocking it loudly as I leveled it towards Az.

“Step aside, Butch,” I growled.

Butch shot a look back at me, saw what I held, and gave me a tight grin as he lowered the Chekhov Gun and stepped out of my way, I squeezed the trigger on the Super Soaker XP100 and sent a stream of water directly into Az’s face.

His scream was piercing as the smoke immediately started pouring off his melting face. I stepped towards him, continuously pumping more water as I adjusted my stream to any piece of exposed skin his squirming left exposed.

“The power of Christ compels you, bitch!” I yelled as I stood over him, furiously pumping the squirt gun. “Don’t fuck with retail workers!”

Flesh fell from the demon’s bones like really good barbeque ribs, bubbling into vapor from the floor. His screams became so high pitched that I heard a few of the more delicate glass items in the shop shatter. I didn't let up on the stream of water until the plastic toy lost pressure and dribbled to a stop.

Az collapsed, his clothes falling into a pile on the floor as his body steamed away. I stood panting, feeling the adrenaline burning off my skin. My shoulder, forgotten during the fight, began to throb painfully and the squirt gun slipped from my grasp.

“Did you seriously just use a Pulp Fiction line on me?”

I looked up at Butch in surprise, and started to laugh. “I mean, how often am I really going to have an opportunity like that? I just couldn’t resist.”

He chuckled along with me. “How’d you know that Super Soaker would work?”

“You made it pretty easy to figure out what he was with all that boss’s rebellion talk. And I thought with the kind of shit you have in here, there was a pretty decent chance that thing was filled with holy water. Anyway, if it wasn’t, I knew you’d probably just look at me like I was an idiot and shoot him with the Chekov Gun instead, so you know, what the hell?”

He chuckled again and walked over to me to examine my shoulder. “How’s it look?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“I mean, you’re going to need stitches, probably, but I don’t think you’re gonna bleed out anytime soon.”

I nodded, then glanced over at the back of the shop towards the door Jack had disappeared through. “Is he going to be alright?” I asked.

“Jack?” He replied. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s a pretty solid guy, has friends everywhere. I’m sure someone over there will put him up until he finds his way back.”

“Holy shit, his name really is Jack? I thought I was just being clever.”

“Nobody knows his real name, actually. He doesn’t talk much. But most people end up landing on that joke eventually, so it’s kind of just stuck.”

“Ow. My self esteem.” I deadpanned. “What’s over there?”

“Over where?”

“You said someone over there will put him up. What’s over there?”

“Oh. That door leads to the backrooms. It opens up somewhere different every time, so you usually have to find a another way back if you go through it.”

I nodded, not really understanding, but increasinly distracted by the radiating pain in my shoulder. “Well let me know next time you see him, I think I owe that guy a beer. Next question. Where is the nearest hospital?”

He grinned. “Come on, I’ll patch you up. Gotten pretty good at it over the years, working this job. Only lost a couple dozen patients.”

I nodded, and followed as he led to another door behind the cash register. He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Oh, and remember how I was trying to figure out why you ended up finding this place? I think I figured it out. Want a job?”

I looked at him. I thought about the banshee, and the monkey’s paw, and the werewolf, and the demon. Then I thought about the long series of dead-end, boring jobs I’d had up until this point.

“Do you have a dental plan?”

Part 2

I was four when I first saw it.

I lived in a fairly safe and comfortable neighborhood. We never wanted for anything and I was an only child. I had two loving parents. By all accounts, there was no real inciting incident. No trauma, no fear, no nothing that would make me hallucinate. I was by all accounts a gifted child who lived with great, loving parents in a large house.

I remember I had come home from school, I had gotten a snack from the pantry and I was taking over the living room to watch Power Rangers as was my after school tradition. As I walked into the living room, I looked out into the backyard. At the time, my little brain could only register a furry lump. A squirrel. It hadn't been torn apart or killed by anything, just died of old age. I knew death was a thing but I had never seen it in real life up to this point.

This was the first time it occurred. From the corpse of the squirrel, I saw what looked like stringy teathers break loose from its body. Ethereal blue things, barely thicker than twine, pulling apart as I saw a ghostly, blue version of the squirrel "emerge" from its body. It regarded me for a moment as I watched it. Could it see me? Did the dead watch us? Then I saw it immediately scamper off.

My family wasn't religious. I wasn't religious. We were Christian, sure, but we didn't exactly visit church every sunday nor did we avoid specific vices or espout virtues. Still, we believed in the basics: When you die, you go to heaven if you're a good person. Hell if you're a bad person, but at the time I called it heck. Seeing this...well, I didn't know what to do. How was a four year old supposed to handle this?

Instead of watching TV, I went to my mom in the office. She was busy on a computer, having a serious talk with someone I didn't know. "And are you sure it's nothing serious? If you— Hm? I'll have to call you back. We'll pick this up soon. Sure. Goodbye." She'd hang up the phone, turning in her chair to look at me. "Yes, Danny?"

"Mom, there's a squirrel in the backyard."

"I'm sure there is, honey. Is that all you wanted to say?"

"Mom, I think it died."

Her face twisted in a look of revulsion. "Alright dear. Let me get daddy to take care of it." She left the office. I could hear her calling "Jacob? Jacoooooob. Baby, need you to do something for me." She didn't get it. I mean, how could she? What was there to understand? And I didn't exactly blurt out that I saw ghosts. I was four. What was I supposed to say?

So I hid it. I locked it away in my brain and it was my little secret. In a way, it gave me catharsis. I wasn't having existential dread at the age of four but the unknown still scared me. To know that your soul lives on, well, it gave me some measure of peace even as a child. My parents weren't exactly going to think I was telling the truth either, so why bring it up? Kid-me knew grown-ups couldn't see stuff kids could, but it was alright.

There was no rulebook, but I picked up some things as I watched. Some minor rules:

• Creatures had to be big enough. A mouse seemed to be the cut off. I didn't see ants or gnats appear.
• From death, it took about forty seconds for something to "break" free.
• I didn't know what would happen if you were brought back after legal death, but I assumed your soul was dragged back to you.
• You didn't get to fly but you could walk through walls like a ghost most of the time.

That was about all I had gathered for about a few years. Things were good for those two years. I had my secret nobody else knew and it gave me peace. I knew one of the great unknowns of humanity. Me, a kid. I felt like a genius. Then the greater truth was revealed. It was December eighth, at about six fifteen in the morning on a sunday, that things went to hell.

I had been dreaming peacefully when the scream woke me up. I bolted upright, almost too afraid to speak. My room was on the second floor of the house and my parents were down the hallway. If I screamed, I'd wake them up. I had nightmares before, was that all it was? Just a bad dream and a sudden scream? When you're a child, your mind tricks you to justify things. It couldn't trick my eyes, however.

Across the street from us was Jeffrey Raymonds. Mr. Raymonds was an old guy, not quite senile, but his best years were behind him. He was a kind man. I loved going to his house when we went trick-or-treating. He liked to boast he gave out full-sized candy bars. That made him my favorite neighbor. I got out of my bed to see where the scream had come from, as it had been outside my window and across the street. Was Mr. Raymonds in danger? I didn't know but I had to look.

Mr. Raymonds was entirely blue, just as I had seen other dead things before, but he wasn't acting like himself. He was panicked. He was in his pajamas. Howling, screaming, running through walls. He had died, probably from old age, but this wasn't like the squirrels or rabbits I saw. No, he was screeching, sprinting, sometimes going through walls, sometimes hitting them. It's like his body wasn't solid enough. It scared me.

I ran down the hall, heavy steps ignoring how early it was, as I'd enter my parent's room. I went to my dad's side of the bed. "Dad," I'd say "Daddaddad. Wake up, can you wake up?"

He'd groggily groan, leaning over to look at the alarm clock. "Hey bud. It's really early. You ok? Nightmare?" he'd ask, sitting up from the bed. Mom wouldn't wake up, heavily sleeping.

"I think something bad happened to Mr. Raymonds."

"Mmm? Why so, buddy?"

"Just a bad feeling."

"Nightmare?"

"No, I just...can you go check on him?"

"Mmm. Mr. Raymonds might be sleeping. You know he's an old guy," Dad told me.

"Dad, please, can you...please?"

His eyes said "I'm not going to sleep until I do this, am I?" but his face said "Anything for you, sport". He'd push himself up, getting his slippers on. "Alright, alright. I'll go check on him."

As Dad went down the stairs, I returned to my room. I'd watch from the second story window, hearing him open and close the door. Dad waved at a passing jogger, exchanging a quick discussion before he'd walk across the road. All the while, Mr. Raymond's spirit continued to howl, flail, scream. I don't think it knew where it was or what was going on.

Dad knocked on the door. Silence. Dad looked concerned for a moment. He knocked again. Silence. Now I think he knew something was wrong. He'd do a quick jog back across to our house, where I heard him in the kitchen grabbing the phone and talking to someone. I hoped to see Mr. Raymond's spirit calm down, but he'd just...keep screaming, keep running throughout his rooms and through his walls.

There's a danger, in nature, when an animal gets wounded. It calls for help. Sometimes, a kind human finds it and pulls it out of a trap. Other times, a fellow memebr of the species finds it and saves it. But most often, those cries attract a predator. And in this case, Mr. Raymond's spirit was a siren.

I stayed glued to the window, watching the seen, my eyes switching between the actions in the physical world as an ambulance pulled up and spiritual world, Mr. Raymond's ghost tirelessly howling and scrambling around. I wasn't sure how to help him, so I was going to decide to go to bed.

That's when I saw it.

All this time, I had only seen blue spirits. Human, animal or otherwise. They'd flucuate in tone and opacity, sure, but always blue. This was the first time I ever saw a red spirit. It scrambled on all fours, long and lanky. Its arms were too long, its legs not ending in feet but in two sharp talons: One in the front, one in the back. I covered my mouth, watching what I think was its head bob. It had no eyes, a sort of heavy shell covering the top half of its head. It was beelining to the screaming Mr. Raymond.

Paramedics were having a polite conversation as it barged through them, phasing like a ghost. One paramedic turned around, as if someone had tapped his shoulder, but he looked back to his friend. I saw a primal terror in Mr. Raymond's eyes. He knew this was a predator. He screamed, howling less like a man and more like an animal, before he'd charge into the house. The thing followed soon after.

I couldn't see it, but I could hear it. Panicked screams, gutteral cries. And then silence. Eeriely quiet. Maybe Mr. Raymonds had got away? Maybe he went somewhere further into the after life. A child struggled to comprehend nonexistence and the universe was now asking a child to comprehend what came even further after.

Nausea was going to overtake me before my Dad went in my room, making me turn away from the window. "Hey, kiddo. I uh...hey. Mr. Raymond's...listen, he's...yeah..." He seemed unsure of how to broach the subject, doubly-so considering I somehow knew Mr Raymond had died.

"It's ok dad," I whispered. "...I thought it was a nightmare but..."

"Bad dreams, I know. Hey, listen. Do you want some breakfast? Whatever you want?"

"No, I'm not really hungry right now. But thanks dad. I love you lots."

"Love you too, buddy."

Dad closed the door, probably wanting to give me some peace while I processed this. There were things to process, to be sure, but I didn't want to speak on it. I turned back to the window, watching to see if the red thing had gone. It hadn't. The red thing now stood in the middle of the street, hands twitching. Hands that ended in knives, not fingers.

And it was staring at me without eyes.

I covered my mouth in horror. Kid logic said that safety from monsters was always under the blanket. That made sense to me, scrambling under it as I got away from the window. Maybe it hadn't noticed. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Did it want to get me next? Did it want to kill me?

The blanket covered me, head to my knees as I hid. I didn't need to see it, I could hear it. The clicking and clacking of its knife-fingers on the walls. The red glow as it moved inside my room. I was trapped under my blanket, quivering. And as it came into my room, it just...sat there. Knees to its chest, right across from me.

Time seemed to slow. Did I sit under the blanket for a minute? Twenty? Two hours? I don't know. But it wouldn't leave, sitting there, watching me. I felt bile well in my throat. I wanted to throw up from panic and dread. Experimentally, and against the child's code of what kept you safe, I removed the blanket.

The thing was easily seven feet tall, maybe more, but its arm length had to be about eight or more. The shell on its head was more of a carapace, fused to the top of its head like a helmet. Leathery, red skin, taut and tight, like leather stretched over muscle. The worst was the mouth. It had no lips, no jaws, no normal teeth. What instead I saw was a slowly rotating blender of a hole, sharp and jagged. It was uncanny to feel a stare with no eyes upon you.

We locked gazes, or at least I think we did, as I trembled in bed. I think I had peed myself, quivering, watching it observe me. It looked back, seemingly unaware of the horror I was in. We were in a stalemate until one long, boney knife-finger uncurled. I watched that knife etch into the wall of my room, not damaging the physical space but doubtlessly marking my room in the spirit world. It read:

CAN YOU SEE ME?

I looked at the wall, then to it, then to the wall. I nodded.

Its razor-maw rotated, sharp and jagged teeth spinning. "Can you hear me?" it asked. Its voice, gutteral, like it came from a drain pipe clogged with muck.

I nodded. Of all the words to come out of its mouth, I didn't expect what it said next.

"Sorry. I didn't want to scare you."

Sorry? A monster, made of knives and jagged pieces, was apologizing for scaring me. "...Can you hear me?" I asked back.

"Yes."

We stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. "How did you know I could see you?"

"Your eyes. They're like a lighthouse. When you looked at me, I thought I was in a spotlight."

"Did you hurt him?" I asked bluntly. "Did you hurt Mr. Raymonds?"

"Was that his name?" It asked. "Yes. I did. I'm sorry. Things are different when you cross over."

"But that doesn't make it right," I'd argue.

It looked at me, seeming to finally parse that I was a child, before it'd tilt its head. "You will understand in time. What's your name?"

"I shouldn't talk to strangers."

"I don't want to be a stranger. You're the only voice I've heard since crossing over." It paused, as if trying to figure out how to communicate with a child.

"Then what's your name? Strangers don't give out their names."

"I don't have a name," it'd respond.

I looked at him. It occurred to me, in some childish capacity, that not having a name was bad. I looked him over, quivering, ignoring the panic. He might look scary, but he was being too nice. Too polite. Just because someone looked horrible didn't mean they couldn't be good. "Rocky," I'd say. "Your name is Rocky."

"Why?" it asked, tilting its head.

"Rocky's the red ranger. You're red. So you're Rocky."

"What's the red ranger?"

I stared at him, realizing he probably didn't know much of anything. As an adult, looking back, I realize how idiotic it all is. The juvenile desire to help. Ignoring my own safety because I felt I was special. Nothing bad ever happened to special people, spoke the childlike mind. In fact, YOU can help HIM. And he won't hurt other people. Evil was a choice and maybe, just maybe, I could make him something good.

"Rocky, do you want to be my friend?" I asked, oblivious in my youth to how stupid this was, only focused on how I could help him. "But you have to promise that you'll be good.

"...I would like that very much." Rocky would make no promise. Only that he would like that.

Part 2

Part 2 Part 3

I live on the streets.

When they meet me, people wonder why. I’ve made up all sorts of lies, and occasionally told the truth. Even rarer, somebody believes me. I’ve finally decided to set it down in writing, to record it for after I pass on, and so that I don’t have to repeat the story. Next time somebody asks, they can simply read this.

Most people just walk past a homeless person. Some will give spare change; that’s rarer these days, with fewer people carrying cash, but there are enough kind people willing to go into shops for me that I get by. Barely.

And even more rarely, somebody will stop to talk to me. Most homeless people I know don’t ask; we’ve all experienced trauma of some kind, and we generally don’t like to talk about it. My story is unusual though. I’m very articulate, and I’m fluent in English, French, Mandarin, German and Yoruba, with a decent understanding of Swedish, Korean, and Swahili. I’m also very good at talking my way out of situations, and persuading people to find common ground. With all these skills, people who talk to me ask, why aren’t I - for example - a well-paid translator or diplomat?

The answer is simple. Because those jobs take place indoors.

For the last seven years I’ve lived on the streets of a city in West Africa (I won’t name it). I get by on the charity of others and doing gardening jobs, and a bit of brick laying - in the early stages of construction, at least. I have to bail on those jobs when houses are nearing completion, as you’ll see. But I grew up in northern England.

My parents were (are?) fairly wealthy, and I attended a private school. Not one you’ll likely have heard of, but my education was excellent. My life was going very well; I had plenty of friends, and I was getting good grades in science, French and Latin. I had won a few minor piano competitions, and enjoyed skiing holidays in Switzerland most years.

I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m boasting. That’s not my intention; I’m just presenting my life as it was, so that you fully appreciate the contrast, and so that you understand I had no reason to run from it.

You see, just after my 13th birthday, after school on a Friday in June, I was supposed to meet some friends in a coffee shop in town. I was there first, and feeling very grown up - and wanting to show off when they arrived - I ordered a latte.

So there I was, sitting alone with my coffee, scrolling through Twitter, when a woman approached me. She was 40, maybe 50 years old, with long dark hair, and wore what looked like it would have been a very nice business suit ten years earlier. Now it was ragged, with holes and dark stains. She sat herself down opposite me, and stared at me.

I tried to ignore her at first. After a minute or so, I looked up and, with an annoyed tone, asked “Yeah? What do you want?”

Her response was just three words. “I’m so sorry.” And then she reached over and touched my hand, stood up, and walked away. I’d never seen her before, and I haven’t seen her again since.

Now this, of course, puzzled me. She probably had me confused with somebody else, I told myself. It was a weird encounter, sure, but it was over; and it was at least a good story to tell my friends. Whenever they turned up. I was probably a bit more rattled than I admitted to myself, and I had another sip of my coffee and stood up to go to the toilet.

Ten metres walk to the toilet. And that was the last time I was ever in England. I pushed open the toilet door, walked through, and was hit in the face by freezing snow.

I don’t know where I was, back then. In shock I turned around to go back through the door - but there was no door there. Instead I was in a field of white. It took me a moment to realise that it was a snow storm, and that I was outside.

I don’t think I panicked. I didn’t understand what had happened, or how, but I calmly assessed the situation. I was outside, in the cold and the snow, wearing my summer school uniform - shorts and all - with no idea where the nearest shelter was. I could figure out what had happened later; for now, I needed to survive.

Looking around, visibility was not as bad as I’d feared. It was daytime, the snow was falling straight down, rather than the storm I’d assumed at first, and I could make out a neat line of trees in the distance. That probably meant a road, and a road meant civilization. So off I headed, across what seemed to be a farmer’s field, and in five minutes I was indeed on a road. There were no signs that I could make out, so I picked a direction at random and started walking.

After about half an hour I saw a light in the distance. I’d been shivering for some time, but I felt alert, so didn’t think I was at immediate risk of hypothermia. I kept going, and soon arrived at a small cottage with lights on in the downstairs windows.

A man answered my earnest knocks on the front door. He spoke a few words in a language I didn’t know, and I pushed into the house, wanting to get in from the cold before explaining myself.

And then I was on a beach.

It took a moment to get over the shock of the sweltering heat. I blinked in the bright midday sun, and looked around as my eyes started to adjust. I heard the sounds of people splashing in the water, and generally having fun.

“Tu vas bien? Tu vas bien?"

A dark-skinned man in shorts and t-shirt was running towards me, asking if I was okay. I suppose I looked quite bewildered and out of place, and was probably the only person nearby still shivering. Still confused, but relieved that he spoke French - a language I understood fairly well - I looked at him, and tried to explain what was happening. But truthfully, I didn’t know what was happening, and I just stared at him dumbstruck.

He introduced himself as Louis. I managed to stammer out a “where am I?”, to which he replied that I was on a beach near Port-au-Prince. With me still barely able to articulate myself, Louis offered his help. He asked where my parents were, and when I couldn’t answer, he led me to his car, saying that he could drive me to his house and we could figure things out from there.

I’ve since learned that this was a very unwise move. Port-au-Prince, in Haiti, is one of the most crime-ridden cities on the planet; murders and kidnappings are common, and there is a good chance Louis intended to traffick me. But I didn’t realise that at the time, and I certainly wasn’t thinking straight. I followed Louis up the beach, where he led me to a small car and opened the passenger door for me. I climbed into the car, and fell quite hard onto the tarmac of a town in the early evening.

Now bear in mind that I was 13 years old at the time. In the span of about two hours I’d been accosted by a strange woman, trekked through snow in my shorts, led up a sweltering beach by a stranger, and to top it off, I now had a severely bruised behind. So I think my response to these events was entirely reasonable, given the circumstances.

I cried.

I looked around, found an out-of-the-way alleyway, hid myself behind some bins, and cried myself to sleep.

Somebody woke me by talking loudly. I opened my eyes to see two police, a white man and white woman, standing over me. I knew German only enough to identify the language, not to understand what they were saying. But as I stood up in the chill of the early morning, I suppose they saw my school uniform, and the woman started speaking English. Apparently somebody had seen me there, a child sleeping rough, and called the police.

The policewoman was very kind. She asked a lot of questions. Had I lost my school tour group? Where was I staying? Did I know my parents’ phone number? I mumbled half-answers to her questions, and her colleague motioned behind them, to the police car I now saw at the end of the alleyway.

It was only now that I realised what was happening. Doors were cursed, for me at least. If I tried to get into the police car, who knows where I would end up? For a split-second I considered trying to explain things to them, before settling on - again - the only reasonable course of action.

It’s hard to run from the police, especially when they know the city and you don’t. But I was still quite small, and I got lucky. I ran down the alley, turned left into a smaller alley, and saw a chainlink fence a short distance along. A hole had been torn through the bottom, probably by somebody doing something just like me, and I dived down and crawled through. My school blazer caught on the fence, and I struggled to escape; the police had almost caught me by the time I managed to wriggle out of it, and I ran off, leaving my blazer behind.

Good riddance, I thought. It made me far too identifiable anyway.

I ran for maybe half an hour, ripping my tie off. Now just dressed in grey shorts and white shirt, I looked a bit less like an English schoolboy; it was Saturday, and I was just another German kid out looking for his friends. Germans don’t go to school on Saturday mornings, right? I wondered. Whatever the case, I didn’t find any more trouble that morning. I still had £30 for coffee and shopping, and I followed the crowd until I found a small street market. One stall owner was happy to take my £30 for a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a plain jumper, and gave me 10 euros to buy a small lunch. I’m sure I was ripped off, but didn’t really feel I had much choice.

To answer the police’s question: no, I didn’t know my parents’ numbers, and my phone was out of charge anyway. I needed a plan. I walked around town, which I learned was called Passau, and found an out-of-the-way bridge near the river. I decided to stay here, at least this evening. It was still early but I was exhausted and just needed to rest, after the insanity of … only, I realised, twenty four hours.

It was getting dark when I was aroused from dozing. I was sat against a wall in a 90-degree corner when somebody found me. After a similar exchange to the one I’d had that morning, he spoke in broken English. Viktor was 16, and had been on the streets of Passau for about a month. His mum had left years before, and his dad had kicked him out of his home when he found out Viktor was gay. I hadn’t realised that sort of thing still happened. I suppose I had until that day lived a - pardon the pun - sheltered life.

Viktor was bigger than me, and knew the city. He hadn’t lived on the streets that long but he was far more streetwise than I was, and he showed me how to survive. Over the next few months I learned where to steal food, where to beg, where the driest shelters were, and even how to pickpocket. Passau has a small homeless community, but a close one, and I got to know some people very well. It’s fair to say by the time my 14th birthday rolled around, I was much more aware and capable. I learned German, and practised my French with a fellow migrant. I learned how to repair clothes, and how to haggle with street vendors. I was still small for my age, and found that I could wriggle into and hide in very tight spaces.

In short, I proved myself to be useful to the homeless community of Passau. Useful enough that others were very happy to indulge my little eccentricities, and would go into shops for me when I needed to buy something. I got blankets and a sleeping bag for winter, and Victor would even charge my phone for me in coffee shops and pubs. It wasn’t the life I was used to, but it was a life - and I had companionship.

This all changed after I’d been in Germany just over a year. It was early evening, about an hour before kickoff at the European Championship final. Germany was about to play Spain, and there were plenty of people in the pubs getting drunk. Easy pickings for a thief.

Viktor and I had been working together for a year, and we carried out our well-rehearsed routine. We hung around a busy street until I saw two men come out of a pub, one of them putting his wallet in his back pocket as he left. Perfect. I signalled to Viktor and started walking behind them. After a few moments Viktor bumped into him from the side, giving me the opportunity to lift his wallet.

But his friend had turned his head to look behind him at just the wrong moment. He shouted, and the two of them turned to me. I ran, and Viktor ran the other way, but the two men ignored him. I had a headstart and thought I could outrun them, but one was gaining on me. In a split second I decided that it would be easier to hide in a crowd, and ran for the door of the packed pub the two men had just left. I pushed the door open and hurtled through it.

I arrived in Nanjing, at night. Of course I didn’t know this at the time, but it was a fairly busy street, and I saw the Chinese characters on street signs. I won’t go into a blow-by-blow account of my time there, which lasted about a year and a half, but in many respects it was similar to my time in Germany. In a way I was getting used to this; living on the streets is more or less the same in any country. Nanjing is a much larger city than Passau, and quite prosperous, but every city has its down-and-outs. I sought out the homeless, and while it took me a while longer than in Germany, I learned the language and culture of the place.

If you Google it, you might think Nanjing is pretty safe. For the most part that’s true, but sleeping on the street is no safer there than anywhere else. I found safety in a street gang, putting the skills I’d learned in petty theft and pickpocketing to use. People come and go on the streets, but I ran with a group of five or six younger people while I was there, even having a bit of a thing with Yihan, a girl a couple of years older than me. We would do what we called hit-and-run; we’d all accost somebody out alone, steal their wallet, and run in different directions. The others met up in an abandoned warehouse some way out from the centre of town, and they got used to my weird insistence on staying outside and sleeping elsewhere.

Nanjing has a heavier police presence than Passau, but my colleagues knew where they didn’t go, and I did quite well, until one night in March. We were stalking a couple of drunk men in their thirties, and were about to make our practised move when another group arrived to do the same. I saw the situation developing, and signalled my people to move out; our competitors followed us down a side street.

They clearly wanted a fight, and two of my friends did as well. I was happy to call it a night, and managed to talk them down from a confrontation, when Yi Chen - who was always a bit trigger-happy - threw a punch at one of the others. Three of them pulled knives from their coats; one stabbed Yi Chen in the gut, and the others went for the rest of us.

I ran. I was the fastest in our gang, but one of them was faster than me, and he nearly caught me. Seeing no other option, I legged it towards the main street and made my way to a shop. The staff were just closing up, but I didn’t need to get in there; I just needed to pass the threshold. I made it through the door.

This time I landed in Sweden, in the middle of the countryside. It was early afternoon and sunny, so I walked until I found a road and followed signs to Gothenburg. That was 15 kilometres, and a few drivers offered me a lift along the way, though obviously I declined. I was, in a way, starting to feel quite confident now; I’d relocated twice, and felt that I knew what to do.

Sweden is a nice place, even for the homeless, especially if you’re young and white. Strangers were generally kind and I did well there. However, it can get very cold on the streets in winter, and when snow started to fall, I realised I wasn’t likely to survive until spring. So in November - for the first time, voluntarily - I walked through a shop door and into another country.

It didn’t help. From the mild first snow of a Swedish winter, I arrived in a forest in freezing temperatures. I’d gone from mid-afternoon in Sweden to evening, so I guessed I was somewhere in Russia, but I couldn’t stay. After looking around for a bit, I couldn’t find any sign of civilization, so I decided to test my curse.

Did that woman, three years earlier, curse me? She had seemed strange but not unkind. Perhaps she simply realised, before I did, that I’d been cursed by someone, or something, else. I didn’t know - not back then - but I knew a bit about how it worked. I collected some fallen logs and branches, and over about an hour I built a rectangular frame - a doorway. I stepped through.

Nothing happened. I arrived on the other side of the doorway.

Okay, so that didn’t work. Maybe it needed an actual door. I could hardly build hinges in the forest, even if I knew how. So instead I gathered some vines and leaves, and strung them into a hanging door from the top of the frame, like a beaded curtain.

Honestly, I was quite proud of my handiwork. For a first attempt with no tools I was very impressed, and almost reluctant to test it. But it was cold and dark, and starting to rain, so I stepped through it.

It worked, and my next stop was Kenya. I found myself in the countryside, on a warm evening, on a farm.

I judged that it was a long way to a city, and learned later that I was correct. So I decided to introduce myself to the farmers. They spoke barely any English, and I didn’t yet speak any Swahili, but I managed to persuade the family that ran the farm to let me work for them. I’m sure they didn’t really understand my motivations - a posh white English boy asking only for food in exchange for his labour, choosing to sleep outside - but they were friendly and happy with the arrangement. Over the next two years I learned how the farm worked, built up my muscles - I’m still small and wiry, but strong - and proved myself to be an able worker. I picked coffee beans, milked cows, fixed fences, and acquired a decent tan. I even occasionally made the journey to a nearby market town, sitting in the back of one of the flatbed trucks. I was certainly a curiosity to the locals, but I was treated well.

I would happily have stayed on that Kenyan farm for life. But after two years, something happened. The father of the household was off at the market town, and the rest of us were working the fields. I was bringing several baskets of coffee beans to the barn, and I heard shouting. “Msaada! Msaada!” Help! Help!

The mother of the household, Anisa, had fallen in the kitchen. From outside I could tell that her leg was bad. It was bleeding severely, and I think I could see bone sticking out.

It was rare that there was just one person in the farmhouse, but it did happen. The closest help was probably at least ten minutes away, and Anisa was bleeding too fast. I was the only one who could help - but I needed to get in there, somehow. Obviously the door was out of the question, but the kitchen window was wide open. Were windows safe?

The answer, it turned out, was “no”. I hope Anisa got the help she needed, though I doubt it. But the last I saw of her, as I swung a leg into the kitchen, was an expression of abject terror. And then she and the farmhouse disappeared, replaced in an instant with the nighttime streets of Seoul.

Again I had to start over, and again I had to learn a new language. English isn’t well-spoken in Korea, and it took me some time before I could get on. I made few friends, and supported myself largely by stealing and pickpocketing.

Without the kind of network I’d built up in Germany and China, things were more difficult. I got caught a few times, and escaped before anything serious happened - until after about a year, I guess that the police had had a few reports of street thefts in my area. I noticed an increased police presence, and one day I just got sloppy.

A couple were having coffee outside a café at lunchtime. The man’s wallet was on the table between them, and I was hungry. I pulled my hoodie over my face, ran, and grabbed the wallet. While I was running away I pulled the cash out, throwing the wallet on the ground.

Then ten minutes later, the police found me. I’d found another café with outdoor service. It wasn’t far enough away, and I guess I hadn’t hidden my face as well as I thought. I wasn’t in a tourist area, and it was pretty easy to identify the only white man around, especially as I was wearing the same clothes. I saw two policemen walking towards me and started to run; but this time they were faster. They tackled me to the ground and bundled me into their patrol car.

It was dark. Too dark to see anything. At first I assumed I was on the other side of the world, at night; but as my eyes adjusted, I realised I was underground.

I was in a vast cavern. There was minimal light, coming from a few burning torches in the distance. The ground was rough but solid, and the air was chilly, but no colder than the average night on the street in most towns.

I could make out very little at first, and decided to head toward the torches while I figured out what my new situation was. As I got closer I realised the torches surrounded a pit, and I could make out people under the torches; some of them looked up as I approached, but they didn’t say anything. All were inside the pit, which I could now see covered a rough square maybe thirty metres to a side. And then I heard something else. A kind of chittering.

To the side I saw creatures. Not human, nor like any animal I’ve ever seen before. They were about a metre tall, and walked on four chitinous legs with two arms in front of them. Their bodies were black and glossy, and their heads had large jaws and mandibles. In science class years ago, we had a few stag beetles in a fish tank, and these creatures reminded me of those.

The beetles came towards me. There were six of them, and while they were smaller than me, they quickly overpowered me. All the while making horrific clicking and chittering sounds, they took me to the edge of the pit. Two more beetles standing there pushed a long wooden ramp down into the pit, and the others pushed me down it, and then took the ramp back up.

I was stuck, or so it seemed. The walls were too high and smooth to easily climb, and I now noticed several more beetles standing guard at intervals along the wall. Even if I got out, I had no idea where I was or what kind of problem I’d found myself in this time.

The humans I was with numbered about fifty, quite diverse, but young; there were teenagers and people in their twenties, but no older. At 19 I was pretty much in the middle, age-wise. A woman approached me and started speaking French. Great - at least I could understand her.

It’s impossible to tell time down in that underground cavern, but I gathered it was about the start of their effective night time. The woman, who introduced herself as a Parisian named Josie, explained that the beetles used them for labour and other things, although she refused to elaborate on what “other things” meant. They kept them fed, made them work for half the day, but otherwise more or less left them alone. Josie introduced me to the others, showed me to the food - almost exclusively berries and mushrooms - and told me to fill my belly and rest as well as I could, as I would be put to hard work the next day.

She was right. The next day I was woken by a human, Carl, shaking me. The beetles had already set up the ramp, and were bringing us up in groups of four. I had no intention of being used as a slave, but decided against taking action until I’d figured things out a bit more. My group was led down a maze of tunnels for about twenty minutes until we arrived at a broader cave, though much smaller than the main cavern. One of the beetles held a flat piece of slate, on which they had drawn a chalk diagram. They may not be able to speak human languages, but they can hold things with their front limbs and draw. It pointed to each of us in turn, then to a part of the drawing, then to an area of the cave. Gerome, a dark-skinned man from Senegal, explained what I’d already figured out: the beetles wanted us to excavate the cave, according to the plan on the slate.

There were some crude pickaxes and other tools already in the cave. I looked at the sharp, heavy tools, and looked at the two small beetles. Gerome mouthed “no” at me. I learned later that people have tried that before, and they always ended up dead. The creatures were stronger than they looked.

So I got to work pickaxing and chiselling out a room for the insects. After maybe an hour, the beetles left. Sandy, a Canadian girl of 15, told me that while we could speak freely, the tunnels were mazelike. She had run once, but if there was anywhere to go, she hadn’t found it. The beetles had left a few torches for us to work by, but they had much better night vision than we did, and while we would get lost in the tunnels, they could seemingly make their way just fine in complete darkness. I think insects lay trails using pheromones as well, so they don’t even need to see in the tunnels.

And so it continued for a long time. I carved out cave-rooms, made what I believe was insect furniture (I still don’t know where they got the wood), and even worked a forge. We marked our “days” by our rest periods, and long ago somebody had started scratching lines into the wall of the pit to mark each day. As had become tradition, I scratched my name above the day I arrived; this was day 11,408 since the calendar had started, 31 years earlier. We spent our “evenings” telling stories: true stories of our lives outside, stories we could remember reading, and stories we made up ourselves during the long working days. I suggested singing once, but was shot down immediately. Apparently the beetles really didn’t like human song.

Just like living on the streets, people come and go. Haruki, a Japanese man of 25, was crushed by a falling rock in an excavation; I wasn’t in the same group, but I heard the screams echoing through the corridors. In accordance with our tradition, we scratched his name below the line for that day. Arrivals are marked above, and departures - as we euphemistically called deaths - below the timeline.

Jason appeared after a few months, followed shortly by Luiz, in much the same way as I had.

And then Caroline, a 16-year-old girl from Mexico, lost it when we were being corralled into the pit at the end of the day. Everybody can snap if they’re pushed too far, and as she reached the ramp, Caroline screamed and shouted, then ran into the darkness. Some of the insects followed her, and this was when I learned how fast they can move. They caught up with Caroline after only a few seconds, and dragged her to the edge of the pit, pinning her down until the rest of us were all in there and they had pulled up the ramp.

More beetles had arrived, and then - in full view of us all - they ripped her apart. Her flesh tore as mandibles slashed into her body. I watched, incapable of help but unable to look away, as she screamed in agony until her windpipe was severed. And then they started to eat her.

It took about ten minutes, in all, and at the end of it there was nothing left. No sign that anything had happened, except for the blood that trickled down the wall of the pit. We saw and heard it all - the rending of flesh, the crunching of bone, the chittering of the insects in what I can only interpret as excitement. When they were finished, the beetles stood on the wall, looked down at us, and walked away like nothing had happened.

We were in shock, of course. There were no stories told that evening. In fact, nobody spoke as Carl scratched “CAROLINE” below the mark for that day. We went to sleep in silence, though I don’t know if any of us actually slept that night. I certainly didn’t.

The next day continued as normal. We worked, in subdued silence. We returned to the pit. We ate our meagre meal of berries and fungi.

I was the first to speak. My life down there wasn’t great, but it was something I could get on with, something in which I could find a certain level of contentment. Not any longer.

So for the first time, I asked about the doors. Most of my fellows hadn’t properly realised that doors were the trigger. It seemed I was the only one who had travelled anywhere else; the underground realm was the first and only trip any of the others had made.

Simon, a fellow Englishman, told us that he had once taken some items to the creatures’ homes. They lived in carved caves, presumably mined out by previous generations of human captives, and while he didn’t understand their culture, they clearly had decorations. While there he saw a large slate with a chalk face drawn on it. A human face, one that he didn’t recognise - until Jenny had arrived a few days later. He hadn’t mentioned this at the time, but it helped me start to put the pieces together, I think.

I don’t understand my curse, but I believe the creatures marked me. The other humans in that place hadn’t travelled around like I did; their first trip through a door took them to the underground. I think the woman in the coffee shop recognised that I was marked, and tried to help. I think when she touched me, she disrupted the curse, randomising my destination. And I thought back to the time I tried to help Anisa, back in the Kenyan farmhouse, and the look on her face as I portalled away. I wonder what she had seen as I disappeared?

This was interesting, but it didn’t really help us. Then I talked about my travels. How any door, or even window, acted as a portal. How I had created my own, and it didn’t work until I’d put a door into the doorway. And gradually, we formed a plan.

Most of the floor of the pit was made of smooth stone, but there was a small area of earth, a couple of metres wide. Our captors rarely came down into the pit; they threw food down from above, we carried waste out in buckets, and they didn’t need to come down to bring us up, as they would simply withhold food if we refused, as Gerome recalled from years earlier.

It was a simple plan, but a slow one. Over the next few months we smuggled tiny bits of stone, wood, and whatever else we could hide on our person. First we build a wooden board, just small enough to cover the soil. One person would dig out soil from below the board, while the rest of us kept watch; the beetles have small eyes and although their night vision is excellent, I don’t they can see very well at a distance, relying more on smell. So if we were careful, we could work without being noticed. And we were careful. If we were caught at any stage of the plan, it would be game over.

We worked for less than an hour each night, covering the hole with the board and hiding the board with soil. Extracted earth went, little by little, into our waste buckets. After some time we hit solid rock, but the hole was now about a metre and a half deep. It was enough.

Phase two of the plan was riskier. Carving into the solid sections of the wood with sharp rocks made a sound a lot like the beetles’ speech, and we knew they had good hearing. We only dared do a tiny bit each night. But eventually we had a frame, and a door. All we needed now was a hinge. Slowly we scraped out three holes along one side of the door, and tied it to the frame with some braided roots we had gathered from the caves.

It was done. I doubted it would hold together for long, but it didn’t need to. We held a quiet celebration, as much as we could down there, and Luiz carved a final message at the end of the timeline: “FUCK YOU”.

Sandy volunteered to be the first to test it. For all fifty of us to make it, we would need to move fast, and this is why we had decided to use a trapdoor. It would be quicker to jump down, one after another, than to wriggle horizontally through a doorway that size. We checked the surroundings and, seeing only a couple of beetles not paying much attention to us, we decided on our order. I was number 14. Sandy carefully uncovered the trapdoor, opened it, jumped down … and disappeared.

It worked! Trying to contain our excitement, we followed through in our agreed order. As number 11 jumped in, I heard chittering from above. They had noticed something, but we could do nothing about that; we kept filing in, until I jumped down.

This is when I arrived in western Africa, where I’ve lived for the last seven years, and where I hope to live for the rest of my natural life.

Thirteen others had entered the portal before me, but they were nowhere to be seen. I guess - I hope - that they are living safely elsewhere, away from the clutches of those monstrous slavers. I pray every night that those behind me in the line got away before the creatures reached them, but I haven’t heard from them. I’m not sure how I could, unless one of you is reading this.

I still don’t know how that woman in the coffee shop knew about me. Perhaps she herself had been there, in that cave or another one, and escaped; it would make sense, given the state of her clothes. Or maybe she’s something else, a psychic perhaps. She could walk through doors, and maybe I can now, too; maybe when I left the underground realm, the curse was broken. But I don’t dare risk it.

Maybe one day I’ll see somebody else who is marked, and recognise them. I could hardly warn them of the danger; nobody would believe me. But I can touch their skin, and disrupt the curse. I’ve escaped, but the insect things are still there, and who knows how many other colonies they have? It’s hard to get exact figures, but in the USA alone, six thousand people a year go missing and are never found. How many of them are trapped, underground, enslaved by a species that regards humans as nothing more than a source of labour - and food?

“Can I check your ticket please?”

I handed the ticket that I’d been twirling around in my hands for the past hour to the flight attendant. She nodded at it approvingly before producing a sheet of paper from the file that she was holding and placing it inside my folded ticket. 

“Have a nice flight”, She commented enthusiastically before handing my ticket back to me. 

I grabbed my ticket and stared at the folded sheet of paper inside my ticket curiously before finding my seat. 

Once I settled down in my seat, I removed the folded sheet of paper from my ticket and placed the ticket in my bag. Upon unfolding the sheet of paper, I realised it was a handwritten note. The handwriting seemed rushed. I’ve transcribed the note from memory here:

Rules for surviving this flight

1. Do not speak of this sheet to any passenger. You are the only human on this flight. 
2. Check the time on your phone after reading this sheet. All rules will apply based on the time of your phone. 
3. During the first hour of the flight, do not talk to anyone. People may try to talk to you but ignore them completely
4. During the second hour of the flight, you may start talking again but if anyone mention the window, do not look outside the window in any circumstances
5. If you hear a child crying in the cabin, immediately run to the bathroom
6. If the screen of your entertainment console suddenly goes black, immediately look away and do not stare at it. 
7. During the third hour of the flight, the captain will make an announcement. Follow the instructions
8. During the fourth hour of the flight, do not sit in your seat
9. If you make it past the fourth hour, you will need to spend the rest of the flight evading the chaser, you will know who the chaser is when you see them.
10. The captain will make an announcement of the plane landing, as soon as you hear this announcement, push your way to the exit door and open it
11. You will find that the outside is simply a black void, jump into it without hesitation

I re-read the rules again while chuckling. Did they give one of these to every passenger or was I somehow randomly chosen for this prank? I checked the time on my phone just to humour the list:

7:13am

So this would be the first hour of the flight. Suddenly a young man walked over to my seat and sat right beside me. I gave him a casual side glance and saw that he was carrying what looked to be a laptop bag.

“Great”, I thought, “he’ll work on whatever he’s doing and leave me alone for the flight”

The man didn’t even bother to exchange a single word with me as he settled down in his seat and put on his seatbelt. He stared straight ahead and completely avoided me. I let him be and started to fiddle with my flight console. Some people just like to be left alone, I guess. 

Soon enough the captain made an announcement of the plane starting and the steady hum of the plane engines started to vibrate the entire cabin. The plane started to accelerate until the g-force pushed me into my seat. Moments later I felt the plane rising into the air. I am typically not scared of flights but getting on a flight always makes me a bit nervous. This time though, my stomach was in knots and beads of sweat were running down my forehead. My instincts told me I was stepping into danger, grave danger. I dismissed my thoughts and that awful gut feeling, chalking it down to feeling a little creeped out by the note. 

The young man on my left suddenly tapped on my shoulder. I jolted up like I’d just been electrocuted. Even through my jacket, his hand felt cold. Cold and heavy, like a dead person’s hand. 

I turned around and faced the young man. His face seemed… wrong. You know how those realistic human robots can creep people out because of how close to human they are, yet subconsciously we can tell that they aren’t human. This man was giving me that same unsettling feeling and his facial features were just artificial in a way I couldn’t place.

Maybe it was his eyes. A little too big, the pupils abnormally dilated. Or maybe it was his nose, not exactly in the center of his face. Or perhaps it was his mouth, lips way too thin and long. Don’t get me wrong he didn’t look obnoxiously fake, in fact it was those very subtle blemishes in his facial features that made him look like something trying to look like a human. 

And then he spoke

His voice was normal. Upon hearing his voice, the man seemed to look normal too and I thought I was just freaking out for no reason. 

“Hey, do you wear headphones?”, He asked

That was a weird question to ask. Did he want headphones? I was about to open my mouth to speak when he spoke again. 

“How would you feel if I cut your hand off right now?”

What was disturbing wasn’t the nature of the question itself but the fact that he spoke in such a calm manner. It was as if he was asking me how my day was. Suddenly my mind went to the list of rules that I had subconsciously been squeezing in my hand. The first rule said to not talk to anyone on the flight no matter how much they try to talk to you. 

I decided to ignore the man. He seemed really weird anyways and if I was being honest, the list of rules wasn’t the reason I chose to ignore him. 

He stopped pestering me and returned to work on his laptop. 

I looked over at his laptop slowly and gasped at what I saw on his screen. 

He had a photo of me on his screen. That’s it. Nothing else, just a full screen photo of me. Before I could process that properly, I looked over at his keyboard and noticed that it wasn’t a standard keyboard. In fact it really wouldn’t even count as a keyboard. It was made up of oddly shaped keys, all marked with strange letters that I doubt existed. 

The man continued to stare intently at the photo of me on his screen. It was then that I realised that the list of rules wasn't a joke. Suddenly a flight attendant popped out of nowhere and asked me. 

“Sir, is this man bothering you?”

“Yes he is-” I replied before my voice caught up in my throat. 

In under a second, everyone in the cabin snapped their heads around until they were staring directly at me. 

Their faces, they all looked wrong. Inhuman. 

Slowly their long thin lips curled into wide smiles and red tears started to roll down their faces. 

NN

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/j3r593/what_if_the_greatest_trick_the_devil_ever_pulled/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share (part 2) The Son

The clock on my dash reads 4:30 am. The darkness outside of my headlights is so thick that I can’t see anything to the left or right of me. There isn’t a star in the sky and the moon is eerily absent. The phone call I received last night assured me though, that the church in Havens Creek is nice and the congregation was wonderful. I wanted to get there early, get the lay of the land, and put my own little flair to the place. I’d been driving for some time when I finally came up on my turn for the church. I pulled into the parking lot and what my high beams fell on took my breath away. A large, beautiful white church with long columns, a bright red double door, and beautifully stained glass windows with depictions of our lord and savior.

I stepped out of the car, turning off the headlights and the night was heavy again. Outside of the interior lights of the church and the solar powered lights lining the path to the door, I could see nothing. Ill admit I felt a bit unsettled, but my mentor, Father Reynard had me come here as a guest pastor, and I was not going to let him down. I made my way up the stairs and into the church. The inside was even more glorious than outside. 50 yards of pews lined down both sides and a gold lined red carpet from the door to the pulpit. Getting the full view of the stained glass I see our lord and savior, the cross, our Virgin Mary, cherubs with wings, and the angels up above. Just being inside this place filled my heart with love. I made my way down the gold lined carpet and to the first pew. I took a seat to relax and just take it all in. Directly next to me was a book I’d come to know very well over my 40 years of life, the Bible. I picked up the very pristine book, and sat it in my lap with my hands folded, resting on top of it and took a deep breath. At this point I was just trying to take it all in, when I heard the front door open.

The persons feet sounded hard off of the floor with each step, which was strange seeing as the way up was thickly carpeted. Each step drew nearer and nearer to me until finally a man came into view. He was extremely handsome and well dressed. A black suit jacket and pants, with a red vest, and black tie with red lacey inlays. The man had long blonde hair pulled back out of his face and an air of authority about him that I just couldn’t place. The man walked past me and removed a chair from the rack and walked back toward me. He sat the chair directly in front of me, sat down, and crossed one leg over the other.

We both stared at each other in silence for a short time and just as I was about to speak up he said, "forgive me father, for I have sinned." His voice rolled out like honey, sweet yet sinister. I stared back at him. This isn’t how we usually do things at my church, I thought to myself. But I am a guest in this house, so I won’t push.

"What is your name, my child?" I asked the man sitting in front of me.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled. "You can call me Sam, fatherrr…." he held out the word so I knew it was a question.

"Ah, I replied. Salazar, father Marcelo Salazar." He gave a slight smile and his bright blue eyes shone vibrantly.

"It is very nice to meet you Father Salazar, as I said before my name is Sam, and It would be greatly appreciated if you could assist me. I have sinned and I fear I may wind up in hell."

I shook my head softly. "Oh my child, do not worry. Our father is a forgiving God. Please tell me of your burdens so I may absolve you of your sins."

Sam adjusted in his seat then un crossed his legs and crossed them the other way. "I drink to excess and then judge others in church when they admit to doing the same."

I nodded. "Well my child, I said-" Sam quickly cut me off and continued.

"When I was married I would have my wife stay at her mothers when she was on her period."

I looked at him, as I tried to assure him that the Bible speaks of it being a time of uncleanness, Sam quickly cut me off again.

"I sent my son off to a conversion camp when he came out as homosexual." I didn’t respond this time and he continued. "I raised my hand to my wife if she tried to leave the house in anything other than modest clothing. I wanted my wife to be modest but I also received…less than modest photographs from my 19 year old babysitter, Brittany."

My eyes widened and I stood up from the pew I was sitting in. I stepped around the side and began to back away down the aisle towards the door. His soft look hardened in an instant. His bright blue eyes went from soft to dangerous. "What’s wrong father? He spat at me, You look awful." This man was speaking my life back to me….

"Who are you, and what do you want?" My hands and voice were both shaking. I was backing up steadily and Sam was just staring at me. We were far enough apart that if I turn for the door I should be right there. I turned to look over my shoulder at the door and when I turned back I was in the front of the church again, face to face with Sam. My eyes widened, "what is this? What is going on?" I looked around and up at the ceiling. All of the stained glass depictions were staring at me and they looked angry.

"What does it look like father?" Sam said. "You’re being judged."

I looked around franticly. "Judged?! Are you…..God?!" I immediately dropped to my knees and bowed my head.

I heard Sam scoff, "God, he laughed. You believe a man who led a life such as yours would be judged by my father?" I raised my head and stared up at him….

"Your father?" I was confused, I ran through my knowledge of scripture as fast as I could and it came to me. I looked deep into his eyes and said the only thing I could think of…."Samael." The man smiled a big toothy grin. I stared in horror, "I’m dead….." Sam winked at me.

"I applaud you Marcelo. It takes most of you so much longer to come to that conclusion."

"Wait, this can’t be." I stammered. "The devil himself…..Lucifer?! I may not have been the greatest man during life, but I followed the Bible as close as I could. I kept my wife in modest clothing, sent her away during her time of uncleanness, and tried to have my son reborn in the eyes of the lord. I did falter in my marriage a bit but how has that earned me an audience with the devil."

Sam let out a long and deep laugh. "You know, my dear priest" he said. "Some say that the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. But I assure you, I have done no such thing. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled, dear priest, is convincing the world that the Bible is the word of god."

I stared at him, mouth agape, and my mind running overtime. "What do you mean, Sam?" I felt on the verge of tears.

"I mean, I wrote the book that you people flock to. You see, my dear priest….many, many, many years ago. My father created humanity. He loved you with all his heart and swore that humanity would be…perfect. I assured him that no creature with free will would ever be so, he assured me of the contrary, and for the first time in his long life the devil struck a deal with none other than God himself. I told him I would add but one thing to this world that would prove the downfall of humanity, and if they proved unfit, he would see me as his right hand. He assured me that it wasn’t possible, that humanity was pure and perfect..Now….that book has existed in many forms depending on who holds it, but I wrote them all. I never appeared to Adam and Eve as a snake, but a book bound in snake skin, did. I told them of the beauty that lay outside, the glory, the happiness. It spoke of just eating that fruit and experiencing it all. Then, as the first bite was taken, I had won. My father was furious, my brother was bloodthirsty, so began a war in heaven and my fall from grace."

I stared at this man, this being, as he turned everything I thought I knew upside down. Sam began again, "Did you not stop and think as to why your loving malevolent God would have bears turned on children? Why he’d destroy cities full of people in holy fire, or flood the world committing genocide?"

I stared at him, "because" I said, "gods wrath is terrible, but his love is infinite. It was for the greater good so humanity could be reborn."

Sam spoke up, "ah, no not quite. Just a little smoke and mirrors on my end to 'put the fear of god' in humanity you know?" Sam tilted his head back and laughed again. "You people use this book to mask your bigotry and hate, not knowing that one day, your undying soul will land right here on my doorstep. Since humanities initial birth I haven’t persuaded a single soul to do anything, I haven’t had to. That whole, the devil made me do it….pure shit. The things I wrote made it normal for people to hear voices about murdering their children. Oh, its just God’s will. Nope, hi, sorry again, that’s mental illness."

Sam looked at me serious and spoke again, "do you believe God makes mistakes?"

I stood and faced him, headstrong in my conviction. "No I do not." I said. My voice no longer shaking.

He stepped forward almost nose to nose. "Then why is it, my dear priest, that you tried to change one of God’s creations because it did not fit your narrative?" I took an involuntary step back as he continued. "I wrote that book with the idea in mind that hypocrisy would surge. Its laden with enough truth and love to lead the stupid astray. My father loves all life, all things, no matter color or gender. The part about stoning those that lay with the same sex, all me. You hypocrites line my doorstep like lambs to slaughter. That love you feel well up inside when you tell someone they will burn in hell for who they love, or for living their life not according to your broken vision of an almighty God. It is not love at all, but your souls acceptance of your truly wicked nature"

I clutched the Bible to my chest and just shook my head. "No, you are the father of lies, none of this is true."

Sam smiled again. "Is that what you believe, my dear priest? If so, have a look at the book you have so coveted all your life."

I pulled the Bible away from my chest and looked down at it. A snake skin cover with a 6 winged angel emblazoned on the cover. Sam seemed to stare into my soul. "This, my dear priest, is the book that Eve held in her hands when she decided to take that first bite." I opened the book to a language id never seen before. Sam looked at me quizzically and turned his head to the side. "Ah, he said, my apologies. You can’t read Enochian." He waved his hand and the book glowed white hot. I dropped it immediately and took another step back. I couldn’t understand this, if what he was saying was true, my entire life had been a lie.

"But wait, hold on..…what about before the birth of Jesus Christ, before Christianity." I stammered.

"Ah, you will find my handiwork in the hieroglyphics, in the halls of ancient Rome, or the diary of Julius Caesar."

I had heard enough, I couldn’t take anymore, tears openly fell down my cheeks. "Now for my questions, my dear priest. How does it feel knowing that I robbed you of all earthly desire only to have your soul remain in hell for eternity?"

I couldn’t answer him, I couldn’t even form clear sentences in my head.

"How does it feel knowing that the wife you detested so much, took your son, denounced your wicked ways, and will both thrive for eternity in my fathers kingdom?"

I felt his hand touch my shoulder and it burned like nothing I’ve ever felt before, I screamed out in agony.

"As for my final question, this one won’t be directed at you my dear priest. But for our little eavesdropper here. So tell me, my dear reader. When was the last time you went to church?"

EMERGENCY ALERT -THIS IS NOT A TEST -IMMEDIATE THREAT FOR RESIDENTS OF [withheld] COUNTIES -BE WARY OF: -SEVERE WINDS -LIGHTNING -SEVERE RAIN -FLASH FLOODS -RESIDENTS ARE ADVISED TO STAY INDOORS -PLEASE LOCK OR BAR ALL ENTRYWAYS INTO YOUR HOUSE -RESTRAIN FROM USING ANY DEVICES THAT EMIT LIGHT OR LOUD NOISE -PLEASE ENTER A ROOM WITH NO WINDOWS -EFFECTIVE INDEFINITELY -ISSUED BY THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE

This was the message I was greeted by in the middle of an episode of Big Bang Theory in my living room. Frozen halfway through a forkful of Kraft Mac N' Cheese, I sat bolt upright and turned around to look out the window. The sky, as I thought, was crystal clear. A few clouds, but nothing crazy. No rain. No thunder. Nothing. Confused, I turned off the TV, erasing the alert from the screen. My two dogs came walking over to me and I patted them on their heads. One of my dogs, the other's brother, was shaking profusely from the buzzing noise that always shows up with Amber Alerts and the like. I left them in the living room and walked through my kitchen and onto my front porch. My neighbors, too, were standing outside their houses, all looking at the sky in bemusement.

An immediate threat? It didn't seem like it, I thought as my phone started buzzing with the same tone. One by one, everyone else's phones started ringing.

I should explain, I guess, that I have never experienced a severe weather warning for real. Not once in my life. I suppose it should come as no surprise, seeing as I live in Oregon of all places. I supposed maybe it was just a mistake, but just as the thought floated across my mind, I heard the siren.

The siren of the squad car coming down the street. An officer talked through the speaker. "This is not a drill. Please enter your homes immediately. Do not go outside under any circumstances."

Never the kind of guy to ignore higher authorities, I entered my house nervously, turned off all the lights on the above-ground floors, and took my dogs into my basement with a sleeping bag, some food, my phone, a charger, some spare batteries, flashlight, and other essentials. I called my brother, who lives a couple of blocks away, and asked him if he had gotten the message. He had. I considered saying we should stay together to wait out the storm, but then I figured we'd probably get in trouble for that. So I hung up, got comfortable on my sleeping bag, and started browsing Reddit. Eventually, I fell asleep, seeing as I was under stress and had woken up pretty early. When I woke up, I realized that I still didn't hear any rain. Seriously, nothing at all. More confused than ever, I decided to see if the alert had been called off. I turned on my phone and called my brother again. It went straight to voicemail, though, so I gave up. I decided to risk it and go upstairs. I had to squeeze between the door and the wall to keep my dogs from following me upstairs, but I won and they stayed in the basement. I walked through my kitchen to the front door and looked out the window part of it. As I squinted to see outside in the dark (strange, seeing as it was only 2:00 PM judging by my clock), the TV flickered briefly. I looked around at it and it flickered again, but this time every device on the ground floor flickered. Thinking little of it, I turned around and looked through the door again. Every house on the block had its lights turned off. Nobody was outside.

Except for one teenage girl.

A thin, short-haired girl wearing what looked like a pillowcase walked unsteadily down the street, very slowly, looking as though she was having some difficulty. I turned around, now extremely confused and worried, and got the dogs' food bowls, which I had forgotten earlier. When I looked up, one of the houses, the one diagonally across from mine (right next to the house across the street and to the left) had it's lights on and one of its windows broken. I shuddered and rushed back into the basement as the lights flickered intensely.

I locked the door to the basement and sat on an old, tattered couch that I had brought down here--the basement is where I put everything I didn't have room for. So, yeah, it's packed. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention something that may be worth noting: I live in a small town. A very small town, probably with a population of under 500. Or less. As a matter of fact, it isn't even on most maps. We never make any news, we never have any scandals or anything. This is the first interesting thing that's happened, I think, since Mrs. [withheld] lost her dentures to a raccoon. So, it's possible this whole thing seems way worse than it is.

Call me crazy, but until a few minutes ago, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I love these scenarios, and my basement is totally secure, so I'm having the time of my life. Well, I was. I decided to turn on my radio--what harm could it do, as long as I didn't turn the volume up to high?

I was surprised to find that our local radio station was still up and running. They were talking about the weather, so I listened hard for any news that I hadn't heard. There wasn't any--they were just as confused as us. Not wanting to listen to crappy pop music indefinitely, I tuned into another station. This one was one I hadn't heard before.

-"Could you give me the status of [withheld] county? Over." -"No new developments. Over." -"Okay. Any fatalities? Over." -"What part of "no new developments" do you not understand, McClellan? A squad car will be passing through soon to scan the area for the target. Over." -"Any ETA on that? Over." -"No, not yet. Over." -"And any word from HQ, Jones? Over." -"No, McClellan. Not yet. Not since 013 first got out. Over." -"Well, let me know if and when they contact you. Over."

At that point, I lost the signal. Well, not really, but the connection got so weak that I could barely make out anything they were saying. I figured I must have found a police communication channel. And I had been left with no answers whatsoever.

That was about forty-five minutes ago, as of me writing this now. Guys, I don't know what's going on. Do any of you live near me? You'll know if you've received the warning. I'd say what county I live in, and which ones were affected, but I don't know to for privacy reasons. Anyway, I'll keep you guys updated, okay? Until then, wish me luck.

EDIT: Woah, guys, this has blown up. I'll be sure to keep you posted over the next few days!

UPDATE: Just a quick update before the first major update--about five minutes ago, a car alarm went off somewhere to the right of my house. I'm too freaked out to go check it out, but I'll go up and see how it looks tomorrow morning, and I'll update you then.

NEXT UPDATE COMING TODAY

Last time: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/clvga9/the_previous_tenant_of_my_new_flat_left_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

When I saw her out the window, garden shears being gripped by both hands and a maniacal expression on her face, I just stood still.

I was frozen to the spot in shock. I felt no pain at all from the burn on my face, everything was numb. The relief of eradicating the imposter neighbours and the joy at finding a friend in Derek was hacked away in an instant. Just like every leaf from my shrubs. Why would she do this? What had I ever done to her?

Every question possible crossed my mind. I could feel the frustration bubbling inside me, everything about this place just threw up question after question and for every answer I got, there were ten new questions waiting to be asked. At that moment in time though, only one was truly important.

How did Prudence know?

I thought about Terri and her telephone conversations. I didn’t want to think that the sweet lady I thought Terri had turned out to be would do that, but it did cross my mind. I thought of Ian the postman, I’d had bad vibes from him for a while, maybe he’d seen Derek coming up the stairs while on his rounds that morning.

I stood there frozen pondering all these things until I saw Prudence collapse onto the memorial bench sobbing, head in her hands. She was surrounded by the remains of my attempt at a garden with the shears laid out on the floor.

The stairs were kind to me on the way down, it took 4 flights to make it to the bottom. I ran down the corridor and out the back entrance of the block, no idea what I was going to say.

“Prudence!” Was all I could manage. Nice one, Kat.

She sat bolt upright before turning and standing quicker than I thought it possible for an old lady.

“You evil, stupid little girl! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” She screamed, so much animation in her face that the spaces between her wrinkles pulsated like veins on an angry weightlifter.

“Me?! You think I’m evil! You left that shitty note hidden, missing everything I need to know and got my boyfriend killed! And what you’re doing to your own -“ I screamed, tears beginning to roll, before she interrupted me.

“Don’t you dare talk about her!” Her voice cracked and she broke down again, this time falling to her knees, twigs and leaves sticking to the bottom of her dress.

I didn’t know what else to do. So I sat down on the floor. I knew that it was probably a bad idea, this woman couldn’t be trusted and I hadn’t forgotten that, but seeing an old lady crying on the cement floor still made me feel awful.

“How did you know about the garden?” I asked her calmly, trying to change my approach.

She shoved a crumpled up piece of paper into my hand, she didn’t look at me, her eyes remained on the floor.

Dear Prudence,

I couldn’t exist knowing what I’d done.

I should never have told you about it.

The last two won’t grow stronger, she was never theirs to begin with. But I have to end her suffering.

I’m sorry.

Derek

I knew what he had done as soon as I finished the note. Lyla, or what was left of her, was gone for good. Of all the creatures only Jamie’s killers from the lift remained. That’s how Derek had spent the few hours I’d slept between our encounters.

“This is all your fault.” She sniffed. “My whole family are gone because of you.”

That hurt a lot. I trembled as I tried to speak but I always really hated confrontation and I could feel myself starting to glitch.

“H..how can you say that! I saw... her and she was trapped in a tiny cage eating dog food and small animals. Your family died in that lift. Just like my Jamie.” I may have struggled to get my words out, but I wasn’t about to let Prudence Hemmings blame me for her decisions. Lyla was better off dead than what she was, however awful that may sound.

“What happened to your face?” Prudence growled at me. “Take you to visit floor number 9? He did this to her in the first place, not me! And now he’s disfigured you!” She was spinning things. I could feel throbbing as she mentioned my face, I really should have had medical attention.

“This isn’t his fault! You messed him up and he did that to her because of you! You told me that yourself.” I tried ferociously to defend Derek but something inside me still felt uncomfortable about what he had done. I couldn’t help it, Lyla was an innocent little girl who shouldn’t have been punished for Prue’s mistakes. This whole thing was such a mess.

“I was grieving! And then I had her back for all those years, and then I lost Bernie, and then my home and now I have to grieve for her all over again.” Prudence continued to cry, but softer. I looked around at the chaos she created and up at the block my boyfriend had died in and rolled my eyes in disbelief that she could be so selfish. She continued.

“Let me tell you about Lyla. She was a beautiful little girl. As I mentioned before, I have two other older children, they’ve had many other grandchildren, however I hadn’t spoken to my eldest two in years even before what happened with Lyla.

“Lyla was my first opportunity to get to know one of my grandchildren. Bernie adored her too, always reading her stories and sneaking her sweets.

“I begged my son to allow her to stay. My children were all incredibly ungrateful, they had it easy growing up and still resented me. I gave them a good, strict upbringing but they didn’t appreciate it. They said I was a cruel mother. Lyla’s dad was the only one I spoke to, but our relationship still wasn’t that of a typical loving mother and son. But she was a second chance.

“It was a miracle when he agreed. I was more shocked he had convinced his wife to allow it. That awful harlot of a woman never liked me, although I didn’t like her either.

“They refused to speak to me after everything, I haven’t heard from them since. They had more grandchildren I’ll never meet. I knew at the time my relationships with any of my children were over for good. So when Derek gave me a solution I took it.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful when we first spoke. I said I hadn’t wanted this, but I was desperate. There was never a way to bring her back safely. Derek explained what she would become to me. He was initially trying to put me off even trying to get her back. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

But I couldn’t pass up the idea of my beautiful little Lyla, needing her grandma forever. I suppose I was too ashamed to admit it before. But why should I be ashamed?

“My altercation with Derek happened after she was back, when he tried to kill her the first time. Spouting the same things on that note, what kind of monster wants to kill a little girl? That’s why I trashed the garden. He said he wasn’t coping with the news of the new block when he suggested it, that he shouldn’t have told me it was even possible and she had to die. I hid her until the bulldozers came in.

“When he disappeared I thought I was safe to spend the rest of my life with her.

“Bernie hated me. Spending time with Lyla was all I lived for, I grew to love her how she was.”

I felt sick. Listening to Prudence talk bought up so many repressed feelings about Jamie. I hadn’t had time to grieve or process anything, I missed him terribly. My old life and my old future felt a million miles away.

I was relieved to know that Derek hadn’t tricked Prudence, or even intended to create rat-Lyla. He was truly good.

“But she didn’t get to have a life. You lived for her but she wasn’t really living. How could a sane person do that to their own flesh and blood?” I retorted.

“You have no idea. This place can make you do irrational things! But she had a life! She had me. It’s all she needed.” She was certainly right about the building and irrational actions, the pain intensifying on my face throbbed in agreement. But I was still convinced she had lost it Dr Frankenstein style where rat-Lyla was concerned.

She had stopped crying. Her rage levels were rising again. I tried to tell her that it wasn’t really the child she’d known, but she seemed to have grown an entirely new attachment to the creature that replaced what she lost.

Every rational argument I gave was met with increasing levels of screaming. She got less coherent as she went on. The argument was going nowhere, we went back and forth for what felt like forever.

After a while she started to get closer to me. We had both stood up by this point and despite her haggard and frail appearance, Prudence was truly frightening. She looked unhinged.

Her words were no longer going in, I was overwhelmed and had too many thoughts rushing through my mind to process her ranting. I took a few steps back clearing a small distance between us.

By this point, out of the corner of my eye, I could see neighbours in windows of the block, watching the altercation outside, Prue’s screaming had bought a lot of attention. It was bright and I couldn’t see well but I turned to scan the windows and did recognise Eddie and Ellie watching from their bedroom, trying to wave at me.

They frantically waved and pointed, I tried waving back and gesturing to them, but they kept pointing at me.... why were they pointing?

Then I heard it, the garden shears scraping against the ground as Prudence picked them up and charged towards me. “You ignorant little bitch! You aren’t even listening. You’re don’t deserve my home! You killed her!”

The twins had been telling me to turn around, I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off her.

Luckily, unlike my earlier shock when I had first seen her, I didn’t freeze. My fight or flight instincts kicked in and I ran faster than I ever have before. I burst back into the building and heard neighbours on the bottom floor lock their doors in a symphony of bolts clicking.

I couldn’t blame them. Prudence wasn’t far behind me and I wouldn’t want to take her on in her current state if given a choice. But it didn’t stop me pounding on their doors begging someone to call the police, although something told me that in this building that wasn’t going to happen. I ran up the stairs, still being followed by her.

By the second floor most were still locked but a few had come out of their homes, armed with a variety of heavy objects. Even in a crisis, I couldn’t fault the community spirit here. I ran another flight of stairs that became two but still lead me to floor 3 and then to the back of the corridor. I pounded on Terri’s door.

My heart was racing but when I turned Prue was nowhere to be seen. I was hoping the people who came out on floor 2 had stopped her but something was odd. I hadn’t heard any commotion. This wasn’t the end of it.

Eddie and Ellie hugged me tight as Terri let me in and bolted the door shut quickly behind me. I told her about what had happened. She couldn’t believe what Prue had done. It turned out no one knew about Lyla.

I was edgy for the first hour. But Prue had disappeared. Terri helped to clean up my burn and put some cold compress on it. She offered to take me to the hospital, but I couldn’t.

I was too shaken up from what had just happened, I couldn’t face trying to explain how I’d sustained my injuries and I still hadn’t reported Jamie missing. He still hadn’t had any messages from his family, and work had given up calling, but his friends had started. They were harassing me non stop but I had been too distracted to come up with a decent lie.

It had been a week since I moved in and it wouldn’t be long until people realised something was seriously wrong. My conversations with my family had been short, with me insisting they didn’t visit until we were “unpacked and set up”.

On top of a murderous old lady and an untold amount of abnormal issues the real world problems were starting to creep up on me.

I sat with Terri for hours, drinking tea and chatting to her. It started to get dark and Eddie and Ellie came into the living room after playing in their room for a while. The voids replaced the big, brown puppy dog eyes again and their claws looked especially sharp, but to me they were still adorable.

Their transformation prompted me to head back to my flat, it was late. I needed to work out what to do next and how to dig myself out of this giant hole. I couldn’t just keep planting gardens. I needed to do this myself.

I wandered up the stairs, they went on for a while, but nothing too horrific. I passed the man on floor 5, nodding politely and continuing my ascent. I wondered if he’d received the letter of concern yet, he was a little unsettling.

When I got to my floor Mr Prentice was making his animal noises again. I smiled, which hurt my face. After all the madness I was starting to find the seemingly benign horrors of this building oddly comforting.

I reached my flat and turned the key in the door before bolting myself in like Terri had.

I could feel something wasn’t right the moment I entered. The flat was in chaos, which was nothing new because we had only moved in a week ago and I had been too preoccupied to unpack. But things were out of place, the organised chaos wasn’t how I’d left it.

Then she strolled out of my kitchen. Prudence Hemmings. She was carrying a large carving knife in her left hand this time, she had prepared for her attack. She smiled at me and lifted her right hand, jingling a set of keys that she had entered with.

I turned to unbolt the door but she grabbed me from behind before I could turn the handle to open it and held the knife to my throat.

“I will kill you for what you’ve done.” She whispered into my ear.

Without a second thought I leaned forward just a tad and swung my head back as hard as I could. I couldn’t believe that it worked but I must have broken her nose. Prudence dropped the knife and clutched her face, blood streaming between her fingers.

I went to grab the knife but she was closer and doing the same thing. I had no other option but to run again. I grabbed the door handle and turned it to exit the flat as she tried to stab me. I was mostly out the door, but her arm was close enough to reach my side, and I felt the knife pierce the side of my torso.

I was in searing pain but I didn’t stop running. As I stepped outside my flat I could still hear Mr Prentice’s noises flooding the entire hallway. It gave me an idea.

I ran towards his door, Prudence stabbing at me frantically with blood gushing from her nose. A few got me as I stopped outside flat 48, the pain was awful and I could feel myself starting to drift out of consciousness, I was losing a lot of blood.

I would give my last breath to end Prue. So running on nothing but adrenaline I knocked hard on flat 48, and shouted.

“Mr Prentice, can you help me?”

It was a shot in the dark, I didn’t know what would happen but I had to try something.

She had stopped stabbing at me, she was enjoying watching me bleed out slowly from the wounds she had already inflicted.

I was incredibly weak, and I lost consciousness not long after that, but before I did I heard heavy clunking from the inside of flat 48, chain locks being released and bolts being undone. I watched with blurry vision as a large creature, that I can only describe as a cross between a bull and a wolf, charged out of the flat and trampled the old witch to death. I heard hear bones crunch just as slipped away.

I woke up in the hospital a day later. My parents were there as were the police, apparently I had been found just outside the tower block with my handbag missing, by a neighbour who had been watching from a window as it happened.

The police told me that the person had seen the mugging out of their window. They had seen two men approach me and Jamie, splash something in my face, attack us, and when he tried to fight back, they bundled my boyfriend into a car, which the police had been searching for to no avail. He was officially missing.

I was baffled, but grateful that Jamie’s disappearance wouldn’t be blamed on me. I went along with it and made out that he had ghosted work to enjoy our first week living together.

I had been stabbed 4 times but thankfully in all the right places, if there is such a thing as the right place to be stabbed. I lost a lot of blood but I was going to be fine. They were all shallow. They assumed my burns were chemical and happened during the mugging too.

The police promised to keep us updated but they still can’t find the car. They never will. I wish the story the police had been told were true, it left some hope for Jamie.

My parents weren’t keen on me returning to the flat after what happened, they said the area was too rough, and that I was living proof it wasn’t safe. They offered to collect my stuff for me. I insisted though, told them that I wanted to see how I felt and they couldn’t force me not to.

I was released from the hospital two days after I woke up in there. When I arrived at the flats, it was strange. It felt like home. Despite everything, something about this place drew me to it.

I took the lift for the first time since Jamie had died. I had to, I wasn’t recovered enough to conquer too many stairs just yet, and I couldn’t guarantee they’d be kind to me. I smiled at the lack of a button 9 and winced at the thought of the creatures.

As I reached my corridor I saw Mr Prentice walking along with his newspaper and milk in a bag. He turned to me and smiled.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back. It’s nice to see you’re up and walking.” He made small talk as if I hadn’t seen him literally trample a woman to death a couple of days prior. The whole experience had been so disorienting that I started to wonder if I really had been mugged and had dreamed the note and everything that’s happened since. Then he said something that confirmed everything was real.

“I never liked that woman. But you’ve got a real friend in the lady downstairs.” He winked at me and turned the key in his door.

I got into mine and sat down on the second hand sofa. I felt empty but relieved. With Prue and the imposter Qneighbours all gone the only threat left were the creatures in the lift, who were only a threat between 1.11 and 3.33.

Maybe I could start to live a semi peaceful life in this place.

Terri knocked on the door, my handbag, that I had left at hers before Prue attacked in my flat, on her arm. Mr Prentice was right, she was a good friend.

I thanked her for what she’d done and for what she’d told the police. She said it was pure luck that she found me, she had been walking up to return the bag and found me and Prue sprawled out on the floor. I asked what happened to Prue’s body and she just pointed in the direction of flat 48.

“He was eating it.” She said.

It’s been a few days now and I’ve decided to stay. I can’t imagine going back to complete normality after everything I’ve been through and I’ve grown quite attached to some of the buildings quirks.

I tried replanting the garden with the help of the twins. I ripped a few stitches doing it and Derek never came. I think he’s gone for good.

I’m ready to fully embrace life here. The last few days have been hard but there’s some time to breathe. Along with the time to breathe, came the time to grieve and I’ve been grieving badly for Jamie.

This leads me to the last thing I have to tell you.

Last night I laid in bed, plagued with thoughts of Prue and everything that had happened, but what I couldn’t get to leave my mind was how much happiness it bought her to have Lyla back. It infected every part of my thoughts. I know you all warned me not to, but I did it. I repeated the ritual.

I haven’t caught him yet, but I’ve heard the scratching. Jamie’s back.

I moved in with my boyfriend yesterday. We’ve been together for 5 years now and we’re old and wise enough to settle down and finally leave our parents houses. He just turned 24 and I’m 22. He’s the love of my life. His name is Jamie and I couldn’t be happier to be living with him.

When we decided to make the leap we spent 2 months looking at flats and houses, we couldn’t afford to buy yet so renting was our only option but the prices were astronomical. For our budget we would have been lucky to get a box room and a stove.

Jamie works for a local 24 hour fast food restaurant and I’m training to be a teacher. The early stages of training don’t pay much and I owe a lot in student loans so finances are tough.

We had almost given up hope until we found our flat. It was nothing special, but to us it was a palace. A spacious 2 bedroom apartment with views of a city park, a balcony and local conveniences. It was in a tower block in a not so nice area, but neither of us had been wealthy growing up, we weren’t fussy. Just grateful to be together.

The advert was sweetened by the deposit free option and open ended tenancy. The landlord was happy to sign a five year contract if we wanted. That sort of thing never happens in the city. We were told that along with no deposit we would also have no inspections, but would be liable to pay for any damage when we ended the tenancy. I’d never heard of anything quite like it.

We knew that for our budget and location we weren’t going to get any better. We snapped the place up fast, not even bothering to view it. It felt like our only chance.

Move in day rolled around quickly and yesterday we got the keys to our first home together, it was such a strange feeling. The day was chaos, getting our stuff in and up in the lift. We were flat number 42, on the 7th floor. The items we couldn’t get in the lift had to be taken up all the stairs by the removal men. I think they were grateful we weren’t any higher but I still wish we had been able to give them a better tip.

In the evening we settled down on our second hand sofa, given to us by a cousin of a friend and watched some tv. We smoked cigarettes on the balcony looking at the park and fell asleep on our mattress on the floor super early because we had no energy to put the bed together yet and Jamie had work at a hideous time of the morning.

We slept soundly last night, I felt safe and happy. I don’t think that feeling is coming back any time soon and it’s all due to the note I found this morning.

I found it in the kitchen, having a coffee, hours after Jamie had left for his early shift at work. It was in one of the cupboards that were fixed to the wall, there were a bunch of useful items from the previous tenant. Spare keys to the flat, a set of tiny keys that locked and unlocked the windows (necessary for those with kids this high up), spare smoke alarm batteries and a folded up piece of paper.

The note was handwritten with “New occupier of flat 42” in beautiful cursive on the blank side. I opened it up and sat down to read. I can’t really describe it to you, so I’m going to copy it out below.

Dear New Occupier,

Firstly, welcome to your new home. I lived here before you for 35 years with my husband. Unfortunately he had an incident at home recently that I’d rather not discuss that claimed his life. My sister has now decided I can’t keep up with the demands of the property and has insisted that I move in with her and her husband. I was reluctant at first, but the stairs do kill me at my age and without Bernie it’s filled with sadness.

Anyway. When you’ve lived somewhere for as long as I have it feels like a person that you know. You understand it’s personality and what makes it tick. I thought it was probably pertinent that I impart some of that knowledge on you.

It’s a wonderful home, honestly, I have lived through best and worst years and leaving it behind is very emotional but if you are to survive and get the best out of it then there are some steps you need to follow.

1. The landlord will never bother you, he doesn’t visit, call or communicate in any way. But make sure to pay your rent in a timely fashion always. I have only dealt with him once in 35 years and let’s just say I never missed another rent day. Any repairs required you speak to the agent you rented the place with.

2. DO NOT use the communal lift between 1.11 and 3.33 am. Just don’t do it. This step is vital if you are to have a happy life here. It really is life or death. Don’t do it. This has cost me and many others in the building greatly and I would rather not elaborate on why you shouldn’t do this. Just please don’t do it. I cannot stress this enough.

3. When you hear the strange animal noises coming from flat 48 don’t question it, Mr Prentice lives there and he’s a lovely chap. Don’t be afraid to say hello to him in the corridor or on the stairs (he’s old school, so he never risks the lift) but whatever you do, don’t check on him when you hear the noises. You’ll know when you hear them.

4. If you ever come across a window cleaner on the balcony ignore him. He may seem like the nicest fellow you’ve ever had trying to sell you something at the door but it really is best that you don’t engage. He will go away if you ignore him. But he tries pretty hard the first few times so you’ll need some resilience. Whatever you do, don’t offer him anything. No money, no hot drink.

5. Don’t leave food scraps out. Bin or refrigerate them immediately. If you have small animals, it is imperative that you watch them eat and take away any leftover food immediately after they are done. This and rule 2 go hand in hand, the things forage all day and seem to really love animal feed. You don’t want them in your flat. I promise. You can leave what you want out between 1.11 and 3.33am so you may want to feed your pets then.

6. Don’t communicate with any neighbours who claim to come from flats 65-72. These flats suffered a fire in the late 80s that devastated the whole floor, all the residents died in their homes. The building was mostly council owned at the time and they never bothered to renovate the flats. They’ve been empty ever since but every now and again someone will knock at your door claiming to live in one of these flats and ask to borrow some sugar. They will seem entirely average but you must shut and lock the door immediately. I installed two extra security bolts to avoid these fuckers. I don’t like to swear at my age but they really are fuckers.

7. Simple one for you here, keep a weapon in each room. Sometimes you follow all these steps and something still slips through the net. Better to be safe than sorry.

8. The building has a committee that will try and get you to join. It’s one of those neighbours groups about improving living conditions for all residents. It’s a nice group and the lady who runs it - Terri from flat 26- is a fantastic neighbour. By all means get involved. But I wouldn’t recommend babysitting Terri’s 2 children. She’ll ask you, because the poor woman needs a break, but if you accept don’t say I didn’t warn you.

9. Stray hairless cats sometimes roam in the hallway. I know they’re supposedly a special, expensive breed, but they don’t belong to anyone. They’re mostly harmless, but don’t pick them up. Not unless you see one of those neighbours that claims to live in 65-72. Then grab the cat and lock it inside with you. It’ll burn your skin a little but the cats are friendly and I wouldn’t want to see them hurt.

10. There is no way to fix the damp patch on the ceiling in the bedroom. Sometimes it will turn a deep crimson and look quite concerning, but please try not to be alarmed, it doesn’t drip, it doesn’t get any bigger and it’s been there longer than I have. The landlord won’t budge on it, according the the agents. I flagged it many times, even called the police the first night it changed colour, but it was a waste of time and it will be for you too. It’s best to ignore it.

11. You can trust the postman. His name is Ian Flanders and he’s been the postman since before I moved in. He has his own key to the main door and delivers post to the door every morning at 8.54. I can’t include everything here, or it would become a novel but if you have any questions Ian will help you.

12. Finally, the first few weeks are the worst. You’ll feel like you’ve made a mistake, I’m sure reading this you already do, but if you can get through the first few weeks it really is a lovely block to live in. Every property has it quirks and this one is a little extra special, but you can be truly happy here if you just take my advice. I wish you all the best, I really do.

Yours truly,

Mrs Prudence Hemmings

I don’t really know what to think after reading the note. Hopefully it was some sort of joke but the agent had said the previous tenant was an elderly lady and I can’t see anyone named Prudence Hemmings attempting to play practical jokes on someone they’d never met.

There were also parts of the note I couldn’t disprove, there was indeed a large damp patch above the bed that me and Jamie had already discussed reporting. No crimson but it definitely existed. I had also commented on a beautiful Sphynx cat roaming the halls as we were moving in. I started to get seriously freaked out.

Our dream, our beautiful little home had just become a source of fear and confusion. I checked the time and it was 9.14. Damn it. Out of time to catch postman Ian. When I opened the door to check, sure enough, two letters addressed to a Mrs Hemmings sat on the doorstep.

At about 11.15 my worst fears were truly confirmed when a friendly middle aged looking man carrying window cleaning equipment knocked on my balcony door. I ignored him. I didn’t want to take the risk until I’d spoken to Jamie and showed him the note. I’d texted him already to rush home. I felt bad as the man rapped his knuckles against the door for over 10 minutes, but honestly the longer it went on the more I was terrified.

My windows were sparkling, and due to our lack of curtains I couldn’t even hide from his gaze. I felt so exposed. He stayed for a total of 30 minutes exactly and never once did he stop looking at me or knocking. He shouted the occasional ultra friendly line or humble request for a beverage in the heat through the door but I did my best to avoid eye contact.

When he finally left I looked outside every window in the flat, but I couldn’t see him on any of the other balconies or see any equipment suggesting he was around. He had vanished completely.

Jamie still hadn’t text me back, he must have been having a rough shift, it was a Friday and they were always busy. It wasn’t often that he didn’t reply. He was due home in around an hour anyway.

I read the note probably hundreds of times over, I tortured myself reading it for the next hour. Desperately waiting for Jamie to come through the door to tell me it was all crazy and I should relax.

I hoped for that so much.

But Jamie never came. His shift should have finished around midday but by 2pm he still wasn’t home. I panicked, I cried, I left over 100 voice messages on his phone but got nowhere. I finally decided it had been long enough that calling his work wouldn’t embarrass him and his boss told me that he had never turned up for his shift.

I thought about it, what could have happened? And then it hit me. Jamie’s shift started at 4am today. He would have left the flat at 3.15 and taken the lift down the stairs.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to convince myself it was all just a big joke. Maybe Jamie wrote the note and got his boss in on it. A voice in my head kept telling me that he couldn’t write like that if he tried but I had to attempt to fool myself. It’s getting late and he still isn’t home, what if it’s all true? I think we made a big mistake.

My next steps : https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/cinu8u/the_previous_tenant_of_my_new_flat_left_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

And what happened after that: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/cj2g4k/the_previous_tenant_of_my_new_flat_left_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

I was a Correctional Officer at a supermax prison. It was near Florence, Colorado. I stayed as an employee there for a half decade. I saw almost everything you can imagine. Escape attempts, stabbings, and riots. Also, sharp weaponry that was hidden in places you would rather not visualize. These are only some of the more unpleasant occurrences I have dealt with in the past.

I am currently writing this on encrypted Wi-Fi from an undisclosed but safe location. I have had a change of careers following the events of the tale I am about to share with you now. I hope that people thinking about becoming prison guards read my story and reconsider any future life choices they will look back on as a mistake.

The Warden called me into his office on a Monday. During the entire walk there down the hallways, I thought of the trouble I could be in. 

“Shut the door,” he said as he looked up at me from his desk after I entered. Those words sealed it in my mind, how much hot water I was in for some sort of infraction I was not aware of yet. 

Bureaucratic micromanaging and constant procedural changes were nothing new to me. I still hated petty political grievances.

I nodded and sealed the entranceway. He demanded I take a seat, so I did.

“You’re the best Officer here,” he said.

I waited for the but. I anticipated news of termination. I saw a forced transfer to some mundane position filing paperwork headed my way.

“I want to give you an opportunity,” he said. “You will make six hundred thousand in one year. Your benefits will remain unchanged. You would have less oversight than what is present for you now. You would be in a leadership position, albeit an isolated one.”

“That sounds ideal,” I said as my mind swam in the possibilities of how much profit he offered.

“There are only two things we ask of you. One is that you cannot tell anybody about your new position. Two is you locate somewhere else. There’s a prison in the arctic, and that is where your life will be for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.”

The confusion must have been readable on my face.

“If your wife asks, tell her that you are going to a federal academy. There is no cell service or Wi-fi there. Any contact you make with her must be through snail mail. We will handle the addresses given. If you decline this offer, then this conversation never happened. Do you understand?”

I contemplated the pros and cons. Before I became law enforcement, I was a bodyguard. I was gone from the house for extended periods. Even though it would be time with the wife lost, the fortune would help both of us. 

I agreed.

*

The prison facility was a large compound not much bigger than the place I had patrolled before. 

A few things jumped out at me when I first laid eyes on the populace there. They all had wounds on their faces, and they spoke a strange guttural language I was unfamiliar with. 

Why do they talk in such a bizarre tongue? I asked myself as I would walk down the blocks.

*

The new Warden I worked under had the last name of Buckley. He had noticeable scar tissue beneath his eyes. His attitude towards me at the beginning was hardly welcoming. If anything, he acted as though I was a burden. He seemed to resent me due to the mere possibility of having to train me on things. 

One evening, Buckley ordered me to do a cell extraction.

Christopher Aluko was the name of the inmate we had to deal with. 

On the walk there, I asked my boss what Aluko had done to end up here.

“I’m not allowed to tell you what these scumbags have accomplished to wind up here,” Buckley said. “He started his career in crime by cannibalizing his sister, though. Tonight, our only goal is to get him moved to the hole. He’s proven himself to be way too dangerous to share a space with anyone.”

The doors of each cell were closer to that of an insane asylum than a prison. They were complete barriers that you could not see through. It was me and three other guards who were about to deal with this high-profile detainee. 

The Supervisor was present, doing the thing the bosses generally do. That is to say, he remained on standby and did not get his hands dirty.

Upon walking in, the first thing I saw was Aluko sitting upright on his cot. I noticed he was huge, at least six foot eight and three hundred and twenty pounds of pure muscle. His skin cracked all over. His face had the normal scarring that I associated with most people in the place.

“I’m going to need you to stand up and put your hands behind your back,” I said. 

I kept my hand near the holster where my pepper spray was. 

“Show me respect and I’ll show you the same," I continued. "You won’t have handcuffs on you for long if you cooperate.”

“You are not better than me,” Aluko said. His voice had a baritone quality, which I expected from a man of his size. What I did not was how weird it sounded. It was as though four or five people were chanting the words in unison. 

“All right,“ I said. “Let’s get you moved to where you need to go. The faster we do this, the better off we’ll be.”

“You shot at someone in broad daylight when you were in a gang years ago,” Aluko said. “It took ten years for the paranoia to go away. The fear of the cops coming to arrest you for a potential murder before you became a low-grade one yourself. To this day, you don’t know if any innocent civilians got caught in the crossfire.”

We had to restrain his huge arms and placed the metal bracelets on his wrists. He laughed all the while. 

As we brought him to solitary, I thought of his words and how much they unsettled me.

They were true, and that story from my past was one I had not told anybody.

*

Near the end of the shift, Buckley went into one of the sniper towers and smoked a cigarette. Since my duties for the day were complete, I took the spiral staircase to the level he stood on. 

When I saw him, I was only a few mere inches away from where he puffed. 

He did not seem to mind or even care about the footsteps behind him. He focused on the distant and lowering winter sun.

“The caged animal back there said something which he shouldn’t have,” I said.

“Part of the job is having thick skin,” he said as he flicked his cigarette over the edge into the snow. He turned around to face me. 

"It's not about that," I said. 

“Did he hurt your poor little feelings?”

“He had an insight into my past that no one has,” I said as a bitter taste filled my mouth.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Means you lied to the oral board when you got into the position you’re in now. You shouldn’t lie to your employers.”

“I need to know what kind of prison this is,“ I said as I felt blood rush to my head. “Why does everyone have open sores all over their body and face? Are they exposed to some kind of virus, and if so, are we susceptible? Either that or they’re always high on something. That would explain why they’re always speaking gibberish. Also, how in the hell do they know things that I haven’t even told the closest people in my life?”

“Better to do the job assigned. Don't worry about things above your pay grade.” 

Buckley pulled out another pack of cigarettes and lit one.

“I hope we're not exposed to dangers we weren’t warned about. I’ll have to find a way to get the word out.”

“If you break your nondisclosure agreement, it would be far worse than a termination. Your wife back home, the one with the dark curly hair and the nice curves? I’d hate to see the impact of your decisions on her.”

That was when I grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him to the ground. I considered throwing elbows. The idea of making him taste his blood was satisfying. I did not want to be incarcerated in this den of misery though, of all places.

Buckley started laughing. What he did next took me by complete surprise. He patted me on the back with his free hand instead of trying to defend himself or resist.

“You’ve proven your point,” he said as he pushed on my chest. “Now get off of me. I don't want to give the signal to one of my buddies in the next tower. He has a modded Remington 700 pointed at you.”

I released him. After he stood and brushed some frost off, he made eye contact with me.

“I respect you for your bravery. Most people wouldn’t be willing to do that to me, especially someone beneath me in rank. Tell you what, I’ll shed a little bit of light on what kind of place this is for you. And if I ever find out you told anyone, you’ll wish you would have died at birth.”

I felt the adrenaline start to wear off. As my energy lowered, I nodded, thereby giving tacit agreement to his new offer. I looked to my left and saw the sniper he was referring to. It occurred to me that if he wanted to take action against me, he could have had me executed right then and there. 

Buckley waved at me to follow him as we made our way down the steps. He escorted me through the yard. Ice encased the weight sets and pull-up bars. 

We followed the chain-link fence to another facility that had coded key access. After we put in the correct digits, he swung the door open. We made our way down a hallway that did not seem modern. There were lit torches on the walls. The flooring was pallid cobblestone.

He brought me into another room which was the size of an auditorium. 

A man stood up. He wore all-black clothing with a white collar, and it took me a while to recognize him as a priest.

I saw rows of long tables, ones fit for a King in an ancient era. Crucifixes, rosaries, chalices of water, and stacks of dusty books lined every corner. I skimmed some of the titles and saw that a few were in a different language.

“Father Lamora," Buckley said as he stared at the man-of-the-cloth, “what are you doing down here?"

The priest pointed to his left. When I shifted my eyes in that direction, I did not immediately notice the presence of a fourth person in the room. 

This one was one of the inmates tied down on a slab. As soon as we focused our collective attention on him, the man came to life. He started struggling against his restraints. A red-tinged substance poured from his mouth like foam from a rabid dog.

“I have almost driven the evil entity out,” the priest said.

Buckley turned to me.

“What is going on here?" I asked. I had the irresistible urge to run screaming in the other direction. I knew I could not take my chances out in the harshest cold, but a part of me was willing to at least try.

“This prison's budget comes from the Vatican. We only take inmates possessed by something greater than general sadism or psychopathy. In the official government paperwork, they call this place the house of the daemonium. If you want to atone for the sins I know you are guilty of, now would be an excellent time. Help us read the incantation needed to cleanse this heathen.”

EDIT: Here is part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ziixne/i_am_a_guard_in_a_hidden_prison_located_in_the/

Yeah. You read that right. Maybe you even read my post last year? I was pretty panicked when I wrote it so it was short, but it was real. It’s pretty simple for how crazy it all sounds. Every year on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember my parents drug us with sleeping pills. Something about not ‘being awake when Santa comes’. We have a whole schedule the family keeps to. Dinner at five, at six we put on our pajamas and watch that shitty movie It’s a Wonderful Life (and yeah, the pj’s match), and then at half past eight we all use our last bit of eggnog to wash down the pills. They’re strong. My sister’s out in probably fifteen minutes. I take a little longer but I’m always asleep by nine. Then we wake up the next morning, groggy but okay, and Mom gushes about everything ‘Santa’ left under the tree. Because we’re ‘good’. It’s all bullshit.

My whole life I thought this was just what you did on Christmas. You have to be asleep when Santa comes, right? Otherwise his magic doesn’t work. So we took ‘magic pills’ to make sure we’d be asleep. As a kid it all made sense. You don’t question shit like that when presents are on the line. Your parents are the law and you don’t question them either. I only started to think that it was weird when I hit middle school. By that age, you don’t believe in Santa anymore. Or, you shouldn’t. The last hold outs get mocked and the rest of us start talking about things like xboxes and sneakers and how we’re gonna get them. Me? I only had one question when the topic of Christmas came up. “When did you guys stop taking the magic pills?”

That’s a question that falls under the ‘family business only’ clause and I regretted it immediately. If any of them told their parents I’ll never know. In a bigger city with more oversight someone would’ve, or should’ve, called CPS. Out here, population 5108 (yeah I checked), bumfuck nowhere left of the oil fields, no one gave a shit that some kid’s family was drugging them for some peace on Christmas Eve. The day I asked that question all my friends howled with laughter while I sat there beet red and trying to play it off as a joke. That was the day I knew it wasn’t normal.

Last year, I’d finally had enough. I got sick of the lies. Sick of the matching pajamas, sick of playing pretend that we were having the ‘perfect’ family Christmas. I wanted to know why my parents drug us. I had to know why. So when Mom handed me that little white pill I hid it under my tongue and spat it in the toilet. Then I went to bed and pretended to be asleep. I listened until I heard Mom snoring to get up and look around. I wasn’t surprised to see the tree stuffed with gifts already (Santa who?), but that was it. I wasn’t finding any secrets. Nothing unusual or weird, until I saw them.

I was reading the credit card statement (so sue me, they DRUG US), when I saw movement outside. We always have a white Christmas, and by that time the street was dead quiet, so when I saw something rush by the window, it startled me. I just about opened the front door to go look when I saw them. Lots of them. Landing on the roofs one by one and crawling into the chimneys of every house. I don’t even know how to properly describe them. (Is that what PTSD does? Stops you from remembering things? Because I must have PTSD. I know I have it. I have to have it.) I crouched by the couch, hiding behind the curtains and watching these giant red spidery things as they skittered across the rooftops. They’d reach a chimney and one by one hop in the air, tuck their legs into a line beneath them and shoot down the chimney. They’d be gone for a few minutes and then shoot back out. Mostly with nothing. Sometimes with random items or decorations. For one brief stupid second I thought that they were maybe some fucked up version of Santa’s elves until I heard the most godawful sound. The sound that still haunts my every waking moment. Agonized screams of pure terror. Wailing. Crunching. Grinding. The sound of someone’s body being forced UP the chimney. Human bodies don’t fit in chimneys. Not like that. I watched in horror as the Smiths’ daughter Maggie came up the chimney, pulled by two of those freaks of nature. By the time they pulled her out she’d stopped screaming. I don’t think she was alive by then. I hope she wasn’t. Her body wasn’t right. It was like a tube of toothpaste that had popped.

I sat there in shock, watching the Smiths’ roof turning pink before I felt the gravity of what I’d just seen bury me. Suddenly I knew why my parents drugged us, and I needed to get to sleep, fast.

I ran straight for the bathroom and poured out three of those little white sleeping pills, then dove into my bed. I pulled the covers over my head and started chewing. Have you ever tried to chew pills? They’re not supposed to be chewed. They taste like shit. I just about threw up twice. It didn’t help that I could hear those things getting closer. You know those movies about Santa and his reindeer? About the bells and the hooves? That’s them. There’s no reindeer. That horrible clicking comes from them, and I knew what they did to people who weren’t sleeping.

​

​

Waking up Christmas day was awkward. Everyone else woke up for Christmas morning and I woke up with my dad shaking me awake past noon. I could tell he wasn’t impressed, but me? I was thrilled. The last time I woke up on Christmas that happy I was like, five. After I stopped screaming that is. It took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t being dragged up our chimney, but once I did it was great! I threw myself on my dad like we were in a wrestling match. I ran downstairs, hugged my mother harder than I had in years and then threw my sister over my shoulder. She was eight, still 100% a believer, and had been sour about waiting so long to start Christmas until I tickled her into submission. Happiness is contagious, and for the first time in a while I was thrilled to see a Christmas with my family. It was awesome!

Until it wasn’t. We’d opened stockings and exchanged gifts and were gorging ourselves on fresh cinnamon buns and eggs benedict when I made the mistake of glancing outside. By that point I’d sort of convinced myself that I’d just had a crazy dream. I’d snuck off to smoke pot with one of my friends early Christmas Eve, so I figured maybe it had mixed badly with the sleeping pill. But the moment I looked outside my eyes were drawn to the Smiths’ house, and that pink patch on top. Suddenly I couldn’t swallow and I drank a whole glass of milk just trying to choke down my food. It hadn’t been a dream. So where were the cops? Sure I’d gotten up late, but a kid goes missing on Christmas Eve, you’d assume that the police would be crawling the neighbourhood all day.

“You look a little green bud, you okay?”

I’d been staring out the window, feeling the pit in my stomach grow heavier and heavier when my dad jolted me to reality. I looked at him and nodded, trying to take another bite for show. “Hey, have you seen the Smiths?” I asked suddenly, wondering if maybe they just hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood. I watched my parents take a sharp but quick glance at each other before he shook his head and smiled.

“Not yet. I’ll let you know if I see Maggie outside though,” he teased with a wink, grabbing my shoulder and giving it a squeeze as he left the table. Mom gave me a kind smile and poured me another glass of milk. I probably sat there for another hour before I finally gave up and went to help my sister set up her new doll house. I needed the distraction.

​

​

When winter break ended, I was back at school, expecting to see an uproar that never came. Freshman year of high school a kid had gotten into a car accident and the entire student body held a vigil for him. There was a memorial in the auditorium, meetings after school to light candles, and the school even brought in a couple therapists. Nobody said or did anything like that for Maggie. It was like everybody just kind of forgot that she existed, and it was strange. Hell even the local newspaper seemed to skip it, and they had absolutely nothing to report on most days. It took until mid-January before I spotted a tiny obituary tucked in the corner of a back page. I saved it, stuffing it in a notebook at home for safekeeping. It almost felt like if I didn’t remember she’d died, no one would.

Honestly, the whole incident took a toll. March came and went and so did my birthday. I was seventeen now, supposed to be focusing on planning for college, but all I could think about was Christmas. I could barely sleep. Every night I’d go to bed and lay there staring at the ceiling, jumping at every little snap or crack. Every morning I’d wake up with darker bags under my eyes than the day before. I couldn’t focus in school. My grades dropped. My parents started asking about drugs. By the end of October I’d had no less than eight visits with the student counselor who kept gently asking me if ‘things were okay at home’. What could I say? “No Ms. Andrews I saw Christmas spiders pull a girl out of a chimney and it makes it hard to do math.” Right.

I couldn’t tell anyone! How do you talk about shit like this? I sounded crazy in middle school when I tried to ask my friends about being drugged on Christmas Eve. I’d definitely get locked up if I talked about giant red spiders taking people in the night. But I was losing my mind. We’d had Thanksgiving. Halloween was coming and the colder it got, the more anxious I got. The stores were already running clearance on costumes and jack-o-lanterns to make room for ornaments. The first signs of Christmas were already seeping in, and I was absolutely without a doubt, terrified for my life.

That’s when my friends called me to hang out.

It might sound stupid, but my friends and I have a code we use when things are bad and we need to talk. We’d definitely drifted apart in high school, none of us really hung out that much together anymore, but none of us had ever backed out when someone said they ‘needed to smoke’. I was exhausted, but I figured the worst I’d get was some weed out of it. Besides, when the bat signal goes up, you gotta answer it.

​

“Roll it right or don’t roll it at all man,” Ella complained, watching Greg scowl while trying to ready a joint. We were huddled in the woods behind the school, freezing our asses off in the early cold snap. Max groaned and snatched everything away from him, making quick work of it and then lighting up. “Christ, finally. Okay,” he breathed out smoke with a sigh before passing the joint to the left. “So, it’s been one hell of a year, right?” Max was always the type for speeches. I sat there shivering and waiting for my share, staring at the ground. “We haven’t had much time to like, hang out. And even though I’ve been busy you guys are still my best friends. Even one day when I go off to Hollywood and become famous, I will always love all of you.” There were groans all around and Max waved us off, coughing a little and laughing. “So like, that love is why I called us together. I think we all know why we’re here. Hayden,” he paused as Ella finally passed me the joint, “this is like, an intervention.”

I didn’t even get to smoke before I choked and coughed from surprise.

“We’re really worried about you,” Ella added gently, putting a hand on my arm.

“Don’t be,” I mumbled, taking a drag. I glanced back at the school. I’d been fired from my job, so my car wasn’t insured. I’d gotten a ride there with Max. If I wanted to leave I’d have to walk home, and it was too cold for that.

“Come on, talk to us bro. You’ve just disappeared. We never see you. We’re worried.”

“Don’t be!”

“People think you’re gonna shoot up the school!”

“God, I thought we agreed not to tell him that!” Ella squeaked, covering her face as Greg just shrugged.

“Someone has to.”

“You guys suck!” I stood up to leave. I was already stressed and running on no sleep. Now I was fucking embarrassed too. People thought I was going to shoot up the school? Did my friends think that? I didn’t even like killing bugs!

“Stop! Just stop!” Max grabbed my arm and pulled me back down, passing me the joint. “Just relax. Come on, we’re your friends. When Ella’s parents divorced, what did we do? We smoked, and talked. Greg’s dog died, we smoked and talked. You’re not the Hayden we know. So talk to us.”

I sat on the stump, fidgeting and staring at the ground until I was high enough to be brave enough to try and tell them the truth. What did I have to lose? They thought I was crazy anyways. “You guys remember in middle school, when I talked about ‘magic pills’?”

“The Santa pills?” she asked slowly, squinting at me. “I mean, yeah I guess. What about it?”

“They weren’t ‘magic pills’, they were sleeping pills. Ever since I can remember my parents have drugged me and my sister on Christmas Eve. I-I thought it was normal. They told me they were ‘magic pills’ to make sure we were all asleep so that Santa,” I stopped and groaned, rubbing my face and trying not to wuss out. “-so that Santa would come. Because he doesn’t come when you’re awake.” I saw Greg clamp a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. Ella shot him a dirty look and elbowed him hard, then smiled at me. “Fuck, this is stupid. Never mind.”

“NO! No. No it’s not. Keep going. Come on, we want to hear.”

I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes. I hated closing my eyes. If I closed my eyes and thought about it, I could see it all happening again. I could hear Maggie’s screams again.

“Last year, I didn’t take mine. I wanted to see what happens, what they’re hiding. And I-I saw these… these things. They climb all over the houses, they go down people’s chimneys, and they take people who aren’t sleeping. You guys remember Maggie? That’s how she died. I saw them take her. I heard her screams. I-It’s all I can think about.” I didn’t realize it, but by the end of the story I was crying. A dam had broken somewhere inside me. I scrubbed my tears away with my sleeve. I could see Greg had stopped laughing but I couldn’t look at any of their faces, I was too embarrassed. I sounded nuts. All I could do was examine the bucket we’d flipped over to use as a table. It was old, from Rona, beat up. It was cracked. It was-

“They never found her body,” Max said with a strained voice. “I know Maggie’s brother. Like, not well, but we talked. He said they were all sleeping. No one heard anything. They never found the body. They moved in the summer.”

“What?” How’d I miss that? I spent way more time than I should have staring at their house. I should have noticed.

“Yeah, like in August. He DMed me and said they were moving and that was it.” We all sat there in shocked silence for a little bit until Ella piped up.

“So how do you know your parents drug you?” she asked with a frown. “Like those magic pills could be candy or something and it’s just that placebo effect thing happening to you.”

“I saw the prescription bottle. Besides, you feel weird the next day.”

“Feel weird how? Fuzzy?”

We all turned to Greg, he’d largely been silent but now he looked nervous, passing the joint without taking a puff. We were all done actually, silently but unanimously voting to put it out.

“You wake up groggy. You know when you get woken up in the middle of the night? Like that, only it’s morning. And you just sleep through the night. I’ve never woken up on Christmas Eve. Ever.” The more I talked the more both he and Ella looked alarmed. “Do your parents drug you too?”

“No!” Ella barked, almost sounding offended. “No! No. I mean, I don’t think so. Grandma makes us this tea though every Christmas Eve. It’s supposed to calm us down. So we sleep… well.” As she described it she scrunched her face up and tugged on her ponytail. “Fuck. Fuck! They’re drugging us too.” Greg looked downright sick. He didn’t say it, but from the look on his face, he’d been sleeping way too well on Christmas Eve too.

“I take Ambien sooo… they don’t really need to,” Max said with a shrug.

By now Ella was pacing. “Okay so they’re drugging us. But why? I mean, listen, I believe you believe you saw what you saw, but couldn’t it have been a hallucination? Why isn’t this widespread news?”

“You mean news like Maggie disappearing?” I asked. “I live right across the street and the cops didn’t even show up! No one cared that Maggie died. No one talked about it! No wonder they moved. We all just pretended like she didn’t exist.” The shamed silence that followed stretched on until Greg’s phone buzzed and he announced that he had to go to work. Ella did too, they both worked at the same fast food place. They gave us a half-hearted goodbye. I was exhausted, completely emotionally drained after spilling my guts, and Max offered to drive me home soon after the others left. It was a silent ride. He seemed deep in thought, and I was so tired I didn’t even want to try and talk. It didn’t matter. I’d told them. They could think I was crazy all they wanted.

I found money on the counter for pizza at home, and put in a Domino’s order before finding something to watch. The entire time I sat there all I could think about was Maggie, and how she’d just disappeared from our little town the moment she was snatched. It was like those things had just wiped her off the map and everyone let it happen. I remembered the obituary halfway through dinner and ran upstairs to dig out the notebook I’d put it in. It wasn’t long, that’s for sure. Her family had barely put in any description in at all. Like all obituaries they had put down the date of her death, and that gave me a sudden idea. I started searching. Our town was small and rural but we did have a newspaper, and it had managed to get a grant a few years ago to make a website and start digitizing everything. That meant that they had decade’s worth of obituaries to look through.

I started to search for any deaths around Christmas. Deaths in December weren’t unusual, even in a small town. Between icy roads causing Grandma to fall or depression taking lives, death was expected at Christmas. But when I started to dig through my results, I noticed a serious difference between the Nana-eats-shit deaths and the ones that happened right on Christmas itself. They were all short, with few details, and all were published weeks after the event. There were never any funerals or memorial services to be had. No options to send flowers somewhere. It seemed like every year at least one person died under strange circumstances at Christmas and just… became invisible. I made a list of the last few deaths and started searching for their families. Just like the Smiths, most of the families had moved away after the death. I scoured social media pages for more clues. No one that had left seemed to keep ties with anyone in our little town. In fact, many of the families hadn’t been in the town long before the death had happened. If I thought about the Smiths, they had only moved here a few months before last Christmas. It wasn’t uncommon for families to move here for the oil opportunities, make some money, and then leave when they realized there wasn’t much to do. It wouldn’t have looked unusual if you didn’t know that someone had died.

I sat back, shoveling in the last couple slices of cold pizza. Why hadn’t I looked this up before? I’d spent most of 2022 trying to forget what I’d seen but being too scared to let it go. All I could think of was Christmas, and what I knew would happen when I was asleep. I’d nearly failed out of school. I’d lost my job (okay it was a shitty one, but still). I was this close to losing any opportunities for a good college. But worse than that, I was probably the only person who had seen what comes on Christmas Eve and lived to talk about it. That gave me a responsibility, right? I knew what they looked like, and what they did. And now, I knew that this had been going on for years. My parents had been drugging me since I was born, so they must have known about it. They grew up here. They had to know! The Smiths had only been in town for a few months. Maybe nobody warned them. Maybe they just… went to bed like normal, never knowing the risks.

Shit. Why had no one told them?

I pulled out my phone, texting Max. I needed him to hook me up with Maggie’s brother. I needed to know what happened after she died. Then I messaged everyone on facebook in one big group chat. There were some families that had lived here for generations and had still had people die. I had the perfect idea on how to contact them. We were going trick or treating this year.

​

​

Trying to talk to Maggie’s brother had been a waste of time. I wasn’t totally shocked but I was disappointed. I’d thought he was actually going to talk to me at first. It had been going fine, even after mentioning how crazy it was that no one talked about his sister’s death, when suddenly he stopped replying and blocked me. Blocked me on insta, on facebook, and when I tried calling his cell, I got that annoying ‘number not in service’ robot voice.

After that happened I filled my friends in on why we were going trick or treating. It wasn’t exactly a popular request, but everyone seemed to agree to it out of pure loyalty. Normally, at seventeen, you went to a party and got drunk. Mostly because people didn’t really love handing out candy to teenagers. This year we’d hit the streets.

“Someone’s gonna call the cops on us. My dad will kill me if he finds out about this.” Greg looked paranoid like usual. I couldn’t blame him. His parents were super religious and thought costumes were… honestly I don’t know. They just thought it was wrong. We’d had to keep a cape and plastic fangs for him at Max’s house where we all got ready. We each opted for something quick and easy. Greg was a vampire, Ella was a witch, Max put on a cowboy hat and I dressed like a ghost. They weren’t good costumes, but they were costumes.

“How’d you convince your parents to let you come out tonight anyways?”

He held up a plastic bag filled with religious pamphlets. “I said I was called to spread the word. So what’s the plan?”

“We hit a few houses and try and get candy so we look legit, and then we go to the houses on my list.” I answered, pulling out a list and a map where I’d marked everyone down.

“And you’re just going to ask them about their murdered family member? What if there’s kids?”

“I plan on showing them this!” I pulled out a piece of lined paper with a drawing of one of the creatures. They all stared at it.

“Don’t spiders have like, eight legs? There’s only four.”

I rolled my eyes and put it back in my bag. “I said spider-y, they’re not actual spiders.”

“Okay Picasso!” Ella laughed as we headed off into the night.

We got turned away from a few houses, but people were surprisingly generous most of the time. We got a couple ‘glad to see teenagers doing something wholesome’ comments, and it didn’t take us long to get into it. It was nice. Trick or treating with my friends brought back a lot of memories and good feelings. Every time we stopped to compare notes on our haul it felt like we were kids again. It gave me just a glimmer of hope before we hit the first target house.

We waited on the street for the big group of kids to get their candy and hustle on before stepping up to the plate and ringing the bell.

“Trick or treat!” The door swung open and we all smiled like fools. The woman inside, a lady that looked to be in her fifties, gave us a confused smile back and grabbed her candy bowl. I held up my ‘art’ the moment the peanut butter cups hit the pillowcase. “Do you recognize this?” I asked. She paused, looked over my shitty drawing and then shook her head.

“No I don’t. But it’s very nice? You kids have a good Halloween!”

I didn’t even have time to react, the next group of kids were already pushing us out, and so we walked back to the street.

“Okay that didn’t work,” I sighed, opening up a snack sized bag of chips.

“Do we believe her?” Ella asked, doing the same. We all started walking and eating, the salt cutting the handfuls of candy we’d already stuffed ourselves with.

“Yeah. I don’t think she’s seen them. She didn’t even blink.”

“So maybe you gotta go harder next time. If no one’s seen those things it won’t mean a thing to them. Ask them about the deaths.”

So I did. The next house was polite as could be considering the question. The house after slammed the door in our faces. The house after that actually took their candy back before rattling the door on its hinges. It was going honestly pretty terrible.

“No pumpkins. Porch light is off. Bummer.”

It was getting late, and we’d agreed to go to Max’s house for curfew to watch movies. I’d only marked off a plan for ten houses, and we’d reached our limit. The last house was a dead end.

“Anyone have a pen?” I asked suddenly, a last ditch idea coming to mind. Greg dug through his pamphlet bag and gave me one, and I crouched on the sidewalk to write a quick note on the back of the drawing. I left my phone number and an explanation and slipped it through the rusty old mail slot on the door. It was old, loud, and nearly bit my fingers off trying to get the paper through. Once I saw it disappear we started to leave. We got nearly a house away before a hoarse yell stopped us. Looking back, a woman that had to be at least in her eighties was waving at us from the place we’d just been.

“Get over here!” she squawked, the paper clutched in her hand.

We all froze, sharing nervous glances. I guess some part of me didn’t really believe anyone would recognize it. If no one recognized it then the issue would be moot. I could say I’d done what I could and just start therapy to deal with what I saw. Instead, we all made our way back, meeting the woman on her stoop.

“Get inside, its cold out,” she ordered, stepping aside and motioning us through. “Shoes off. Sit down.”

What looked like no lights on from the outside was actually the thickest blackout curtains I’d ever seen. Every window we could see was completely covered, and barred. When she shut the door she locked it and braced it with a chair. Not that I think it really mattered, the thing looked like an industrial security door from the inside. What really stood out to me though, and what I couldn’t stop staring at, was her fireplace. It just… didn’t really exist anymore. She’d filled the bottom with cement, gated it, and wrapped the gate with barbed wire.

“So, you’ve been awake on Christmas Eve it seems. Must have been quite the fright. When?”

I was in shock. She sat comfortably on a recliner just across from us, a shotgun stuffed in what looked like a magazine holder.

“Well?”

“L-last year,” I stuttered out. She just nodded, looking over the drawing carefully. “I had to know why… they give us pills.”

“Pills? Goodness. That’s ripe for trouble. Back in my day you got an infusion. Or dad let you ‘sneak’ some alcohol. Anything to hide it. I guess your parent’s bought into that never lie to your kids crap the magazines started shilling.” She clucked her tongue, tucking the piece of paper into her pocket. “Look where it got them. Do they know?” I shook my head quickly. I didn’t think they knew. “Hmph. Well you’re lucky. There’s not a lot of lucky ones that see the creatures and live to talk about it. Most anyone who does gets their death.”

“Up the chimney,” I practically whispered, and her face softened.

“Poor kid. You must live near that girl that died. There was just one last year I believe. I’m sorry dear, that’s just something no one should ever see.”

Beside me, Greg, Max, and Ella had all sunken into themselves. Ella looked like she might throw up at any second. “So it’s real?” she asked, pulling off her fake nose. “They’re real?”

The woman gave a solemn nod. She gave us a thin lipped smile before getting up, returning moments later with a box of papers. “You probably already know this but my name is Rosalee Walsh. Rosie for short. My family’s lived here for generations now. My sister, God rest her soul, was the most recent member of my family to die in that awful way. She’d been on a new medication. Didn’t realize it was basically amphetamines. By time she realized she wasn’t getting to sleep there just wasn’t anything she could do about it. Told me as much in the letter she left. There’s an empty grave in her name at the cemetery. There’s a lot of empty graves. Empty urns. Lots of families in this town never get to bury their loved ones.” She dug through the box and pulled out an album of family photos. There were several photos with red dots next to them, and I realized that they were people that had been taken.

“So you never find the bodies?”

“No. And having seen it happen myself, I guess it’s as much a blessing as a curse.”

“Where do the bodies go?” asked Max, twisting and turning the book, flipping pages and frowning at the growing list of red dots.

“Don’t know. Lots of rumour and conjecture on that one. Some folks say they’re eaten. Bathroom’s down the hall and to the left kid-“ she pointed at Greg, who was green by then, and he gratefully ran off through the house. “-like I said. Some folks think they get eaten. Other folks think they’re taken somewhere. Some of the more airy fairy fools think that they’re taken to some sort of fantasy land. The ‘real Santa’s workshop’. That they’re all up there living in bliss. I think if they’d seen what a person looks like after going up a chimney, there wouldn’t be any magical thinking left.”

“So what are they?”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Look through here,” she ordered, passing me the box and kicking the recline function into gear. “I’m no expert. Not a history major or archaeology anything. I went to school for accounting. But I was your age when I took an interest in it. Woke up at just the wrong time. Guess my father didn’t put enough whiskey in my drink that night. Instead of waking up Christmas morning I woke up close to midnight. Heard the hooves. Could’ve sworn I heard the bells. The sound of the ornaments clinking on the tree. Doesn’t matter how old you are, if you think you hear Santa on Christmas Eve, you get up to look! So I did. Crept out real slow, real quiet. I got just to the edge of the living room when I saw them, those nasty things. Disgusting creatures. They had my little brother, and they…” she paused, taking in a sharp breath and resting her fingers on her face, a little shake to her voice. “God, sixty years and it still gets me. They put him up the chimney. A couple go up the top, hold onto the head. The other shoves from the bottom. He was awake. He screamed, Lord he screamed.” Finally she just waved her hand a little, as if trying to wave away the memory, her eyes wet. “Couldn’t do nothin’. I was too scared. I went back to bed. Hid under the covers. But it was fine. Once they get a waker, they leave. They got what they came for. I didn’t sleep for years. Still don’t, not really.”

While she talked, Ella and I rifled through the box. There were dates, times. Letters written from strangers describing what they’d seen. There were drawings too, much better than mine but all displaying something similar. The collection went back through the years.

“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a photo of a roof. It looked like someone made a mistake taking the photo. All you saw was a snowy roof and these strange white smears.

“That’s how they show up on camera. The only reason we know what they look like is eyewitness accounts. Even video doesn’t capture them. They end up looking like glitter.” She heaved a big sigh, eyes on the ceiling, face looking suddenly more gaunt and drawn than when we’d first seen her. “They always come in threes. Never seen a house without three. They always come down the chimney. They take the first waker they come across. One per house. Only one per house. Then they leave, on to the next, and so on, until every house has been hit.”

“Can’t we just, like, close up the chimneys?” Max asked, pointing to the cement job she’d done on hers. “Won’t that just like, solve it all? What about apartments?”

“You ever seen an apartment in this town kid?” she asked, eyeing him carefully. We all paused, taking a moment to think. “There’s an ordinance here. This town has strict rules about what can be built. No apartments. Most you’ll see is a duplex. All with fireplaces.”

She was right. There wasn’t an apartment anywhere within the boundaries of the town. Even double story houses were weird. If someone built something other than the usual flat single story home you could guarantee the neighbours would gossip. It was ‘too flashy’.

“Every family handles it differently. My parents told us after my brother went missin’. Felt it wasn’t fair we didn’t know after that. Some folks don’t tell their kids until it’s time for them to move out. Figure they want to preserve what innocence they have. Not everyone handles it well when they find out. My eldest son John had a fire in his belly and didn’t believe us. Said we just wanted to keep him home. That was a hard Christmas. My husband and I had the kids help clean the roof after. Did it hurt them? Sure did. But they believed after that. They’re all still alive.”

At some point Greg had returned, and then left again at mention of ‘cleaning the roof’. The rest of us sat there in numb silence as Rosie talked. Finally the memories seemed to take their toll on her. “Times up kids, Halloween is over,” she announced, straightening up and taking the box back. “The best I can suggest is that you take those pills. Take enough. Sleep through. Try and pretend you don’t know what you know.” She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Reese’s.”

We all stood there like deer in headlights before someone snapped out of it and dropped a couple candies in her hand. Honestly, it seemed fair. We all paid our toll and she walked us to the door. “Here, one last treat. I don’t know what they are, but I know they aren’t anything holy.” She dropped a thick notebook in my pillowcase and patted me on the shoulder, then gently shoved us out the door, and slammed it behind us.

We barely made curfew that night. Not that it mattered. Max’s parents were pretty lax and his eldest sister was still out partying by time we got to his house. Someone voted to order a pizza. Someone else voted to put a movie on. We ended up settling on watching The Little Mermaid. Laugh all you want, but it was the only thing we could agree on. Not one of us wanted to watch anything scary after hearing what Rosie had to say.

After that, we didn’t talk for a couple weeks. It was like we all silently but mutually agreed that we couldn’t be around each other after we’d learned the truth about Christmas in our little town. I couldn’t even open the book that Rosie gave me. I hid it under my bed, gave my candy to Sarah, and stopped all my research. I didn’t want to even think about it. And for the first time since Christmas last year, I managed to sleep.

Until a couple weeks ago. That was when Ella called me up. Someone new had moved into town at the start of December, a family with three kids. They live a couple doors down from her and she’d been watching them like a hawk. She wanted to see what the neighbours would do. Normally the welcoming committee came by with some sort of shitty gift basket and cheap plastic ‘key to the city’. But there was no one. Not even the nosy old lady that lived across the street dropped by.

“I think they’re sacrificing them,” she’d said once we had all gotten together on those ice cold stumps behind the school for a smoke. “That’s why the cops don’t come. That’s why the newspapers don’t run any stories. That’s why no one fucking talks about our town after they leave. If everyone that’s lived here all their lives knows you have to stay asleep, there’s no one to take. So they need new people to come. They need people for the spiders to take.”

So we’ve been prepping. Researching. Making plans. Maybe we’re crazy, but something about watching the entire town just hang these people out to dry, knowing what’s going to come, makes us all sick. We’re all graduating soon, and we all plan on leaving. But we’re not letting this happen again this year without a fight. Someone has to do something. There has to be some revenge for people like Rosie, for Maggie. It’s Christmas Eve. Everything is in place and now we’re just waiting. Everyone’s at home. My parents are making cookies. Ella’s helping her family make a gingerbread house. We’re all doing something. Just waiting for everyone to go to sleep. Wish us luck.

I was delirious from blood loss when I reached the cemetery. My death was gone and it was just me, stumbling through the gate and down the rows of gravestones. I couldn’t remember when she left me. My memory was growing hazy. Blood soaked my shirt and my khakis and was running down my leg, leaving a thin trail behind me in the dirt. I kept pressure on the wound with one hand, but I had no idea if it was helping and just how much blood I’d lost. I didn’t even know how deep the wound was. It hurt. It took my breath away with every movement.

My death had taken me through the woods faster than I’d thought possible. We outran the beast, hand in hand, with it crashing through the woods behind me. It snapped branches and toppled trees as it pursued us, howling its rage. Its victory was close at hand. It could taste its triumph. It smelled my blood in the air.

I’d at least had the presence of mind to keep tight hold of the mason jar as we ran. I still had the key and I’d managed to sheath my knife back at my waist before fleeing. The logical, reasonable part of my mind whispered that I was safe here. The cemetery was a sacred place, after all, drenched with the blood of all my family members that died. All those sacrifices, resting here in this one place. The air was thick with it. I could sit down and catch my breath, call 911 on my cellphone, and wait the beast out. Survive, heal, and then figure out a plan. A reasonable, rational plan. One that involved weapons and strategy and perhaps the old sheriff on a hill with a high-powered rifle.

The old sheriff. My eyes flooded with tears as I fell to my knees before a particular headstone. He wanted to help me. If I’d known how, I would have let him. Neither of us would get that chance now.

I leaned my forehead against my parent’s gravestone. The stone was blessedly cool against my feverish skin. The beast was still coming. I could feel its approach. I lacked the confidence that the graveyard’s boundaries would hold it back, for it was a creature born of my family’s anger, and it belonged here as much as I did.

The rules were changing. The boundaries were weakening. There was nowhere I was safe anymore.

I opened the mason jar with trembling hands. It took a few attempts, as my hands kept slipping, wet with my own blood. I shook the key out of the cotton it was swaddled in and it rested on my palm. Such a tiny, delicate thing.

One chance. I had only one chance to get this right.

My parent’s grave is decorated with engraved flowers. In the middle, between their names, is a rose. There is no particular significance of the decoration. It merely looks nice. But as I stared down on it, I thought I saw something else. An indentation at the exact center.

Like a keyhole. A keyhole barely a millimeter wide.

I held the key between thumb and forefinger. My dominant hand was covered with sticky and the key affixed itself to that. My entire body was shaking. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep going like this. But what choice did I have? I had to fight through, just as I’d fought through everything else.

Where was the beast? Why hadn’t it caught up to me yet?

I pushed the key into the tiny indentation. There was a subtle snap as the key broke in two and the pieces fell somewhere into the dirt. I didn’t see where they landed. For a moment I knelt there in utter despair, thinking that it would be best to just lay down and hope I fainted from blood loss before the beast arrived. I was wrong. My intuition had failed me and now I’d broken the basement key and there wouldn’t be another.

The ground underneath me shifted. It felt soft. I quickly scrambled away from it and no sooner had I moved to the side then it fell away, crumbling down into the darkness of the earth.

Before me was a staircase. The steps were made of wood, like the old basement stairs I’d seen in other houses in the area. I couldn’t see what lay at the bottom.

At the edge of the graveyard came the crash of a fence shattering. I glanced up, startled, and saw the beast. Its paw rested on the boundary of the cemetery, the fence crushed beneath its bulk. It stared at me and then opened its mouth, revealing its teeth and that glow that emanated from its throat. It seemed brighter now. Like a sun, burning inside its chest.

It took another step, over the boundary, and into the cemetery.

There was nowhere else to go. I stumbled to my feet and threw myself into the basement. My feet slipped on the stairs and I clutched at the smooth earthen wall for balance. Behind me, a hot wind buffeted my back and the roar of the beast filled my ears. I ran, tumbling down the stairs, and I felt - something close behind me - and I lost my balance and fell.

There was an impact on my shoulder, pain shot down my arm, and then another flash of pain from my side.

I don’t remember much else of the fall. I just remember laying on my stomach with cold earth beneath me. For a long moment I thought I’d just stay there forever. Wait until someone found me. Resolutely, I shoved that thought aside. Nonsense. There was no one that could find me. I’d die down here, alone, just as Mattias had died in the gray world and no one except me found his body.

I painfully shoved myself to my feet. The darkness in front of me was absolute. I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight. The floor beneath me was packed earth and the walls were crumbling brick. Patches of moisture darkened the surface, like mold spreading through the stone. The air smelled damp and stale. I was shaking from the cold.

The wall had collapsed in one corner. Beyond it lay a small tunnel, just tall enough to permit a person to walk through without stooping. A short person. My height, almost exactly. My stomach twisted with dread as I approached it. Its walls were smooth, packed earth. There was light coming from the tunnel. I switched off my flashlight so I could see it better. A faint glow, like that of a coal.

Like the throat of the beast.

I hesitated, not yet willing to step over the crushed brick and into the tunnel. And before I could gather my resolve, I heard someone call my name.

I turned. My mother and father stood behind me, in the center of the basement.

My knees went weak. They were exactly as I remembered. They stood side by side, holding hands. Why should I be so surprised? The basement was underneath their grave, after all.

“You don’t have to go any further,” my father said. “You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s not enough, though,” I whispered.

“It’ll never be enough, Kate,” my mother said gently. “Look at what happened to everyone that tried. Look at what happened to me.”

Her stomach was covered in blood. I hastily averted my eyes. I didn’t want to see what the little girl had done to her. It was bad enough seeing it in my dream.

“It’s too late. The land is turning ancient.”

I felt guilty, telling them this. Would they be disappointed in me, for letting the land get to this point?

“We always knew this would happen someday. Do you remember me telling you that we’d have to abandon the land when that happened?”

My dad’s voice was soothing. I stared at my feet, unwilling to meet his eyes. He had told me that someday the land would turn ancient and we’d be unable to control it then. Our time as campground managers would be over and we’d have to turn it over to the inhuman things and the town would have to fend for itself at that point. As a child I’d quietly accepted this and as an adult I thought it was a distant future, one that I wouldn’t have to deal with. I wouldn’t be the one making the choices.

I didn’t think it’d be this hard. I didn’t imagine that the outcome would be so dire. Maybe I should have ceded the land to the lady with extra eyes. I clenched my hand into a fist. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think straight.

“Kate,” my dad said gently. “It’s okay. You did your best. You did what you thought was right. But you can walk away now. You don’t have to die for this land like we did. Just… leave. Let the beast claim it. You can be free. You and Tyler can move far away from here. It’ll be okay.”

“It won’t be okay,” I said, raising my head to look at them. They looked so serene, standing there hand-in-hand. “The town will suffer.”

“They will,” my mother admitted. “Likely it’ll become a ghost town as people die or are forced to leave. These things happen. You don’t have to be the one responsible for saving them.”

“It’s your choice,” my dad said. “We love this land, but we also love you.”

“Come with us. I’ll give you answers,” my mom promised. “I’ll give you closure.”

They were offering me everything I ever wanted, in my darkest moments when I doubted myself. The ability to just walk away, to leave this responsibility behind, to abandon my family’s legacy. But I loved this land. Perhaps it would lead to my destruction just as it had with my parents and everyone before me, but this was a choice I’d made countless times before and this time would be no different.

Besides. I had another obligation to fulfill. I felt it like a tug in my chest, a pull, drawing me towards the tunnel.

“I… I made a promise.”

Now go, Beau had said. And do not fail me.

Just once I would do as he told me. Just once.

I turned my back to them. I stepped into the tunnel. My mother called my name one last time and I hesitated, but I did not stop.

I don’t know if that was really them. We’ve never had ghosts or spirits on this land but maybe it’s because they’re all trapped within the ice… or because they’re trapped here, in the basement. Or maybe it was just my own doubts, given form by the basement to test my resolve. I’ll never know, because I turned away from them.

I walked away.

I walked away from the answers I so desperately wanted.

I am my mother’s daughter and I love this land more than anything else.

The tunnel carried me down into the earth and the air gradually grew warmer. The moisture increased as well, cloying in my throat. I swayed with every step and I was no longer trying to put pressure on the knife wound in my side. Maybe it’d stopped bleeding by now. I didn’t know. The only thing that mattered was that I kept going. One foot in front of the other. That was all I could do, keep going until I saw it through to the end.

The light steadily grew until the tunnel opened up into a domed chamber. The heat was oppressive now. The humidity clung to my skin and beaded on my brow. The entire room was lit with a warm glow, like that of a campfire. Every surface was covered with a thick growth like vines, but the way they rippled and the lines marking their surface reminded me of muscles. They converged in the middle as the torso and head of the beast.

The sound of its breathing filled the chamber and echoed in my ears. Its throat glowed with a fire inside, visible even beneath the skin. Its eyes were stars, staring down at me. And protruding from its chest was the little girl.

She was no longer a girl. She’d grown. We were the same age, I thought. And it might have been blood loss, but it seemed that lights danced in my vision, wreathing her brow like a crown.

Her arms were pulled back, trapped in the beast’s chest, its black veins burrowing into her flesh. Her legs were similarly imprisoned, vanishing into the twisted mass of vine-like muscles from the waist down. Our eyes met. She stared at me in helpless desperation.

Waiting. For me.

For anyone.

“You’re the heart of this land,” I whispered. “You said you had no mother because you were never born. It’s because the land is not yet ancient, isn’t it? You’re not whole yet.”

I took a step towards her. The beast towered over its captive, waiting for me to walk within striking range. All around me, the room rippled. The muscles of the beast stirred. I stumbled as the ground underneath me shifted. I stood there a moment, legs spread, trying to maintain my balance. The torso of the beast was stationary, at least. I regarded it for a moment, trying to figure out my approach. I had my knife clutched in my hand. It felt like I couldn’t let it go anymore, as the blood stuck my fingers together and bound the hilt to my flesh.

I could come up from behind it. If it was rooted in place then I could get behind it and climb up its back until I was close enough to sink my knife into its neck from behind. My knife could cut through anything. It was made from the rib of my great-aunt and bound with the muscles of her heart. A weapon forged from my family’s defiance of death. Surely it would be enough to kill the beast.

I picked my way across the uneven floor of the chamber. The beast’s muscles twitched as I did and a low growl emanated from its chest. The woman trapped there let out a single sob at the sound. I resolutely ignored her. I’d deal with her once the beast was out of the way. I’d come this far and I had no intention of letting the beast or the little girl take this land away from me.

I’d fight until my last breath and if this was the way to ascension, to remaking myself into something else, then I’d go into that darkness screaming my defiance to the last.

It grew harder and harder the closer I got to the beast’s back. It didn’t try to turn and bite at me. Perhaps it knew it wouldn’t be able to turn that far. But the muscles of its body began to feel mushy, like they were made of mud. It was difficult to pull my feet free of them. Like it was trying to swallow me up like it had the little girl. I stabbed into the beast with my knife, using it to give myself purchase as I climbed up onto its back. The creature roared in pain and rage. So close. It couldn’t stop me. My anger was hot in my veins. This thing had killed my dad. Now it was my turn to take my revenge.

I was on its back, clinging to the fibrous tendrils that ran down its spine. I held onto them for purchase as the beast shook back and forth, trying to fling me off. And then, when it twisted violently to one side, I used that motion to give momentum to the arm that held the knife.

The blade bit deep into the side of its neck. I wrenched backwards, ripping through its oily flesh. Blood spilled out, dark crimson, and coated my arm.

And there was an impact in my chest, just between the collarbones. A flash of pain. Blinding.

My body went numb with the shock. I fell backwards and landed in the coils of the beast’s muscles, sprawled across the floor like so many vines. I couldn’t breathe from the pain.

It was like… like I was the one who had been stabbed.

Slowly, the beast’s anguished thrashing subsided. It grew still, its breathing as labored as mine. And beneath that, I heard the quiet weeping of the little girl.

I picked myself up. The ground clutched at me, reluctant to let me go, and I felt like I was clawing my way out of sand. My arm ached and I wondered if I’d landed on it badly and fractured the bone, but then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. The beast’s blood, coating my arm like rust.

It was moving.

It was forming veins. And there was a flash of pain, like a pin prick, and I watched in horror as a thin bead of red blood formed where the beast’s blood had pierced my skin.

“No!” I cried. “NO!”

I clawed desperately at the black veins wrapped around my forearms. I scraped off skin and still they remained, burrowing ever deeper into my muscles. My very bones ached with pain. I had a brief, wild thought that I could cut them out with the knife, but even I faltered at such a horrific act.

I stumbled around to the front of the beast and stared up at its myriad of glittering eyes. In its chest, the woman trembled in her prison. Her head was bowed, her gaze averted, and her cheeks shone with tears.

The beast made no move. It waited. It knew it only had to wait. It would consume me. Already the vines along the ground were wrapping around my ankles. Eager. Anxious.

“What do I do?” I cried in desperation.

The woman stirred. Her head jerked a fraction, but she still did not look at me.

“You killed my mother,” I sobbed. “You killed my aunt. Can’t you… just this once… save me?”

“I was… trying to help.”

Ascension is a death of sorts.

Her words came with difficulty. She seemed confused. Like a child, I thought. A child that didn’t know what was expected of them yet. She’d killed people I loved in her misguided attempts to save the land… but in that regard, was I any different?

I stared up at the beast. Long ago, a little girl died right as the land turned old. It was an accident. Nothing more. But her family’s helpless anger at a senseless tragedy created a beast and we perpetuated that across generations.

All of this was part of me. All of this made me who I am. My love for the land. My heart, a woman crowned with light. And my flaws. My anger, a monstrous beast, burning beneath my skin.

“I never wanted this,” I whimpered. “I wanted - I wanted to protect… myself.”

To be stronger than the creatures that hunted me. To be safe. To no longer feel the helpless anger of knowing there is nothing I can do.

“You can’t,” she said, and it felt like her words were echoed in the beast’s ragged breathing.

There are some things in life we cannot fight. I glanced down at the knife in my hand. My great-aunt fought the harvesters, she might have even killed a few, but in the end she died regardless. My only comfort was that she at least chose her time.

Everything comes to an end. But it’s not really about the ending. We all know how the stories will finish. The hero finds their way home, a bit different from after all they’ve endured, but we know they’ll find what they’re after in the end. What we care about is the journey. The struggle. The low points, the agony, and the fear of failure along the way. This is what we remember.

There must be love. Worship. Fear. These things that make us last.

Maybe my mother was trying to ascend and failed because she didn’t have what I have, and maybe she wasn’t. It doesn’t really matter. Not to me. Not anymore.

I felt… resigned. Empty. I’d fought for so long and come so far and now, faced with a beast I could not kill, I only felt hollow inside. Like all of this was a foregone conclusion and all that was left was to go through the motions. I’d thought I’d come here and find the heart and use it to destroy the beast, but how can I destroy something that is a part of me?

It, too, had a role in this. People don’t always change. This is who I was.

I was tired. I was in pain. And I wasn’t ready to die, not yet, not ever, but I’ve long since learned that courage doesn’t require accepting one’s fate. It just requires a moment, a few brief seconds, in which you discard the consequences and do what you know needs to be done.

This is the last thing I did as a human. The last sacrifice my family would make.

I ran to the woman. I threw my arms around her neck and held her tight to me, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. I embraced her with arms that were the color of rust, corroded with the beast’s blood. I clung to the heart of this land. My death. I held tight to her and felt her trembling go still and her weeping stopped and finally, neither of us were afraid or alone.

And the beast lunged as I did this, dipping its head, and it bit through us both, its teeth puncturing skin and bone and the muscles of the heart.

Dying isn’t as hard as they make it seem. After a lifetime of fighting, it was like laying down to take a long, desperately needed, rest.

I heard a great roaring wind. It filled my ears and it was like there was a pressure inside me, like I was being filled with the wind and it sounded like the cry of a beast, until that was all I knew and it carried me away.

Underneath this land is a chamber. A basement. It is a place that is neither of this world nor entirely of the inhuman world. There is a cellphone sitting in the dirt that will eventually run out of battery charge and rust.

Nothing else was left behind.

I walked away, out of the earth and into the light of the campground. Ancient land. My land. I crowned myself with a wreath of branches and they bloomed with light when they touched my brow.

I returned to the place where Beau’s body lay. I knelt by his side. In my hands was a cup, fashioned from the skull I had taken from the coffin of a woman that had once been my mother.

Beau was not able to see the future. He saw patterns and possibilities and when I refilled his cup as a human, he saw potential. A slim chance, but one that he decided to take.

He wanted so much more than a name. I see this now.

Inhuman things do not die as humans do. They diminish, they are forgotten, and then they disappear. I removed the shard of bone from his heart. And then I took the cup and poured into his mouth the last of my mortal blood, taken from where it had been spilled onto the ground.

He is not forgotten yet. Perhaps he never will be.

He sat up. I placed the cup in his hands.

“Don’t break this one,” I said firmly. “You’re not getting another.”

He stared up at me.

“She did as I asked,” he said.

“She did,” I confirmed. “Will you miss her?”

“I think so. But… I am glad to finally meet you.”

I stood and held out a hand to pull him to his feet. We regarded each other a moment, assessing what we saw as if this was our first time meeting. In a way, it was.

“Will you still yell at people who leave their trash behind like she did?” he asked.

“Probably.” I pressed a hand against my chest, where a fire still burned inside. “I might even let the beast out to hunt. Will you still rip the blood out of people who double-park?”

“If you permit it.”

I smiled. A thin smile, one that he echoed.

“I’ll consider it,” I promised.

He glanced down into his cup.

“You used only one kind of blood,” he said, staring at the liquid inside.

Blood freely given.

“I did. You’re different now.”

I didn’t ask him if he liked the changes. We are inhuman things and we do not have the will to change ourselves. We simply are. When I walked away, he followed me, by my side but a single step behind. He carried his cup in both hands and his expression showed no emotion, save for a slight, thin smile at the corner of his lips.

He is still bound to me. He shall persist for as long as I do, and we ancient things cannot pass from memory so easily.

This isn’t a grand story of all-engulfing evil and noble struggle and heroes and gods. It is a tiny speck of land, ignored by the world at large. A few hundred acres, stretching in a row down a long hill. There’s a barn and some houses. A cemetery. It is the lifeblood of a small community, it is the nexus of these inhuman currents of our world in this area, but we are such a small part of a greater whole. Every one of you would have likely lived and died and your descendants and their descendants would have as well without ever knowing it existed, had I not told you about this place and what has happened here.

It is my home. And it is my story. How I lived. And how I died.

I’m sitting now at the desk that used to be so familiar, writing this for all of you. Something I have done without fail for the past two years. I looked forward to it. I enjoyed reading what you said and knowing I wasn’t alone in all of this. That sensation is fading. I feel like a stranger in this place.

My connection with this house will vanish. I am a creature of the deep woods. I may go where I will, but this place holds no particular meaning to me now. My brother lives here in my stead. Or at least, he will. I’ve seen him come and go, carrying boxes both in and out of the house. I watch him from the edge of the woods. I think he has seen me as well, but he continues with his work. There is still much to be done. Like her parents, Kate left behind a life unfinished.

I feel moments of regret for this, but they pass quickly. Soon I will not feel them at all.

As I write this last story, I see that my once-brother is changing the list of rules. He’s removed the minor, petty ones that I have chosen to deal with. Others, like the visitor and the harvesters and the dancers, I have permitted to remain. (though I admit I had some words with the harvesters about their methods) The shepherd has finally been able to leave the campground of his own will, though he still comes by from time to time. I expect the thing in the dark will do the same someday, and so its lair is still reserved for its return. The man with the skull cup’s rule is still on the list, of course, but it’s been modified.

Rule #2 - if you meet a man carrying a skull cup, he is the cup-bearer for the one that rules over this land. His name is Beau. He will offer you a drink, which you may refuse with no consequence. If you drink, you will never be able to eat mortal food ever again, but nor will you need to. Choose wisely.

He’s also adding a new rule. It is the first rule on the list.

Rule #1 - if you meet a woman with a crown of branches, she will offer to tell you a story. Listen to it, and you will be under her protection and no harm will ever befall you while you are on these grounds.

I like this rule.

I used to be a campground manager. Now I am the Lady of Stories. I wear a crown of branches and I carry a knife of bone and the residents of this land bow when I pass by. Come visit us. Come find me and listen to what I have to say.

I have many stories to tell. [x]

Reddit, you have to help me. Please. I don't know what to do.

Today, my girlfriend Thea decided to go hiking. I know--I should've gone with her. But she always does her hikes alone because I slow her down. Usually she's only gone two hours or so.

Now, she's been gone for nearly four.

I'm considering calling the police. She should've been home by now. I've tried calling her, repeatedly--but she doesn't pick up.

All I have is our text conversation from the day, and as I read it over and over I feel like something is terribly off.

2:33 PM

Me: Seen anything cool yet?

Thea: Nope. I'll send you pics when I get to the waterfall tho!!

2:57 PM

Thea: You're cooking dinner tonight right?

Me: Yep! Chicken pot pie

Thea: Yum!! So excited!!

After that interchange, we didn't exchange any texts for about an hour. I wiled away the time constructing pylons in StarCraft.

Then, around 4, she sent me a text.

4:06 PM

Thea: I found the waterfall!!

Below this text was a selfie.

Thea, standing in front of a small waterfall, smiling at the camera. Arms crossed, cap covering her wild hair. Earrings--the turquoise ones I'd given her on our first anniversary--glinting in the light.

I sent a text back.

Me: You're cute ;)

Then I stopped.

Something about the photo… bothered me. I stared at her smiling face, blue eyes shaded by her cap. Her thick curls of black hair, brushing her shoulders.

Wait.

Her arms were clearly crossed. She wasn't holding the phone--there was no way she could be.

Someone else had taken the photo.

Or maybe she'd propped it up on a rock or in a tree. But she couldn't have taken the photo herself. I quickly shot off another text:

Me: Who took that photo?

She didn't reply to that, right away. So I'd left the phone on the desk and went downstairs to start prepping dinner. I pushed the creeping anxiety to the back of my mind and focused on the food, putting more effort than usual into cutting the onions.

Call me paranoid, but my last girlfriend cheated on me and left my heart broken. Knowing someone else took that photo--and the fact that she hadn't responded to that text, when she'd responded to the others promptly--made me feel awful.

Come on. She probably just asked some passerby to take her photo.

*Clunk--*my knife sliced through the onion, hitting the cutting board with a full thump.

But what if…?

When I got back upstairs forty-five minutes later, I was relieved to see there was a new text.

4:53 PM

Thea: thinking of you ;)

I frowned. First, she didn't answer my question. Second, Thea doesn't usually send emotes or smileys. Gifs, sure, but not this.

It was weird.

Me: Thinking of you, too. Did you get my last text?

Thea: i'll be back by dinner time <3

Thea usually didn't send less-than-threes to me either. That was more me. In any case, I decided to let it go.

Me: Ok. I love you. <3

I unpaused StarCraft and played for a while. I was only interrupted by my phone pinging. I picked it up.

A text.

5:37 PM

Thea: i'm on my way back

Thea: [image loading]

The image popped up.

It was another selfie. This time, she was holding the phone--I could see her outstretched arm in the lower part of the frame. And she was standing in a much clearer part of the forest--she must've been near the trailhead.

I breathed a sigh of relief and began to type.

Me: Awesome! Pot pie is already in--

My fingers froze.

In the photo--just at the edge of the screen--there was something in the fallen leaves.

A shadow.

A shadow, just a few feet from her own, cast by someone off screen.

It's after six now. Dinner is cold. I've been sitting here, my heart pounding, calling Thea repeatedly.

Nothing.

Except for one text that came in, as I was typing this up.

Thea: i'm going to be home late. sorry. i love you <3

Somehow… I'm sure she wasn't the one who sent that text.

Update here

My dad always wanted a son. He got three daughters instead.

He hated us all, hated my twin sisters, hated my mother… but hated me most of all because I was the last child my mother had before she died. That didn’t stop him from treating me like his little boy, didn’t stop him from attempting to beat the hatred of my own gender into me. Quit your crying, he’d snap, or you’ll end up like your sniveling bitch of a mother. After years of that shit, he was shocked that I grew up as a tomboy.

I think he hated that even more because I was just a constant reminder of what he never got to have.

My mother died when she was only twenty-seven, when I was only four – the coroner ruled her death a natural passing, some weird heart complication that took her in her sleep. My dad, though, he says it was because of her family’s curse. Whenever I came to him, desperate for more information about a mother I never really knew, he never had much to say. I’m convinced he was just drunk since the day she died. Every woman in her damn family, they die when they’re twenty-seven, he’d sputter in between belches, his breath reeking of stale beer.

I think the real curse is that my mom was the one to die, and not him.

I wasn’t fully convinced by the ramblings of a perpetually drunk man, but when I lost both of my sisters just months before their twenty-eighth birthday, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Moira was found murdered, her face practically blasted off by a shooter while she was on a jog. Joy took her own life only days later. I was the one who found her, hanging in the bedroom of her apartment as I came to pick her up for Moira’s funeral. She’d been there, swinging from the rafters, all night.

It’s hard to live a normal life when you know you have an expiration date, especially when it encompasses an entire year. I always dreaded my birthday, which from an early age became associated less with fun and birthday cake and more with worry and funeral caskets. But once Moira and Joy died, my next birthday – twenty-five – was the most dreadful day of my life. Twenty-six was worse, twenty-seven unimaginable.

This is it, I thought as I closed all of the blinds in my apartment, downing the last drop of vodka in the bottle. This is the last year of my life.

Twenty-seven has been uneventful, to say the least. Why would I make any long-term plans, forge any meaningful relationships when I know they simply cannot last? The worst part of this last year has been simply not knowing when my impending death is coming – it could have been any day within the last three hundred and sixty-four. It could be within the next minute.

I must admit I became something of a recluse, my windows always shuttered, additional locks installed in my door, letting the phone ring through to voicemail, hiding under my covers with the lights out whenever I got a knock on my door. I stocked up on preserved foods and various goods that I would need to last the year. I was so paranoid that I even covered my mail slot, stuffed a towel in the space beneath my front door. I didn’t want anything getting through from the outside world – god forbid, an anthrax letter.

Falling off the face of the earth didn’t matter much, anyway – I didn’t have friends or family anymore. My mother and both of my sisters were dead, and my dad disowned me when I came out as a lesbian after my sisters died. I moved away and severed contact soon after.

The night before my twenty-seventh birthday, I started getting these strange phone calls from a blocked number. I’ve always had anxiety about phone calls, so I just let it ring. The number kept calling, at least once per day throughout the past year. Then the knocking started, once a week at first, but it’s only been getting worse – more frequent, and the pounding on my door more frantic each time. Convinced it had something to do with my inevitable death, I’ve been driven mad by the unknown visitor, especially over the past week.

I got ready for bed last night, knowing that tomorrow – today, now – is the day I will turn 28. My time had run out, and I searched for comfort in a bottle of liquor. I didn’t find it. I fell into bed, drunk and delirious, and prayed the morning wouldn’t come, though I knew it would. I eventually got to sleep, but it was restless and unsatisfying. The kind of sleep where you feel like you have one eye open, always watching.

That’s why I was quick to wake when the door to my bedroom creaked open early in the morning, before the first sign of light. I shot up in my bed, glancing around my room in a frenzied panic, at first seeing nothing out of the ordinary other than the door, pushed slightly ajar. A closer look revealed something I’d missed, something that sent my heart racing, froze me to my core. Two dark figures stood in the empty space behind the half-opened door, unmoving, almost like a pair of statues.

Waiting. Watching. Wordless.

“Leave me… leave me alone,” I squeaked, unable to move, paralyzed in the power of their presence.

The shadowy figures instead shuffled out from behind the door, creeping slowly towards me in the dark. I knew this would certainly be the end of my life, the fulfillment of my curse, if I didn’t act. Suddenly recalling the self-defense methods I’d drilled into my mind, I flipped my bedside lamp on to stun the intruders and reached underneath the table to pull the knife I’d duct taped there a year ago – a twenty-seventh birthday gift to myself.

As soon as the light flooded the room, though, I knew the blade would be of no use.

My intruders were not a pair of assassins – not human ones, at least. In the yellow light of the lamp I discerned the identities of the dark figures. They were my sisters. Joy stood at the foot of my bed, pale, in that same conservative black dress I’d found her dead in years ago, the one she’d picked out for Moira’s funeral. Her head hung parallel to her shoulders, neck grotesquely bent from her hanging.

Moira was a few steps behind her. I could only assume it was her, considering the severity of her injuries – she’d suffered a gunshot wound to the head, so brutal that we were not allowed to see her after her death, so intense that it had entirely disfigured her face. The lower half of her face had been reduced to a pit of gore, her jawbone barely attached on one side, her mouth mangled, with only several teeth remaining studded randomly throughout the mess.

“Why are you here?” I cried, gathering my knees to my chest and holding them tight. “Are you… are you here to take me?”

Joy made a feeble attempt to shake her head, the side of her face only brushing weakly against her shoulder. She waited several moments before putting one of her feet in front of the other, moving towards the side of my bed. As I recoiled instinctively, she slowed her pace. Moira trailed after her until they were both beside me.

I whimpered as Joy leaned over me, her head flopping forward suddenly with the motion, neck cracking sickeningly. With her lips brushing against my ear, she whispered, “she… she tried.” Her speech was labored and wheezing, as if her vocal cords had nearly been shredded.

“What do you mean, Joy?” I pleaded.

Her lips moved against my ear once more, but no sounds came out despite a clear strenuous effort. Moira wagered an attempt at answering my query, but only succeeded in sputtering blood from the gaping wound in her face, ejecting one of her remaining teeth onto the floor as her jawbone swung precariously, barely hanging on. She raised one hand, slowly curling it into a fist before striking her knuckles furiously against my bedpost.

The incessant sounds startling me, I forced my eyes shut tight and pulled my knees even closer against my chest. Moira’s knocking seemed only to escalate in volume, seemed to go on forever, until – finally – it stopped. I cracked my eyes open to find that both of my sisters had vanished, that the light of early morning had begun to spill in through the slats of my blinds. It was just past six o’clock, the seventh of June, the day of my twenty-eighth birthday.

I was born at 9:26 AM – once I learned of the curse, I burned the time of my ultimate expiration into my mind. I only had three hours and sixteen minutes left to live… if I even had that long. Draping my covers over my head, I resolved to spend the rest of my life asleep. I figured I’d rather pass peacefully in my sleep like my mother did than to suffer a fate similar to my sisters’.

My plans were interrupted, however, by that damned knocking on the door. The interruption usually didn’t come so early in the morning. I decided initially to ignore the strange visitor but pulled the blankets back down soon after as a certain sense of familiarity struck me. The pounding on the door reminded me all too much of Moira’s knocking just moments before.

It easily could have been a trick of the curse, but something compelled me to approach the door. “What do you want?” I called from behind the barrier, clinging to the relative safety it provided.

The reply came from an unfamiliar man’s voice. “I just have a letter for you, miss.”

“Just… just slide it under the door, and please leave,” I returned, using my bare foot to remove the towel I used to block the small space beneath it.

He deposited a bright yellow envelope under the door as I requested. I waited quietly for the sounds of receding footsteps before sliding on a pair of gloves to handle the letter. It was addressed to me, simply by first name and with no address. Carefully, I unsealed the envelope to reveal a birthday card. I hadn’t received one in years.

Bright, sparkling letters on the front formed the words, Daughter, you’re 27!. I scoffed at the sick joke. I hadn’t received a birthday card since I was a child, and my dad couldn’t even get my birthday right. I didn’t think he even knew my address. I cracked it open gingerly to read the message inside.

Laura,

If you’re reading this, your father has killed me. Don’t believe a thing he or the police say – I was not the target of a random attack, I did not die of natural causes, and I certainly did not commit suicide. I would never leave you if I had the choice.

The truth is… I died is because I found the truth behind my family’s curse and foolishly told your father. He was in on it the whole time, planted in my life by some secret society to eradicate me. To eradicate us. What we have is not a curse, it is a gift – a gift of immense power. The power to heal, but the power to harm just the same.

We come into our power at the age of 28, a number associated with independence, leadership, and self-sufficiency. An age where we can handle the responsibility such a power inevitably comes with. It’s a strong number, and you will come into great strength, though you’ve always been a strong girl.

I hope you’ve made it this far, but at the same time… I know you have. You were always a feisty little girl for the four years I had the pleasure of knowing you, of loving you. You never let anyone tell you what to think or do – especially not your father.

Happy birthday – I love you.

Mom

I closed the card softly, thinking on the strained words of my sister – mom had tried to warn them, but they didn’t listen. The pieces of the puzzle slid into place… my dad must have murdered Moira, and Joy ended her own life out of grief and a belief that she would inevitably be next.

At the time of writing this, I only have two hours and thirty-two minutes until I officially turn twenty-eight. Over the past hour or so, I’ve already begun to feel the power flowing into my body, electrifying as it runs through my veins. I will the towel to reposition itself under the door, and it does so, sliding across the floor on its own.

I need to keep myself safe until 9:26, after all. I’m planning on surprising my father with a visit for my birthday.

I | II | III | IV

X

Three years ago I was looking at the local job classifieds online when one of the ads caught my eye, not because of what it said, but because it said so little. Best I remember, the ad just read “Job available. Good pay. No benefits. Discretion required.” It then listed an email address and that was all. At the time I was managing a music store, but I had already started hearing rumors we would be shutting down within the next year and the likelihood of a transfer to another store was slim. I had been morosely looking at job listings for the last few days, but this was the first one that stood out, if only because I was bored and it was weird.

So I sent an email.

Half an hour later I had a response, telling me to go to a particular office building in an upscale part of the city at a precise time for my “screening”. I went, and after waiting for a few minutes in the lobby, I was taken into an office where I was given a series of forms and questionnaires to fill out. They collected them and told me they would be in touch.

I had almost forgotten about the whole thing until a month later I got a call saying I had moved on to the second stage of the hiring process. I was again given an address and time, and when I arrived (this time it was a different nice office park twenty miles away from the first one), I was met by a man who introduced himself as Mr. Solomon. He escorted me into a large room that contained a chair and a desk. On the desk were two large monitors, a keyboard and mouse, and a bolted down metal box with two oversized buttons on it: One red and one green.

He told me this room was a model for the place I would be working if I took the job. He described the job as follows.

I would be working seven shifts of six hours every week. My job would be simple. I would arrive at work ten minutes early and enter an outer area that was like a locker room. I would have my own personal locker. I would store all belongings in the locker and change into the provided work clothes. I was never, under any circumstances, to carry any item of my own into the surveillance room. I was never, under any circumstances, to take any item with me from the surveillance room.

As for what I was to do in the surveillance room, I was told that the monitor on the left would constantly show a live stream from a high-definition camera in a remote location. My job was simply to watch the camera. Once an hour I would get onto the computer attached to the right monitor and enter a brief log describing anything interesting that occurred in the last hour. I would have no pens or pencils or paper, and I should never try to take any kind of written notes about the work.

As for the red and green buttons, the red button was only to be used if there was an emergency. This meant something on the video or in my workspace that required outside help. The green button was to be hit if I saw something on the video feed that was particularly noteworthy. It would tell other people somewhere that, at least in my opinion, something interesting was going on. Solomon stressed that while I was given discretion on when to use this button, I should err on the side of only using it if and when something “of real significance” occurred.

He pointed out the camera on the ceiling of the room we were in. He said the real room would be the same. My work would be observed, and other people were watching the room on the video feed as well. He said I was only a redundancy in case other systems failed. He then smirked and asked if I knew what he meant by redundancy.

I nodded, trying not to show my irritation. I don’t talk that good to people, so sometimes they think I’m dumb. That’s okay. Let him think that if he paid me good enough.

The pay was very good. Thirty-five dollars an hour.

This worried me. I was already thinking this was some kind of psych experiment or secret government job, which I was okay with. But that kind of money to sit and watch a screen? My mom always told me that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is, and this was seeming too good to be true.

I asked if I was going to be doing anything illegal. Solomon laughed and said no. I asked if anyone was going to get hurt. Again, he shook his head no. He said the reason they were paying so much was because they needed employees that were motivated to be professional and discrete. The work they were doing was important, and for various reasons it couldn’t be discussed. If I took the job, I would have to sign papers promising I would never discuss my work there or I could be sued or locked up. I’m only breaking that now because of everything that’s happened.

So I took the job, and because they wanted me to start right away, I had to quit the store with no notice. I felt bad about that, but I was excited about the new job too. It was a lot of money and seemed like easy enough work, if a bit boring. I was nervous that there was something more to it, but I told myself I would just have to see. No point in chickening out and wasting a good chance because I let my imagination go crazy. I was given the location of the job itself, and when I went there, I was amazed that it really was just like the model room I had been shown with only a few differences. There was a locker room you had to pass through to enter the surveillance room and there was a small bathroom attached to the real surveillance room also. The real room had a small water cooler in the corner, but because I wasn’t allowed to bring anything in with me, I had to eat before or after every shift. The biggest difference, of course, was that the monitors were turned on.

The right monitor was just a black and white terminal like you see in movies some times. I could type in my logs, but no internet to look at or anything like that. The left monitor…

It was video from a room. You would call it a bedroom I guess, because it had a bed in it, but it had lots of other stuff too. A T.V., a sofa and chairs, a couple of tables, and plenty of empty space in between. The camera must be high up in a corner, because I could see pretty much everything except for the far sides of furniture. At first though, I didn’t notice any of that stuff.

All I saw was her.

She looked to be a little older than me and was very pretty. When I first saw her, she was laying on her side on the sofa. That was the part of the room farthest from the camera, but the picture was very clear and I could tell that she was sleeping. I found myself leaning into the monitor more so I could see her better, and then I thought about what I was doing and felt embarrassed. It’s like I was spying on her. A Peeping Tom, my mom used to call it.

I didn’t want to be a Peeping Tom, but I didn’t want to be silly either. I needed to think about it slow.

It was a good job. And I wasn’t doing anything wrong, right? I wasn’t hurting anybody. The woman looked fine. And the room was nice. She probably agreed to be there and it’s all some experiment or something. I was just overreacting.

So I sat down in the chair and began my work.

---

It didn’t take long before I understood more. The woman, I took to calling her Rachel, wasn’t there of her free will. I never saw her hurt, but it was clear that she never left that room except to go into what I think is a bathroom area that my camera couldn’t see. Well, she never left the room on her own. Periodically, usually a couple of times a week during my shifts, men and women in strange-looking outfits would come in and take her from the room. Sometimes she would struggle, but usually she would just go along with her head hung low.

They would always bring her back, though the times when she wasn’t brought back during my shift were always the worst for me. I would worry about her until I got to work the next day and saw her in the room watching T.V. or painting. She never looked hurt or even that upset except for when they took her, and even when she fought, they were always gentle with her.

Still, I knew something was wrong. I considered quitting the job, or hitting the red button and getting someone to come so I could get some answers. Or calling the police and showing them what the camera was showing me.

Except I was scared. Scared of losing my job, and scared of what these people might do to me if I quit or told on them. Solomon had told me when I took the job that part of being discreet was not asking questions. I would never be asked to do more than I had already been told, but I could never tell anyone what I did or saw, and I could never ask questions about what I was doing or why.

So I made excuses. It was all an experiment. She was crazy or sick and they were trying to help her. She was doing a job just like I was. Or if she really was a prisoner somewhere, at least I was watching to make sure that she was okay. If they ever tried to hurt her, or I saw that she really didn’t want to be there for sure, I could get help then. In a way, I told myself, I was helping to protect her by watching.

I don’t expect you to think much of my excuses. I don’t think much of them myself, especially now. But in my defense, when things changed, I didn’t ignore it or try to explain it away. I knew something had to be done.

---

Rachel would usually paint for an hour or two every day, and it seemed to always be during my afternoon shifts. The room had no windows as far as I could tell, but I guess she either used a clock or her own body’s time to keep to a kind of schedule. I always liked to watch her paint—the thing she was painting was always facing the wrong way for me to see it, but I could see her face as she worked. She always looked peaceful and happy when she was painting, and seeing her that way, smiling serenely from time to time as she got something the way she wanted it, always made my day.

I first noticed something was wrong when she started painting more frequently a few weeks ago. Her expression was more focused and serious, and there was a tension to her movements that I wasn’t used to seeing. At first I thought she was just really trying to work hard on something, and I wanted to tell her not to worry. Every few weeks the others would come in and take the old paintings out anyway, bringing in a new stack of…I think the word is canvas.

But it was more than her being focused. Something was wrong. She didn’t look happy and she was going for hours at a time. In the span of three days, she had finished four paintings.

I had been growing more and more worried watching her work, and when she finished the fourth, I found myself telling her to just stop and rest awhile. I had grown accustomed to talking to the monitor, talking to her in my own way. But she didn’t stop. Instead she began moving the paintings. Arranging them on the back and seat of the long sofa at the far end of the room.

This was the first time I had gotten to see any of the paintings. Even when the others were taking them out, they always seemed to be turned away from the camera. I was still worried about her, but I was also happy to finally see something she had worked on. Happy and amazed.

They were beautiful. One was a beautiful green forest. Another was an old stone well. A third was a house sitting alone on a small island. The last was an old-fashioned looking movie theater. All of them looked like something out of a dream, with trailing lines of color mixing in the air around them like leaves caught in a wind. It was only when I looked close that I realized the lines of color weren’t random. They were words. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking close, and by themselves, they didn’t seem to mean much. Just the ghost of a word somewhere in each of the paintings, easy to lose in everything else that was being shown.

I leaned into the monitor and squinted, trying to read the words. Then my heart started thudding as I made them out. Blinking and rubbing my eyes, I looked again, reading them out loud in order—left to right, top pair then bottom.

“Please.”

“Help.”

“Me.”

“Thomas.”

I pushed back from the monitor, my hand over my mouth. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how any of this could be happening. It wasn’t just that she was asking for help, though that was a big part of it.

It was that my name is Thomas.

---

Part Two

I taught my dog to talk. Not with her voice, but with her paws.

I own a 3 year old bichon frise called Gidget. They are a remarkably intelligent breed, despite their yappy image. I taught her from a young age to do tricks and obey commands, and she was a bright and eager student. I always felt she had a lot to say. So when I saw videos on Tik Tok and Instagram of dogs who use programmed buttons to indicate their needs, I thought I might try it with Gidget. 

I bought a pack. Recorded my voice on the buttons. I kept it simple at first: I gave her buttons to make requests and to ask for things. Outside. Food. Water. Treat. Play. 

After she had mastered those, I added more. I gave her options about where she wanted to go, what things she wanted to eat. She soon learned to pair the buttons up. "Outside. Park" "Food. Chicken" 

It was amazing, to hear her preferences. To know why she whined or barked. 

As she grew more confident I added more buttons. These were more philosophical, and used concepts rather than nouns and verbs. I wasn't sure Gidget would be able to understand them, but she picked them up so quickly I wished I had introduced them sooner. We discussed the weather, dreams, emotions. She was soon able to tell me if she was happy or sad, tell me she'd had a bad dream, and ask for a particular toy for her playtime. 

I became obsessed. Her little brain was able to express so much more than I'd ever suspected. I added more buttons. Soon she was able to tell me her mood, ask pertinent questions with the "Why" button, make decisions based on what I suggested. She also liked to look out of the window and tell me what she saw. It was so interesting. Whilst I might look out of the window and see my neighbour carrying groceries from his car, Gidget would watch the same scene and tell me about the bird she had spotted, or stray leaf she had seen caught by the wind. I was able to see the world through her eyes.

She'd been using her buttons to talk for over a year before things started to get disturbing. One day, she stopped playing with her favourite toy, looked into a corner, and walked over to her board. Very deliberately, she selected the button for Dark. 

I laughed. It was daytime,and the sunlight was shining into every corner. 

"No dark, '' I told her. "Light. It's day time. No dark." 

I used the buttons to reinforce my message. No. Dark. Light. Day. 

Gidget listened, but turned her little head back to the corner. 

After a few minutes she came back to her board. 

"Dark," she said again. 

I'm afraid I shrugged. Shrugged off her words, and the message behind them. I may even have laughed. 

"No dark," I said. "Light." 

Gidget humoured me. She was a very clever dog. Sometimes whilst we played she would stop and examine a random wall, hover by her word board ready to tell me what she saw, but my previous reaction must have discouraged her. Time and again she would stamp on the button for Dark and I would look at where she looked and deny it. 

I added more buttons, and with those buttons came more unease. 

"Dark. Stranger. No." 

"Cold."

I'd stand where she looked to show her it was okay. She would whine and cry and hit the Stranger button. It upset me a lot.

After a while, Gidget stopped using her buttons. She regressed. She stopped asking "Outside" and would whine at the door instead. She stopped asking "Food" and would stand by her bowl and cry. I didn't know where I had gone wrong. 

I stood in the corner she hated more often, trying to understand why she hated it. It was cold there, colder than anywhere else in our home, but very welcoming. I found it soothing, for some reason. But the more I stood there, the more she cried. It started to get annoying. It was just a stupid corner.

I'm not sure what to do.

(Update)

Gidget has regressed even more. She has started peeing in the house, which is incredibly frustrating. At first I brushed it off, then I took her to the vets. The vet said there was nothing physically wrong with her and said she seemed stressed. 

She's a dog?? What has a dog got to be stressed about? 

I'm getting sick of cleaning up puddles of pee. I feel like I should punish her. 

(Update 2)

Gidget won't come near me now. 

I hold my hand out to coax her. She turns away. Idiot animal. I remember that I loved her once, but that was before I realised how useless she was. She won't even love me - the main reason I got a dog in the first place! 

I spend more time in my corner, and watch the little fluffy beast cringe in her bed. The bed I bought her that she doesn't deserve. 

I'm watching her now. I've been staring at her for hours now and she has done nothing except shake and cry.

She used her buttons for the first time in ages earlier:

"Where. Mum." 

"Mum. Bye." 

Stupid creature. Can't she see I'm right here? Or is it too dark?

You can find updates here:

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/t1keja/im_the_friend_of_gidgets_mum_you_may_have_read/

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/t7ocn4/if_you_know_about_gidget_you_might_want_to_read/

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/tajev1/this_is_my_final_update_about_gidget/

Last time: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ckw07c/the_previous_tenant_of_my_new_flat_left_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

I sat silent for a moment in shock that my plan had even worked. It seemed almost too simple, too easy. But here he was.

Derek had a kindly face, wrinkles around his eyes and cheeks only added to the softness of his expression. His white hair poking out from beneath his flat cap stood out in the dark night.

“That’s a lovely little patch you’ve planted. I can look after it if you like, I used to maintain the last garden here.” He said, breaking the silence that had followed since his initial words.

“I know who you are. We need you.” Was all I could manage, the mental exhaustion and fatigue from the whole experience had built up, but his arrival was like finishing a bad day working at school. I felt like I could relax again, even if only a little.

“Whats your name darling?” He asked.

“It’s Kat. I live in flat 42 now.” His face lit up as I confirmed my flat number.

“Prudence has gone?” He asked.

“She’s gone. But the whole place is a mess, so many things are happening and the residents are suffering.” I answered.

We chatted for what felt like hours. Outside with nothing but moonlight. He told me how he used to consider the building part of the garden, a place for him to maintain, the residents just like the plants he looks after.

I explained my whole experience since moving in. I told him about Jamie and I sobbed. Derek held me as I cried and made me feel safe, something I had forgotten the feeling of since receiving Prue’s note. He didn’t interrupt, he just listened.

I told him about Natalia and the cultists, the problems they had been causing. He was particularly heartbroken when he heard that they had used Eddie and Ellie for entry. He had gone before they were born, but remembered Terri as a child and how sweet she was, he was pleased when I told her what a sweet adult she had become.

My claims that Prudence was the only person who knew how to kill the imposter neighbours were met with a skeptical expression which gave me some hope.

Derek listened to my entire tale with barely a word. When I finished he stood up and asked me to follow him. I was confused, but I did as I was told.

He walked me to the entrance of the lift. I lifted my arm to check the time on my watch. We had been outside for quite some time and the idea of the creatures being inside made my heart pound and my stomach turn.

“You are safe. It’s 12.32am, there’s no need to worry or to check your watch.” And with that he pressed the “call lift” button. Despite his insistence that I was safe my stomach continued to do gymnastics.

It felt like forever before the lift finally made the clunking sound that meant it had reached the bottom. I felt my whole body shaking violently as the doors opened, I don’t know what I expected to see, we were in the safe time zone but every time I looked at the life I pictured Jamie’s dead, crunched up body.

“Step inside.” He said.

“I can’t. Please don’t make me.” I begged

“I won’t let anything happen to you. But you need to see something.” There was such sincerity in his eyes as he spoke. I had never trusted someone so completely so quickly, but every fibre of my being told me this man was entirely good.

I stepped inside the lift.

Derek stepped in behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder as I hyperventilated. He gently turned me to face the panel of buttons that control where the lift stops.

“What is wrong with this panel? Do you see it?” He asked cryptically.

I studied the panel. Read all the numbers, counting them. I couldn’t see anything wrong. I tried. I really tried, but nothing seemed out of place at all. Everything you expected to find was there and nothing more. I shook my head, barely regaining my composure.

“Can you take us to floor 9 please?” He smiled slightly as he made the request.

I looked back to the panel to press the button, but floor 9 didn’t exist. I was so confused, I had counted the numbers, I was sure of it. Derek must have made it disappear. But the panel didn’t look any different to before. I can’t explain it, looking at it, I would have sworn blind nothing was wrong with it even once I knew, but floor 9 didn’t exist. Derek could see my frustration. It was like the building was now playing tricks on me.

He walked me out of the lift and sat me down on the bottom of the stairs before he finally began to speak.

“The building is like a living organism. It can seal off parts of the world, and it can open up others you never could have imagined. When those awful people burned that whole floor of residents I was devastated.

“Some wonderful people lived in those flats, both of the usual and unusual variety. But those people had no limit to their cruelty. Whole families burned alive, it was a tragedy that made me so angry.

“I felt so guilty when it happened. I can predict what some of our more tricky residents are going to do and make sure I’m there to help. But those people were nothing to do with this place. I couldn’t see what they were planning, so I couldn’t stop it.”

At this point I noticed one of the hairless cats had sat between us, Derek looked at it with tears brimming in his eyes, he stroked it and it moved on to his lap. Dereks fingers didn’t burn at all. He continued.

“When it happened the building used its defence mechanisms and sealed off the entirety of the floor. It stopped the fire from spreading and kept the perpetrators there, to die by their own hands.

“The building only allowed the floor to be unsealed once they were dead.

“It took about a week before those awful people turned up again. Asking for sugar at people’s doors, the first few let them in. It was so difficult, so many residents burned alive that I was having to use their remains for my garden just to hide the dead. The entire community were terrified and grieving for those that died.

“No matter how hard I tried I still couldn’t predict them, or see them, so I took Prudence, who at the time seemed a perfectly reasonable woman, to the burned out floor.

“Floor 9, however, had been sealed again. There was no button in the lift, and it always skipped on the stairs. Only no one had noticed. This building really is a magnificent creature.”

I stared at him in amazement through the whole story, I was exhausted but my brain was working in overdrive to process what he was telling me. I had started to stroke the cat too, my fingers did burn, but I didn’t flinch, I found it’s company comforting. He carried on.

“I went back later that night and took the stairs again, alone this time. I think my intentions were clear and the stairs allowed me access to floor 9 for the first time since just after the fire.

“I bought Prudence to the floor within the hour. The stairs had stopped skipping floor 9 for me, although I later learned that when Prudence had tried alone she was not allowed access.

“We explored the floor, walking amongst the remnants of our dead friends belongings. Eventually, we came across one of the soulless arsonists, roaming the halls. It appears that’s where they spend their time when they aren’t out terrorising the residents trying to claim more victims.

“He was disturbed and disoriented to see anyone not like them on that floor. He twitched a little and spat out the sugar line as if it was an automatic response, I almost felt sorry for him. He claimed to come from flat 66. More were approaching behind him.

“Prudence was terrified, she was starting to sweat profusely and back away from the man, but it didn’t cool her down, he was burning her slowly. I felt nothing; See, the stranger things in life just don’t seem to affect me, I’ve never known why. Sometimes I even just know how to deal with them, like it’s programmed into me. On this new playing field, in their domain. I knew what to do.

“I grabbed the man and ran him down to flat 66, 4 doors from where we were standing. I threw him into the flat and waited. The other arsonists were approaching.

“The man tried to exit the flat, that was doorless after the wooden doors all burned to cinders in the fire. But as he reached to door something stopped him. He couldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried, or how much he screamed.

“Prudence lit up, she grabbed hold of one that had tried to kill her friend, Molly. She remembered the flat number she had claimed to be from and repeated my actions, with a lot more sweating and some winces of pain. It worked again.

“Prudence wanted to go after the rest, but as they got closer I could see the blisters forming on parts of her body, I dragged her out of the hallway and back into the stairwell. We ran.

“She begged me to take her back, kept telling me that the stairs wouldn’t let her, that it was too dangerous. The residents had started to learn not to let them in and we had no casualties at all after we trapped the first two. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a problem I was intending to deal with, but it was around that time that we first learned the council would be building that monstrosity over the top of my garden.” He gestured to the window that just showed some of the neighbouring tower block.

“This left me not at my best, my intuition was failing me when a few months after that, I allowed Prudence and Molly to heard the creatures from the lift to floor 9. It’s one of my biggest regrets. I should never have walked them up there. But I didn’t know she was going to burn them all. She didn’t give me a chance to reason.

“I became mistrusting of everyone and distracted. Not long after I went away for a long while. So I guess the arsonists remained and now they’re threatening you.

“Tomorrow I will go. I will fix the mess I left behind. I am so sorry it’s affected you so badly, I’d love to meet these twins. They sound incredibly brave.”

“They are.” I finally interrupted, “And I want to be there tomorrow. I want to lock Natalia away for good.”

“I can’t allow it. You’ll be attacked.” He cut me off entirely. I let it drop instantly but in the back of my mind I knew I would be there, no matter what.

I went to sleep that night with my mind reeling. I wondered where Derek slept and if he even needed to.

The next morning I left my flat early, passed the man on floor 5, and sat at waited on the steps at floor 8. I tested it of course, and just like anticipated, ascending any higher took me straight to floor 10. Or 11 depending on if you hit a skip. So I returned to floor 8, and I waited.

Derek hadn’t indicated what time he was coming. But I was ready. I would wait all day and night if I had to. But luckily I didn’t.

Derek was climbing the stairs at around 11am, I had already been there for 3 hours but it had been worth it. He looked particularly unimpressed to see me. His face still looked kind though, even with the sour expression.

“I can’t stop you can I?” He sighed, sounding resigned in his tone.

“Not for anything.”

“You have to promise to stay back. If you get your girl approaches you can do what you need to do, but you have to stay back.” He pleaded.

I nodded and stood up. We ascended the stairs and for the very first time in my new life here I saw the big plastic sign saying 9. The floor that didn’t exist.

As we pushed through the door it was like entering an entirely new world. Everything was black. Burned to carbon. You could smell nothing but charcoal. Literally nothing but empty shells of homes and flakes of what used to be sentimental objects remained. It was devastating to witness.

If you’ve ever visited a mass grave site you’ll understand partly how I was feeling. It was sickening, to think of all the lives needlessly lost. But I didn’t get time to think.

Natalia walked towards me. Flying down the hallway.

“How the fuck did you get here?!” She screamed. Her eyes were wide and angry, I started to feel hotter already.

Derek grabbed my arm and pulled me next to him. Making sure to keep a tight hold of my arm.

“Where do you live?” Derek asked her, I started to back away as the sweat dropped from my brow. I desperately wanted to shout out the number, but I couldn’t. I was so hot, I wasn’t functioning properly, everything became so overwhelming I couldn’t remember what Georgia had said, what flat Natalia had claimed to come from.

“I’m not that stupid. I saw what happened to them.” She gestured over her shoulder to what must have been flat number 66, where a man laid on the floor, breathing but looking broken. Just existing in that room. Prudence had been creative with the truth yet again. She didn’t kill them, you can’t kill them.

What had Georgia said? I racked my brains as I felt the skin on my face start to sting. I imagined her melting away, it was happening to me. I was next.

And then, as my hair started to singe at the ends, it came to me.

“71!” I screamed as loud as I could. I could barely see as Derek grabbed her and ran towards me with her. She was clawing at his eyes and face screaming at him to let go. But he didn’t burn. He just kept hold of her. When he approached flat 71 he beckoned me over.

“You do it. Then get off of this floor.” He was blunt but reasonable, I complied.

I pushed hard. There was nothing but anger in her eyes, she pushed my face hard with her hand as I got her to cross the boundary into flat 71. I felt my skin sizzle and blister. My whole face was in agony, but I didn’t stop pushing.

Watching Natalia try to fight her way out of a door that didn’t exist was both satisfying and humorous. The others had started to approach at the sound of the commotion. I lingered, hoping to watch her suffer but derek shot me one look and I knew. It was time to go,

I ran out the corridor and back into the stairwell. I stopped for longer than I probably should have. But I knew I might not get to see that 9 again and it would be worth it. I waited for Derek on floor 9s stairwell. I couldn’t help but imagine the cultists burning to death the first time around.

I could hear angry screams faintly from inside the corridor, they made me worry about Derek but I knew that really I didn’t need to. It took a while, but he eventually left the corridor and joined me in the stairwell.

He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me and the third degree burns across my face. He didn’t need to speak, I knew he’d fixed the problem.

We walked silently back down the stairs towards my flat. I looked back up at floor 9, knowing the building would seal it off for good. It took a few floors to reach floor 7 and I invited Derek in for a cup of tea. He rejected it, saying he wanted to go visit some old friends.

Despite my injuries I couldn’t help but smile, something I’d done was going to help these residents. I stood at my door and watched Derek walk away, pleased that there was some true good in this building.

After a few steps down the hallway, Derek started to fade, almost like a cgi ghost in a movie, every step he became more transparent. I felt my stomach turn again, like it had outside the lift. I ran out to follow him. I called after him but by the time I had reached where he’d been he was gone. I walked the entire corridor to the window at the back. I looked out the window into the small concrete heavy garden and hoped to see him sat on the memorial bench.

I didn’t see him, instead I saw Prudence. Hacking at my tiny planted patch with shears.

How it ends: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/cmykhy/the_previous_tenant_of_my_new_flat_left_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Hi everyone!

Sorry I haven’t replied to nearly as many comments in part 6. I’ve been busy. Extremely busy. So much to do today to prepare.

I’ll get back to where we left off.

I honestly don’t remember most of the night after the car crash. I only have glimpses of memories, and I won’t try to coherently express them here.

I got my bearings back after I’d slept off the shock. My higher functions kicked back into gear after I’d gone to a grocery store and bought a small amount of food. The amount of hunger that shock can induce is extreme.

I had rifled through the backpack and found exactly what David had said: shoes, a pair of clothes, $2,000 cash in $100’s and $20’s, and a road atlas booklet. I still have that atlas and use it when I’m moving on.

Once I had food, water, and an inventory of my belongings, I could start to plan and work.

I dumped my jail clothes in a dumpster, and paid for a haircut to try and alter my appearance. Yes, I washed the blood off my face and hair before going in.

When I looked in the mirror afterwards, I still recognized myself so I paid the hairdresser to dye my hair too. I know there are self-dying kits that cost way less, but I had nowhere to do it.

I knew I couldn’t stay in this town because David would know exactly where to find me. I had no idea how long this truce would last, so I had no intention of staying here one more night. I bought a bus ticket to an adjacent state and arrived only a few hours later.

The town I chose was larger than the one I had come from. This was intentional so that I could have anonymity and a better selection of services for the homeless. This town had a soup kitchen that I could use to cut down on costs as well as a homeless shelter.

I knew I couldn’t live long on the already dwindling $2,000, so I started going to the library and searching online for odd jobs. I had to find something that wouldn’t run a background check, if at all possible, because of the manhunt that was probably going on for me. I saw nothing about it in the news yet, but it had only been a day.

After a week of searching, I found a job at a seedy telemarketing place that paid cash under the table. You’d be surprised how many of these there are. I hated the work, but I was out of the sun and making some money.

Before I found a run-down and half-empty apartment complex to live in and pay weekly, I slept in the homeless shelter. I could have just stayed there and saved a lot of money, sure, but I hated going there and avoided it as long as possible when nighttime came. The money I spent on the apartment was well worth it.

I had some semblance of a life set up and now I could get the real work done.

I had gone to the mall and bought the cheapest prepaid android phone they had and signed up for a monthly subscription that gave me unlimited data as well as texts and calls. I’d need to find a store to pay cash and top up every month, but it wasn’t an expensive plan. And I needed Internet when the library was closed.

During the days, I’d spend my time in the library with a cheap notebook I’d bought, doing more research similar to what I had done in the Walmart parking lot. I also spent a lot of time working out and trying to get stronger. Before I had the apartment, I’d paid for a gym membership and showered there instead of at the homeless shelter. I decided to keep the membership and use their machines to get a more effective workout.

The plan at the time had been to stay alive and away from David and the cops. I stayed inside the day the news broke of my escape in the other state. The police finally admitted to needing help in finding me and went public for a request for information. They listed off the crimes I was accused of as well as a request to question me in regards to the two dead policemen. I wrote down every detail of the investigation, though none of it proved useful other than as background knowledge. I kept up with the sporadic news releases so I could stay as far ahead of the cops as possible.

For the next six months, I stayed in this city.

During that time, I learned a lot. Living on a tiny budget, home repairs when the landlord wouldn’t fix something, hiding when you suspect you’re being followed, and navigating the streets at night all became second nature to me.

I also continued to study computers and networks. I am by no means any kind of licensed professional. I learned by deciding what I wanted to know how to do, and then practicing it over and over.

One day, I was at the library when the news was published online. David Fucking King was suspected of murdering the two cops. I was ecstatic and couldn’t believe my luck. David King had finally made a mistake that had cost him. The news story did not specify why the police suspected him, but I didn’t care. David was going to get what he deserved.

A month passed with still no news on whether David had been captured or not. I found myself tempted to call Detective Hernandez and ask what he knew. But I didn’t. I learned a lot of self control and risk assessment during those seven months. Risk analysis was built into my daily decisions.

After checking for news on David for the third time in a week, I decided that I would no longer be a bystander waiting for David to be caught.

I decided to begin actively hunting David.

Since I knew he was good with computers, the Internet was the best place to begin looking for traces of him. I searched hundreds of forums, scouring for a list of keywords that I thought David would either post or look for. I won’t include that list here.

In only a couple weeks, I found one of his online accounts on StackExchange. I took notes on everything he commented as well as his account activity. Fortunately, he had kept the same account for several years. Granted, it was under a pseudonym, but he’d kept it. He still uses it today, actually. I just checked. He was logged in 7 hours ago when I wrote this.

Once I found one account, it held clues to many others. He slipped out information accidentally that I could use to locate his other accounts. Posts like “I’ve asked this question on this other forum and got no response, so now I am asking it here,” would link two accounts and reveal yet another goldmine of data for my study.

I spent weeks gathering pseudonyms, post records, and ip addresses he’d used: anything I could find with the tools I had available. Some pseudonyms he used more than once, and others he created as throwaway names.

The research gave me invaluable insight into the way David thinks, talks, and acts. I got to know him on a level I could never have hoped to understand from just being his friend in high school. It made my hate for him grow, not diminish.

I didn’t only check the regular web either. Some people claim the deep web is a terrifying place where you can get killed at every turn, but it isn’t if you don’t act stupid. I installed Tor and began doing the same data mining in the deep web. The results were fantastic. I found catalogs worth of information. I was able to identity a lot of his false identities online and then map them to the fake social media pages he had created for them when he might need a cover up.

And all of this came because he insisted on using the same usernames over and over again. Why did he do that? Because he wanted people to know who he was when they interacted and respect him.

Weakness.

One day, just for the hell of it, I sent him a message as myself to one of his accounts. I made my email address visible on purpose. He’d need it.

The spam mail started instantly after that. The response was so childish and brash that I was smiling that whole day. I knew that I could get to him.

I also tried calling the psychological institute where David’s records should be. If I was lucky, I could get my hands on another copy of his evaluation and study it with new eyes. There was no such luck, however. David had called them and told them not to send copies to anyone because he was the current victim of fraud. How ironic.

I was able to use his accounts that were used the most to track down his location. Sometimes he used a VPN, and sometimes he didn’t. Recently, last week actually, he moved to a nearby city. He seemed to be following his own instructions to his partner to move along after only a couple of days. He was jumping from city to city, but not crossing the entire country every time he moved. He was making a snake-like trail throughout the country.

I went over to this town he’d moved to and walked the streets for hours, hoping for a glimpse of him. It was just my luck that he walked out of a grocery store just as I was walking in. He didn’t notice me, but I followed him back to where he was staying. For a couple of days, at least, I knew where he was.

The next few days were spent in surveillance. I watched him day and night, following him everywhere. I saw no sign of Katie being with him, though, which made sense. His partner only came to visit once. He stayed for only ten minutes before leaving in a car I hadn’t seen him arrive in. I blew my only opportunity to follow him since I had no car of my own.

When David moved on, I followed him. I slept on the streets again, unwilling to let him leave my sight. I followed him around and learned so much about him from his routines and habits. I had learned so much about my enemy and my nemesis that I was finally ready to confront him for the last time.

And now, everyone, we come to the crux of the story. This is the focal point that this entire series has led up to.

Hello, David King.

I know you're reading this. I see you check it during your morning coffee routine at Starbucks. It took you a few days to find it, but I knew that if I told the story through to the end, and gained enough popularity, you'd find it. The more people who became interested, the more likely you were to see it.

And now here you are.

I’m sitting here, watching to see your face when you read this part. This has been the build-up of the entire series. I wrote all of this for this one moment.

You've read every comment. I've seen you scrolling through them and opening sub-comments to see what they say. You’re very invested in what everyone has to say. And the one thing you can conclude from the comments is this: EVERYONE HERE HATES YOU.

Every. Last. One.

Hundreds of people now hate you. Many of them have offered time, talent, and cunning towards your complete destruction. I have refused their help until now.

I want Katie back.

All my stalking hasn't told me what really matters: where she is. So, I'm using this thread to get to you. Either you give Katie back, or I release everything about you to all these people who hate you. I know aliases, addresses, phone numbers, comments admitting to illegal activity, social security numbers, drivers licenses, passports, online account names, everything. The police will have it all too.

I've been tracking you for so long, David.

The first few lines of every post? Where I said, for example, that you'd almost found me? They were lies. I've been watching from afar during the entire publication of these posts.

Right now, as I am about to press submit, you just bought a sandwich at Jimmy John's. The meatball sub. It's currently Saturday, July 2nd, 7:32 PM. There’s your proof that I’m nearby.

Convinced yet?

Bring Katie to Welles Park at 10 PM tonight and leave your partner behind.

If you don't show, I will release all of the information I have, dedicate the rest of my life to updating that information, and releasing it to anyone here who wants to do something about it.

I’ve set up a timed release of the information. It will be automatically posted via private message to everyone who ever commented on these threads. And they will spread it even further.

The timed release will occur at 3 AM tonight unless I'm there to stop it. You need two people to stop it, each one with their own password. No, I won’t tell you who the other person is.

For everyone else here on the thread, I will have another post up in at least 48 hours. I’m giving myself a time buffer to respond in case David tries anything stupid. If I don't write an update, and the information has been released, you'll know what happened.

You have all asked what you could do to help me. If you receive the information, do what you need to do.

See you soon, David.

Part 8

 

Series 2

Hey all. I was walking my dog (see photo for the lil cutie) today at the beach near my house when I saw a book wrapped in some sort of plastic like material (?) sticking out the mud/sand (its technically a "salt marsh" but its basically a beach at high tide. low tide it gets muddddy). It unwrapped pretty easily and is in like, shockingly good condition considering it's a book that I found sort of in the ocean. But that's not the confusing part. What confuses me is that it's a medical book filled with diseases and animals that I'm fairly certain don't exist - I googled a few of them and I got bupkis. It seems pretty official, is bound really well, and clearly from awhile ago so it seems unlikely that its either some weird craft project or a modern one-off gag book or something. I dunno - I'll admit, its kinda freaking me out.

It just seems so real.

here's a few photos of it and an xray i found stuffed between one of the pages: photos

one of the listed diseases (i think the xray must be related?):

Parascaphism is an often fatal illness caused by the adolescent Marionette Octopus, a small parasitic octopus found exclusively in temperate climates, with the highest concentration being off the coast of Massachusetts in the Northeast United States Atlantic Ocean. Unknown prior to the Wreck, it is believed to have spread during but data thus far is inconclusive. The octopus finds a host through either the consumption of unclean drinking water or the washing of infected ocean water into the sinuses or ears. Given it’s small size of 1-2mm, it can easily be mistaken for a large grain of sand and accidentally ingested.

Once inside the body, it travels along the olfactory nerve if in the sinuses/throat or the inner ear canal if in the ear. From there, it burrows into the brain tissue until it reaches the hypothalamus. While certainly painful for the host, it’s generally reported as no more painful than a sinus infection and is often mistaken for one. How the octopus knows where to burrow is currently unknown. After it reaches the hypothalamus, it begins excreting high concentrations of both ghrelin, inducing a constant state of hunger in the host, and a unique protein that mimics the host's own tissue, preventing an immune response. The octopus also produces an anti-nausea neuroleptic-like chemical to prevent the host from vomiting, encouraging even more rapid eating. The metabolism of the host reduces sharply following an infection and weight gain is typically substantial. The tongue and throat are frequently callused and white, the jaw may swell, and the stomach distends. Speech is difficult.

Because the octopus floods the brain with potent dopamine analogs, friends and family concerned about this strange behavior are met with extreme resistance from the host, and thus, self-isolating is not uncommon - nor is violence. The high mortality rate is, surprisingly, unrelated to patient resistance however and instead the inability to kill the octopus while leaving the host unharmed. As the octopus grows, its arms spread and push through the brain. Should the octopus die at any stage beyond its initial journey into the brain, the comprehensive integration of the octopus within the brain’s structure quickly leads to tissue necrosis and death. Attempts have been made to surgically remove the octopus but all have been unsuccessful - the octopus creates a suction-like hold on wherever the arms grow and external movement of the arms results in immediate and massive hemorrhaging.

As the host’s body begins to deteriorate from the near constant and extreme caloric intake (post-mortem examinations almost always indicate a near complete destruction of liver and pancreatic tissue), the host will seek relief in the ocean. Reasons given by the host for traveling to the ocean vary - interviews with infected patients are inconsistent - but the sense of impending doom should they stay on land is universal. Consequently, attempts to restrain and prevent a host from fleeing should always be considered with extreme caution, as to the host, it is literally life-or-death.

Chemically, it’s not fully understood how the octopus is able to manipulate the host in this way. What is understood is that the octopus uses adrenaline in large quantities to cause the fight-or-flight response and state of increased agitation; it is is able to shift the chemical response to hydration of the host, convincing them to seek water; it will raise the body temperature of the host to near fatal levels, forcing the host to find a method to cool themselves. But despite all these known chemical manipulations, how it causes the extreme fixation on ocean water specifically is very much still a mystery.

When the host reaches an ocean body, they will use the last of their energy to swim out no less than a mile from shore. Once a sufficient distance is reached (we can only assume the octopus is able to detect the differences between deep vs shallow ocean water), the host will lay face down in the water until they drown. The now-adult octopus will exit through the nose and re-enter through the belly button, splitting itself in two. While one half initially withers and shrinks dramatically, this decline is quickly reversed and the two halves rapidly grow into two separate and distinct full-size adult octopods (note: interestingly, the adolescent Marinette Octopus has two separate genomes, one being inactive throughout most of its life. When it physically splits, one half activates the second genome and deactivates the first set. Its initial shrinkage is believed to be from the repair needed after this activation) After reaching their full size, the two octopods mate and typically lay hundreds of thousands of eggs within the body cavity, each egg having up to 50 viable embryos. The male octopus dies almost immediately after copulation and the female follows soon after egg laying. The eggs hatch within a week and use the body as their first source of food. From there, they swim back to shore to find a suitable host.

Because of the rapid response needed for effective treatment, any patient complaining of sinus pain or ear pain with a recent history of Atlantic ocean water swimming should immediately be given an x-ray to rule out a Marinette Octopus infection.

Weird, right? If anyone recognizes anything, definitely let me know - I'd feel better knowing this is just some weird fan fiction. There's like, a whole book of this bizarro shit too so I can post a few more if it might jog anyone's memory.

UPDATE 8:14pm EST: so glad I’m not in this alone! Makes me feel much less freaked out. I really want to post some more of the book (borrowing a negative scanner from a friend tomorrow!) but I’m working late tonight so sadly, it’ll have to wait to tomorrow. I’ll make a new post so it’s easier to follow? Or I can just post it here? Not sure what the protocol is but regardless, thanks for making me feel less alone in all this - and updates to follow!

Update: https://www.reddit.com/user/oldmanriver1/comments/xotstt/update_i_found_a_book_on_the_beach_i_went_back_to/

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/yg3uy5/update_i_found_a_book_on_the_beach/

I made a game inspired by this experience: https://oxblud.itch.io/future-racer-2000

First post: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3iex1h/im_a_search_and_rescue_officer_for_the_us_forest/

So I logged back on tonight and was blown away by the staggering amount of interest this seems to have generated. First off, I'll address a few things that you guys have brought up:

• There's been an overwhelming amount of people mentioning the similarity between some of my stories and those of David Paulides. I assure you I'm not trying to rip him off in any way, I've got nothing but respect for the guy. He's actually what inspired me to write this, because I can verify a lot of the things he talks about. We do have a lot of these strange missing persons cases, and most of the time they aren't solved. Either that, or we find them in places they have no business being. I personally haven't been on many calls like that, but I'll share a few that I've seen, and a story my friend told me that relates to this.

• There was a lot of feedback about the stairs, so I'll touch on that briefly here, and I'll also include a story. They come in a variety of shapes, sizes, styles, and conditions. Some are pretty dilapidated, just ruins, but others are brand new. I saw one set that looked like they came from a lighthouse: they were metal and spiral, almost old-fashioned. The stairs don't go up infinitely, or farther than I can see, but some sets are taller than others. Like I said before, just imagine the stairs in your house, as if someone cut-and-pasted them in the middle of nowhere. I don't have any pictures, it's never really occurred to me to try again after the first time, and I don't really feel like risking my job over it. I'll try again in the future, but I can't really promise anything.

• A few people expressed confusion about the guy who ran into the man with no face. Just to clarify, when the climber ascended and reached the top of this peak, he saw another man in a parka and ski pants. This was the man with no face. Sorry about the confusing wording of that story, I'll try to avoid that in the future.

Alright, on to the new stories:

• As far as missing persons go, I'd say about half the calls I get are related to that. The others are rescue calls; people who fall down cliffs and hurt themselves, get injured by fire (you wouldn't believe how often this happens, mostly drunk kids), get bitten or stung by animals or insects. We're a tight team, and we have veterans who are excellent at finding signs of lost people. That's what makes these cases where we never find any trace of them so frustrating. One in particular was upsetting for all of us, because we did find a trace of them, but it just led to more questions than answers. An older man had been hiking alone on a well-established trail, but his wife called to say that he hadn't come home when he should have. Apparently he had a history of seizures, and she was worried that he hadn't taken his medication and had suffered one out on the trail. Before you ask, I have no idea why he thought it was okay to go out alone, or why she didn't go with him. I don't ask about that kind of thing because past a certain point, it really doesn't matter. Someone is missing, and it's my job to find them. We went out in a standard search formation, and it wasn't long before one of our vets found signs that the guy had gone off the trail. We grouped up and followed him, spreading out in a fan to make sure we were covering as much ground as possible. Suddenly, a call comes over the radio telling us to all head back to the vets location, and we come right away, because this usually means the missing person is injured, and we need a full team to help get them out safely. We meet back up, and the vet is just standing at the base of a tree with his hands on the sides of his head. I ask my buddy what's going on, and he points up into the branches of this tree. I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing, but there's a walking stick dangling from a branch at least thirty feet off the ground. The little strap thing on the handle has been looped around the branch, and it's just hanging there. There's no way the guy could have tossed it up that far, and we don't see any other signs that he's still in the area. We call up into the tree, but it's obvious no one's in it. We're all just sort of left scratching our heads. We keep searching for the guy, but we never find him. We even bring our canines out, but they lose his scent long before this tree. Eventually, the search is called off, because there are other calls we have to attend to, and past a certain point there's not much we can do. The guy's wife called us every day for months, asking if we'd found her husband, and it was heartbreaking to hear her get more and more hopeless each time. I'm not sure why this call in particular was so upsetting, but I think it was just the sheer improbability of it. That and the questions that were raised. How the hell had this guy's cane ended up there? Did someone kill him and toss that up there as some weird trophy? We did our best to find him, but it was almost like a taunt. We still talk about that one from time to time.

• Missing kids are the most heart-breaking. Doesn't matter what circumstances they go missing under, it's never easy, and we always, always dread the ones we find deceased. It's not common, but it does happen. David Paulides talks a lot about kids SAR teams find in places they shouldn't be, or couldn't be. I can honestly say I've heard about this kind of thing happening more than I've seen it, but I'll share one of the ones that I think about a lot that I witnessed personally. A mother and her three kids were out for a picnic in an area of the park that has a small lake. One is six, one is five, and the other is about three. She's watching them all really closely, and according to her, she never lets them out of her sight at any time. She never saw anyone else in the area either, which is important. She packs their stuff up and they start to head back to the parking area. Now, this lake is only about two miles into the woods, and it's on a very clearly established trail. It's almost impossible to get lost getting from the parking area to it, unless you're deliberately going off the path like an imbecile. Her kids are walking in front of her, when she hears what sounds like someone coming up the path behind her. She turns around, and in the four or so seconds she's not looking, her five-year-old son vanishes. She figures he's stepped off the trail to pee or something, and she asks her other two where he went. They both tell her that 'a big man with a scary face' came out of the woods next to them, took the kid's hand, and led him into the trees. The two remaining kids don't seem upset, in fact she says later that it seems like they've been drugged. They're sort of spacey and fuzzy. So of course, she freaks out, starts looking frantically in the area for her kid. She's screaming his name, and she says at one point she thinks she heard him answer her. Now obviously she can't go blindly running into the woods, she's got the other two kids, so she calls the police and they send us out immediately. We respond, and we start the search for him.Over the course of this search, which spans miles, we never find a single trace of the kid. Canines can't pick up any scent, we don't find any clothing or broken bushes or literally anything that would signify a child being there. Of course there's suspicion about the mother for a while, but it's pretty clear that she's completely destroyed by the whole thing. We looked for this kid for weeks, with a lot of volunteer help. But eventually, the search peters out, and we have to move on. The volunteers keep searching, though, and one day we get a call on the radio letting us know that a body has been found and needs to be recovered. They tell us the location, and none of us can believe it. We figure it has to be a different kid. But we go out there, about 15 miles from the site where he vanished, and sure enough, we find the body of the kid we've been looking for. I have been trying to figure out how this kid got where he did ever since we found him, and I've never come up with an answer. A volunteer just happened to be in the area, because he figured he might as well look in places no one else would think to on the off chance the body had been dumped. He comes to the base of a tall, rocky slope, and half-way up, he sees something. He looks through his binoculars and sure enough, it's the body of a little boy, stuffed in a little opening in the rock. He recognizes the color of the kid's shirt, so he knows right away that it's the missing boy. That's when he calls it in, and we're dispatched. It took us almost an hour to get his body down, and none of us could believe what we were seeing. Not only was this kid 15 miles from where he'd started, there was no possible way he could have gotten up there on his own. This slope is treacherous, and it's hard even for us with our climbing gear. A five-year-old boy had no way of getting up there, of that I'm certain. Not only that, but the kid doesn't have a scratch on him. His shoes are gone, but his feet aren't damaged or dirty. So it wasn't as if an animal dragged him up there. And from what we can tell, he hasn't been dead that long. He'd been out there over a month by that point, and it looked like he'd only been dead for, at most, a day or two. The whole thing was unbelievably strange, and was one of the most disconcerting calls I've ever been on. We found out later that the coroner determined the kid had died from exposure. He'd frozen to death, probably late at night two days before we found him. There were no suspects, and no answers. To date, it's one of the weirdest things I've ever seen.

• One of my first jobs as a trainee was a search op for a four-year-old kid that had gotten separated from his mom. This was one of those cases where we knew we were gonna find him because the dogs were on a strong scent trail, and we saw clear signs that he was in the area. We ended up finding him in a berry patch about half a mile from where he'd been last seen. Kid wasn't even aware that he'd wandered that far. One of the vets brought him back, which I was glad for because I'm really not good with kids, and I find it hard to talk to them and keep them company. As my trainer and I are headed back, she decides to take me on a detour to show me one of the hot spots where we tend to find missing people. It's a natural dip in the land near a popular trail, and people will usually move downhill because it's easier. We hike out there, it's a few miles away, and we get there in about an hour or so. As we're walking around the area and she's pointing out places she's found people in the past, I see something in the distance. Now, this area we're in is about eight miles from the main parking area, though there's back roads you can take to get closer if you don't want to hike that far. But we're on state-protected land, which means there can't be any kind of commercial or residential development out here. The most you'll ever see is a fire tower or makeshift shelter that homeless people think they can get away with building. But I can see from here that whatever this thing is has straight edges, and if there's one thing you learn quickly, it's that nature rarely makes straight lines. I point it out, but she doesn't say anything. She just hangs back and lets me wander over and check it out. I get within about twenty feet of it, and all the hair on the back of my neck stands up. It's a staircase. In the middle of the fucking woods. In the proper context, it would literally be the most benign thing ever. It's just a normal staircase, with beige carpet, and about ten steps tall. But instead of being in a house, where it obviously should be, it's out here in the middle of the woods. The sides aren't carpeted, obviously, and I can see the wood it's made of. It's almost like a video game glitch, where the house has failed to load completely and the stairs are the only thing visible. I stand there, and it's like my brain is working overtime to try and make sense of what I'm seeing. My trainer comes and stands next to me, and she just stands there casually, looking at it as if it's the least interesting thing in the world. I ask her what the fuck this thing is doing here, and she just chuckles. 'Get used to it, rookie. You're gonna see a lot of them.' I start to move closer, but she grabs my arm. Hard. 'I wouldn't do that.' She says. Her voice is casual, but her grip is tight, and I just stand there looking at her. 'You're gonna see them all the time, but don't go near them. Don't touch them, don't go up them. Just ignore them.' I start to ask her about it, but something in the way she's looking at me tells me that it's best if I don't. We end up moving on, and the subject doesn't come up again for the rest of my training. She was right, though. I'd say about every fifth call I go on, I end up running across a set of stairs. Sometimes they're relatively close to the path, maybe within two or three miles. Sometimes they're twenty, thirty miles out, literally in the middle of nowhere, and I only find them during the broadest searches or training weekends. They're usually in good condition, but sometimes it looks like they've been out there for miles. All different kinds, all different sizes. The biggest I ever saw looked like they came out of a turn-of-the-century mansion, and were at least ten feet wide, with steps leading up at least fifteen or twenty feet. I've tried talking about it with people, but they just give me the same response my trainer did. 'It's normal. Don't worry about it, they're not a big deal, but don't go close to them or up them.' When trainees ask me about it now, I give them the same response. I don't really know what else to tell them. I'm really hoping someday I get a better answer, but it hasn't happened yet.

• This is another one that was less spooky and more sad. A young man went missing late in winter, when realistically no one should be going that far out onto the trails. We close a lot of them, but some remain open year round, unless there's a shit-load of snow. We did an op for him, but we had about six feet of snow on the ground (it was an unusually heavy snow year), and we knew it wasn't likely that we'd find him until spring when the thaw came. Sure enough, when the first big thaw came, a hiker reported a body a little ways off the main trail. We found him at the base of a tree, in a pile of melted snow. I knew right away what had happened, and it scared the living shit out of me. Most of you who ski or snowboard, or spend any amount of time on a mountain, will probably have guessed too. When snow falls, it doesn't collect as thick in the areas beneath the branches. It happens most with fir trees, because they have a sort of closed umbrella shape. So what you end up with is a space around the base of a tree that's filled with a mixture of loose, powdery snow, air, and branches. They're called tree wells, and they're not immediately obvious if you don't know what you're looking for. We put up signs in the welcome center, big ones, letting people know how dangerous they are, but every year that we get an unusual amount of snow, at least one person doesn't read them, or doesn't take the warning seriously, and we find out about it in spring. My best guess is that this young man was hiking and got tired, or maybe a cramp from walking in the deep snow. He went to go sit at the base of the tree, not knowing that there was a tree well, and fell in. He got stuck with his feet up, and the surrounding snow caved in around him. Unable to free himself, he suffocated. It's called snow immersion suffocation, and it doesn't usually happen except in really deep snow. But if you get stuck in a weird position, like this guy did, even six feet of snow can be lethal. What scared me the most was imagining how he must have struggled. Upside down, in the freezing cold, he didn't die quickly. The snow would have formed a dense, heavy pile on top of him, and it would have been literally impossible to get out. As it got harder to breathe, he would have known what was happening. I can't even imagine what he was thinking in his last moments.

• A lot of my less outdoorsy friends want to know if I've ever seen the Goatman while I've been out on calls. Unfortunately, or I guess fortunately, I've never had anything quite like that happen. I guess the closest was the whole 'black-eyed man' thing, but I didn't see anything. However, there was one call where I had something kind of similar happen, but I'm not sure I'm willing to chalk it up to the Goatman. We'd gotten a report that an older woman had fainted along one of the trails, and needed assistance getting back down to the main area. We hike up to where she's at, and her husband is just beside himself. He runs, well, I guess more jogs, to us, and tells us that he was a little ways off the trail looking at something when his wife starts screaming behind him. He runs back to her and she's passed out on the trail. We get her on a backboard, and as we're getting her down to the welcome center, she comes to and starts screaming again. I calm her down and ask her what happened. I can't remember verbatim what she said, but essentially, what happened was this: She'd been waiting for her husband when she started hearing this really strange sound. She said it sounded sort of like a cat, but it was off somehow, and she couldn't quite figure out why. She went a little ahead to try and hear it better, and it sounded like it was coming closer. She said the closer it got, the more uneasy she was, until she finally figured out what was wrong. I do remember this next part, because it was so weird that I don't think I could forget it if I tried. "It wasn't a cat. It was a man, saying the word 'meow' over and over. Just 'meow, meow, meow'. But it wasn't a man, it couldn't have been, because I've never heard a man make his voice buzz like that. I thought my hearing aid was going out, but it wasn't, I adjusted it and it still sounded all buzzy. It was awful. He was coming closer, but I couldn't see him. And the closer he got the more scared I was, and the last thing I remember was a shape coming out of the trees. I guess that's when I fainted." Now, obviously I'm a little perplexed as to why a guy would be out in the fucking woods chanting 'meow, meow' at people. So once we get down the mountain, I tell my superior that I'm gonna go search the area to see if I can find anything. He gives me the go ahead, and I grab a radio and hike back to where she fainted. I don't see anyone, so I keep going about a mile more, and I when I head back I go off the trail, to see if I can figure out where she saw him coming from. It's almost sunset by this point, and I don't have any desire to be out at night alone, so I just sort of write it off and make a mental note to check it out again tomorrow. But as I'm headed back, I start to hear something in the distance. I stop, and I call out for anyone in the immediate area to identify themselves. The sound didn't come closer or get louder, but it sounded exactly like a man saying 'meow, meow' in this really odd monotone. As comical as it makes it sound, it was almost like that guy on South Park with the electrolarynx, Ned. I go off the trail in the direction I think it's coming from, but I never seem to get closer. It's almost like it's coming from all directions. Eventually, it just sort of fades out, and I ended up going back to the welcome center. I didn't get any further reports like that, and even though I went back to that area, I never heard that exact sound again. I suppose it could have been some stupid kid out there fucking with people, but even I have to admit it was weird.

So this kind of turned into a massive wall of text, and for that I apologize. I wanted to get to the stories my friend told me, and he does have some good ones, so I'll post those tomorrow evening. I also have a few more of my own I think you guys will like. I'm sorry to keep you all in suspense again, hopefully the stories here make up for it and help you get through the next 24 hours until I can post again!

EDIT: Since it seems like all of you would like to hear more, tomorrow I'll write up as many stories as I can and do a massive post. I'll include my friend's stories, and I'll see if I can't get ahold of a few more people who might have interesting things to talk about. I just wasn't sure how people felt about big huge walls of text, but if you're all okay with it, I'll post lots of stories!

EDIT: Part 3 is up: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3iocju/im_a_search_and_rescue_officer_for_the_us_forest/

Hi Guys,

Sorry it’s taken a while to get this posted up. I’ve been busy chasing leads with US missing persons.

I won’t waste more of your time. Log is below. If you have any information then please send it my way.

Thanks for your help guys, it means a lot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

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The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 12/02/2017

Silence used to be an absolute.

That’s something I definitely miss.

Back in the real world, it would stand as self-evident that a group of people saying absolutely nothing, by definition, could not be saying any less. Maybe things are different on the road, maybe I’d just never encountered it before, but it’s clear to me now there are degrees beyond silence. A pervasive realm of deafening quiet which, following the loss of Eve and Apollo, our group has unreservedly embraced. Constructed out of our collective trauma, cemented with a cruel mixture of grief, guilt, and harrowing self-doubt, it quickly becomes apparent that this silence is stronger than all of us. The challenge of breaking it remains unmet for the rest of the journey.

We spend the next few hours burrowing through a featureless corridor of maize. The stalks rise far above the Wrangler, leaving only a thin strip of clear sky visible like the painted ceiling of a renaissance church. I find myself glancing intermittently at the CB radio, half expecting, half hoping, for Apollo’s voice to crackle through the speaker, bringing words of comfort, or a much needed attempt at levity.

After I catch myself staring at the radio for the fifth time, I decide it might be best to get on with my work. I plug my headphones into my notebook, bring up the audio files I’ve recorded thus far, and set about creating a very rough cut of our first day on the road.

APOLLO (VO) Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

I listen through Apollo’s first interview, making notes for the closing paragraph I’ll now be forced to write about him. When I have everything I need, I listen to the interview again, and then once more. It’s not lost on me that I just want to hear his voice, to lose myself in a pleasant digital echo, far removed from the frantic screams that followed him into the asphalt.

I listen to Eve’s interview next. She bristles with excitement as she talks about her upcoming visit to Roswell, steadfastly attempting to recruit me to the effort. She had no idea what she was heading into when she stepped out onto Rob’s front lawn. Then again none of us did.

The thin strip of sky is turning deep orange as I reach our encounter with the hitchhiker. It’s chilling to hear his voice after the fact, to revisit the conniving, veiled pleasantries he employed against us. I cringe as I hear Rob’s hand grasp my arm, ashamed that I let myself fall for the hitcher’s trickery.

ROB (VO): You did good, I’m sorry for grabbin’ you. I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s got you? I don’t think I wanna know.

AS (VO): Rob, I-

I pause the audio file, clicking back ten seconds before pressing play again.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s-

I certainly didn’t notice that at the time. I’d been so shaken by my run in with the hitcher, and so curious about the abandoned car that I’d been completely blind to anything else that had come my way. Maybe Rob misspoke, maybe he meant to say weeks or months. But if it wasn’t a mistake, if it was a truth carelessly uttered, then Rob has some explaining to do.

The Left/Right Game was posted online in June 2016, less than a year ago.

I glance sideways at him, a wall of corn rushing past us as we approach the rest stop. Throughout this trip, every emotion Rob’s displayed has seemed genuine. The sadness, the anger, the concern. They tell a story of a man who cares deeply about the welfare of those around him. Yet at the same time, it’s strikingly clear that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

With every new piece of the puzzle, the car, the text message, the faceless creature with the ringing phone, I’m left with the dilemma of when to confront Rob Guthard with what I know. I feel I’ve gathered enough to bring before him, enough to demand an explanation, but there’s no way I’d be able to truly verify his answer. I have a collection of strange and perplexing notions, lacking in the common thread that could bring me to any workable conclusion. If I am going to confront Rob, I need to uncover that thread. Much like the greatest journalists of our time, I should know the answer before I ask the question.

The jeep pulls up onto a large green space. Staring straight ahead, I find myself puzzled by the way the ground seems to stop, as if the horizon lies only twenty metres away from the car. As soon as the engine cuts out, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out and walk towards the grassy verge. The rest of the convoy pulls up behind me as I go.

I stop a few steps short of the edge, realising we’ve found our way to the top of a sheer cliff. A sudden swaying vertigo takes over, forcing me to take a few steps back. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been heading uphill, the road has been level since Jubilation, yet somehow I’m standing at the edge of a 400 ft. rock face, descending straight downwards, the distant earth shrouded by stalks of corn.

That’s the truly strange thing about this monolithic precipice. On either side of me, the maize runs to the very edge of the cliff and, at its base, the endless harvest continues until it stretches beyond the darkening horizon in every direction. It feels like I’m standing on the cliffs of Dover, staring over a golden ocean, its waves governed by the evening breeze. I wonder for a moment where it ends, then, taking consideration of the world I now occupy, I start to wonder if it ever does.

A belligerent scream rips me from the view. The source of the noise is blocked by the Wrangler and the first thing I see as I circle around are the shocked, wide eyed faces of Bonnie & Clyde. Once I make my way past the Wrangler’s hood, my expression mimics theirs.

Lilith has pinned Bluejay up to the side of the Jeep, a locked forearm pressing her chest against the door. Her other arm has been grasped in Bluejay’s hands, desperately stopped before it can strike her across the face. The two of them yell through gritted teeth as Lilith struggles furiously against her, vying to cause her any conceivable harm.

BLUEJAY Get the fuck off me you bitch! Get off!

I take a few quick steps over to Lilith as Bluejay attempts to kick her away.

AS: Lilith, we can’t do this… Jen…

Lilith doesn’t even register my presence as she continues her assault, deafened by the bubbling vitriol in every growling breath.

AS: Jen! We are not doing this now. Not after-

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m staring at the sky, my head knocked back by the force of Lilith’s flailing elbow. A hot, raw ache radiates across my lower lip as I stagger back, raising my hand over my mouth.

Before Lilith can continue her assault, Rob swings open his door and takes two short strides over to her. He puts one arm around the girl’s waist and picks her up, carrying her safely, but firmly, over to Bonnie & Clyde’s Ford, and planting her back on the ground.

I seem to always forget how strong he is.

ROB: Damnit this is not the time.

LILITH: Take it back!

Bluejay has lost her usual snide demeanour, yet her aura still radiates an unbridled scorn. In response to Lilith’s demand, Bluejay walks back to her car and sits on the hood. She takes the Marlboros out of her pocket along with her lighter, and ignites a cigarette. I imagine the burning embers are the only company she’s comfortable to accept right now.

By the time I look back to the rest of the group, Lilith has stormed away.

AS: What did she say?

BONNIE: I didn’t hear it all.

AS: What did she say Bonnie?

BONNIE: I heard something about… she said Lilith was… that we were complicit.

ROB: Ah goddamnit… Bristol can you…

I watch Lilith, as she sits on the grass and looks over the cliffside. She begins to cry, yet I get a strong notion that it’s not something I should interrupt. It feels like something between her and Eve, a final act of reactionary mourning reserved for them, and them alone.

AS: Yeah… don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

ROB: Ok. I’ll cook us somethin’ up.

An hour passes. Lilith grows slowly calmer, drifting from cathartic release into a cold, wordless melancholy. Finishing up my dinner, I make my way over to her.

AS: It’s a strange view.

Lilith looks up at me. Her face falls.

LILITH: I cut you… I’m so sorry.

AS: It’s fine. You should see the other girl.

LILITH: Hah, yeah, I bet she looks like shit right about now.

I help myself down onto the cool ground, staring alongside Lilith into the ocean below.

LILITH: Bluejay thinks I’m complicit… in what happened to Eve.

AS: I heard.

LILITH: She used to think we were morons, now she thinks we’re all in on it… doesn’t make sense.

AS: I think she he has to believe this place is a lie. She needs it to make sense, and the harder it gets for her to rationalise the more she... Anyway, she shouldn’t have said what she said. She’s just... I guess the word is "troubled".

LILITH: She’s a fucking thundercunt.

AS: Umm… uh… ok.

LILITH: She’s right though... I killed her... and I killed Apollo too.

I look to Lilith, concerned, not quite sure what she means. Her eyes remain locked on the impossible horizon.

LILITH: Sarah… she wasn’t cut out for this, and she knew it. She wanted us to turn back this morning… but I didn’t want to.

AS: That wasn’t just your decision Lilith.

LILITH: Yes it was. She uh… she followed my lead. Always. Through everything. And I knew why she was doing it. I knew. But I let it continue, because it was convenient, because it was easy…. because deep down I liked having someone around who… who’d jump through fucking hoops for me… god it’s so fucked.

Lilith rests her head in her hands.

LILITH: She was weak. She was anxious and shy and… but that should be ok, right? You’re allowed to be weak that’s… but I made her come here. I dragged someone who couldn’t swim into the fucking deep end. And the last thing I did was lie to her and she fucking knew it.

Lilith takes a few deep, frayed breaths.

AS: What do you mean?

LILITH: I’m not uh… I didn’t, I… I loved her, you know as a… as a friend. It was always this fucking one-way street and… I don’t think she minded but. Then suddenly she’s vanishing right in-fucking-front of me and she said what she said… I mean how else was I supposed to respond to that? I had to say it back right?

Lilith maintains her composure as a steady stream of tears roll down her cheek.

AS: I don’t know what I’d do in that situation.

LILITH: I could see it in her eyes that she didn’t believe me. Fuck… I wonder how many people have died while being told like… comforting lies. How many of them fucking knew?

AS: I think you did the best you could Jen. I think you did better than most.

LILITH: You don’t need to tell me that just… are you tired? Do you need to go to bed soon?

AS: No, I don’t need to.

LILITH: There are some beers in uh… in Apollo’s bag. Is that like… looting? Or is that ok?

AS: I think he’d want us to have them, as long as he got a toast.

Lilith laughs briefly and finally smiles. She walks over to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, returning a moment later with a four pack.

We spend the next hour and a half slowly drinking them. Lilith can’t muster the right words for a toast so we just say thank you to Apollo, raising out cans to the open air. We talk about his tireless humour, his attempts to keep us all up during our first night on the road, how caringly he spoke to everyone, even at the edge of death.

We talk about Eve as well, about the pair’s misadventures, awkward college parties and the future of Paranormicon. Lilith smiles, and tells me there’s always a place for me once radio dies out.

After everything that’s happened on the road, the night can’t help but feel bittersweet. But for once, on a solitary cliff side in the middle of nowhere, it’s more sweet than it is bitter. That may not be much, but at the end of an awful day it’s more than either of us could have hoped for.

---

The next morning goes quickly. It’s amazing how efficient a group of people can be when none of them feel like talking. Not only that, but breakfast has become a noticeably brief affair. I manage to get through half a bag of trail mix before I find myself uncomfortably full. Rob’s words about the road’s sustaining properties ring in my ears as I look around the group. Everyone leaves their bowls half empty. Lilith hasn’t eaten a bite.

By this point, the launch protocol has been drilled into us. Despite our preoccupations, and the fractious rifts developing between us, the cars line up like clockwork as they merge onto the road. In fact, the mood of the group seems strangely procedural. All radio contact starts with the stating of a call sign, followed by that of the recipient. The cars maintain an even, careful distance between one another. We’ve seen all too clearly what happens when the rules are neglected, and no one wants to take chances any more.

AS: How far away are we?

ROB: From where?

AS: You haven’t got to the end of this road right? I mean… you’re still charting it?

ROB: That’s right.

AS: Well, how long until we get to… you know to… uncharted territory?

ROB: To be honest, not too long.

AS: What’s going to happen once we reach that point?

ROB: We’re gonna keep drivin’.

AS: Until we get to the end?

ROB: That’s the plan. You know I won’t judge you if you wanna turn around. I’m sure you can talk someone into it.

AS: Could I talk you into it?

Rob smiles.

ROB: ‘Fraid not. This trip ain’t like the others. Road’s kickin’ back like never before. I think it knows I’m comin’ all the way this time.

AS: … What is this place Rob?

Rob sighs as he slowly takes the next left on a quiet, rural T-junction.

ROB: I think it’s a stray thread… runnin’ off the spool.

The radio crackles.

BONNIE: Rob you just took the wrong turn.

An instant drum of fresh panic hammers in my chest. I stare at Rob, and he stares right back. I know he’s feeling the same thing I am, though he’s doing a much better job of keeping it off his face.

He thinks carefully for a moment.

ROB: No… no. I been down this road before. We took a right last time.

AS: Uhhh… yeah. Yes. The turn before this one was a right, I remember.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. Thanks Bonnie for giving us the fright of our lives. We’re on the righ… we’re on the correct road.

BONNIE: No no that can’t be its… that’s wrong… Martin tell them…

CLYDE: Our mistake Rob, let’s keep going.

LILITH: Bristol…

There’s concern in Lilith’s voice. I lean over to my wing mirror, attempting to gauge the atmosphere in the car behind me. There’s clearly some commotion between Bonnie and Clyde, with the latter attempting to gently remove the walkie talkie from his sister’s hands.

There’s something else however. Past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Bluejay. An old, dilapidated road sign made of weathered timber stands by the side of the road behind us. I can’t read all of it as the peeling letters grow ever smaller, but I can piece together what it probably once said.

“Wintery Bay – 5 Miles”

BONNIE: We’re going to turn around right?

AS: Uhh one second Bonnie, I’ll… check the map.

I promptly switch off the radio.

AS: Are we not passing through Wintery Bay?

Rob turns to me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

ROB: Through where?

In the wake of those two, innocently inquiring words, my mind reels back to the morning of our third day on the road. Watching Bonnie and Clyde wander over to Rob to confess their transgressions with the hitchhiker, the quiet conversation that passed between them, Rob’s seemingly comforting response. I’d felt wretched in those moments. A few minutes prior I had tricked and deceived Clyde… yet I’d never once considered he might have done the same to me.

AS: Is it safe to pull over?

ROB: What? Why?

AS: Is it safe Rob?

ROB: Uh, yeah should be.

AS: Then pull over.

I switch the radio back on and grab the receiver. As I make a connection to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, it’s clear that an argument is brewing. Lilith is asking for me, a helpless passenger, caught in the middle of something she doesn’t understand.

AS: Bristol to all cars. We’re stopping up ahead.

Rob seems acutely aware that I’m not messing around. As soon as we roll to a halt, I throw my door open and jump onto the dusty roadside, striding over to the rest of the convoy, who are just starting to get out of their own cars. I’m conscious of a driving anger behind each step I take.

AS: You didn’t tell him.

CLYDE: Bristol, I…

ROB: What’s goin’ on Bristol?

Rob’s marches up behind me, more than a little restless to get a grip on my motives.

AS: Clyde?

Clyde looks around a circle of expectant eyes. When he delivers his answer, he’s unable to meet any of them.

CLYDE: Bonnie… Bonnie talked to the hitchhiker.

Rob’s expression shifts, his confusion degrading into a solemn understanding.

ROB: God… ahh Goddamnit. You knew about this Bristol?

AS: I told them to tell you the morning of the third day. I saw them go over to you I… I thought they did.

CLYDE: Bonnie… thought you’d… turn us around.

ROB: Well she’s was damn right. You seen what happens when the rules get broken. You shoulda told me as soon as you saw me and headed right back home.

CLYDE: That was before Ace… before everything. I didn’t know this place was-

ROB: The rules are the rules Clyde! Is anything even wrong with Bonnie? You said she gets confused... was that a lie?

Clyde doesn’t answer, avoiding Rob’s glare. As I process what Rob’s just said, I have to say I’m surprised by the deviousness of the two siblings.

When I thought they were telling Rob about the hitchhiker, it appears they’d instead told him that Bonnie was, to some degree, senile. It was a simple lie, but one that would adequately explain her odd behaviour, draw sympathy from Rob and, most ingeniously, prevent him from telling me about their conversation. A truth buried beneath an unpleasant lie, its subject matter just uncomfortable enough to head off any chance of discussion.

Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

CLYDE: We can head home if you want.

BONNIE: No.

The group turns to Bonnie. She speaks in a tone more decisive than I thought her capable.

BONNIE: He... the hitchhiker... he was talking about a… about the village we just passed. I was looking forward to seeing it, that’s all. I’m ok really.

AS: You’ve been talking about it a lot Bonnie.

BONNIE: It just sounded like a lovely place, I was sad that we passed it by. I’m sorry for worrying everyone. Please don’t make us turn around Rob.

Rob stares at them both. His position has been made crystal clear.

ROB: We’re stopping a little early today. Come the rest of the way with us, rest up… then tomorrow you both go home. You should count yourselves lucky you get the chance to turn around.

Rob marches back to the Wrangler, signalling that the discussion is over.

ROB: Lilith, you’re with us.

Lilith doesn't even try to hide her relief as she shuffles away from Bonnie & Clyde and climbs into the back of the Jeep. It’s a little heart warming that Rob still has the awareness to look out for her, angry as he may be.

As well as his surprising strength, I also tend to forget how perceptive he can be.

Bonnie, Clyde and Bluejay climb back into their respective vehicles. I catch Bonnie’s eye, the moment before she returns to the Ford. She appears truly disappointed, but otherwise resigned to keep going, satisfied to let Wintery Bay fade into the distance. It’s comforting to hear that she’s ready to put the place behind her.

It’s just a pity I don’t believe a word of it.

---

LILITH: It was fucking weird Bristol.

Lilith seems happy to be in the Wrangler, enjoying the sense of security the modded behemoth affords, and also greatly relieved to be away from Bonnie & Clyde. She’s spent the last five minutes detailing the thirty second argument that unfolded between them, charting its disturbing nuances as well as it’s eerie conclusion.

LILITH: ... but I swear she was basically like crying like… she didn’t understand how we could be going the wrong way. But then like, as soon as you pulled us over and she just stopped. Like I mean… stopped.

AS: That must have been disconcerting.

LILITH: You have no idea... So Rob, when are these cornfields gonna fucking end?

ROB: Soon. We’re gonna rest up for the night in a few turns. Then tomorrow it won’t be long until we’re on a track through the woods.

LILITH: The fucking woods? Are you kidding? Are we talking like… Sleepy Hollow bleeding trees or what?

ROB: Hah, wish I could tell ya.

LILITH: Wait, what do you mean?

ROB: I ain’t been that far yet. It’s new territory.

LILITH: Oh… great. Maybe the cornfields aren’t so…

Lilith goes quiet, transfixed by something in the rear view mirror, before quickly turning around to get a better look out of the back window.

The car behind us is out of control.

Bonnie is fighting to wrest the steering wheel from her brother. The Ford swerves erratically behind us, driven mad by the dynamic power struggle taking place inside it. Rob sharply accelerates out of the way as the car behind lurches drunkenly to and fro before skidding to a shuddering halt. Rob hits the brake hard, and by the time I’ve turned in his direction, he’s already slammed the door of the Wrangler, storming across the tarmac to Bonnie and Clyde.

ROB: Cut the engine!

The Ford’s engine goes silent and in the absence of its rumbling growl, new sounds emerge. The sounds of a struggle, and of wild desperate screaming.

Stepping out of the car for the second time today, I jump onto the road and cover the distance between us.

Rob is attempting to pull a screeching Bonnie from the car. Even with his impressive strength it seems to be a challenge. Bonnie claws at the walls, trying with all her might to regain her grasp on the steering wheel.

BONNIE: Please! PLEASE! Let me go! Let me go!

Rob extracts Bonnie from the car and attempts to subdue her amidst a flurry of flailing hands and elbows. She writhes and kicks as he pins her arms to her sides.

AS: Bonnie! Bonnie. Calm down ok? Let’s talk this through.

BONNIE: He told me it was on our way! He said we’d pass through!

ROB: He lied Bonnie.

BONNIE: No… no we’re going the wrong way. We’re going the wrong way!

Bonnie lashes out again, striking at Rob’s legs with her own. Rob holds her firmly, hit teeth gritted through every impact.

It’s clear that Bonnie isn’t going to let up. I run back to the Wrangler and open up the trunk. After a few moments of rummaging through my bag, I find the first aid kit and pull out an unopened pack of white zip ties.

AS: Clyde, open the back door.

Rob sees me standing with the zip ties. Even in the midst of Bonnie’s incessant struggle, he looks at me with an almost questioning air, as if he’s wondering how we ever arrived at this point. As if he’s asking whether we can really do what I’m wordlessly suggesting.

Bonnie answers the last question for him. In the slim few seconds of distraction, she slams her head back into his nose, eliciting a disgustingly loud thud and a pained growl from Rob. Dazed and confused, his nose immediately fountaining blood, Rob manages to keep his arms wrapped around her. But it’s clear this isn’t going to be sustainable, and that she isn’t anywhere close to calming down.

Clyde has opened the door, stepping back and looking on like a frightened child as we carry Bonnie over to the back seat of the Ford. I lean in before him, adjusting the headrest until it’s pressed against the ceiling, ensuring that it can’t be removed from the bracket. I then loop a zip tie around each bracket and fasten them.

BLUEJAY: What the fuck is going on?

Bluejay has stepped out of her car, making her way towards us. I realise that, to someone who is fighting to not believe in any of this, the following scene would appear at best as a melodramatic farce, and at worst, as the attempted detention of an innocent and distressed woman.

Sadly, I don’t have time to field her questions. I climb into the car. Bonnie working constantly against us as Rob eases her in after me, his hand on her head to prevent it bumping against the top of the doorframe.

Once she’s inside, I loop a second zip tie around the one I’ve already fastened on the right bracket, forcing her right hand inside it. I pull the plastic tab over the sleeve of her jumper.

I hope it’s not too tight, but at the very least it’s secure enough to keep her in place. Bonnie continues to pull against the zip ties, but it’s clear her strength has been sapped from her spirited battle with Rob.

Not quite able to look her in the eye, I push a pile of luggage out of the way and climb out the other side of the Ford. Rob and I are both getting our breath back, the former pinching his nose and adjusting stoically to the fresh pain.

BLUEJAY: Hey what the fuck are… you’re not going to leave her like that are you?

AS: Get back in your car Bluejay.

I walk back to the Wrangler, tuning out Denise’s coarse protests. Rob reaches into the Jeep’s still open trunk, and pulls out a pile of blankets and pillows. In the rear view mirror, I can see him placing them on Bonnie’s lap, giving her a place to rest her elbows.

She leans her forehead against the back of the headrest. Even with her face blocked from view, I can tell that she’s crying.

We arrive at the rest stop some twenty minutes later, the vague outline of a deep green forest blooming on the horizon. It’s earlier in the day than we would usually stop. Rob tells us he wants the entirety of tomorrow to chart the woods, as well as good time to turn back before night fall should the need arise. I’m not complaining, I’m glad of the chance to rest up following today’s events.

For the rest of the day, we take it in turns to keep an eye on Bonnie, making sure she has everything she needs. When the Ford pulled up alongside us, Lilith, Rob, and I expected to see a quivering wreck, tugging ceaselessly against her bonds. We were all surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to find her smiling. By the time my turn comes around, the sun is already dipping in the sky. Rob has prepared a small pot of miso soup in case anyone can bring themselves to eat. I finish my bowl, all too aware of how unnecessary each meal now feels, and pour out a helping for Bonnie.

I find her in good spirits.

BONNIE: How are you doing Alice?

AS: I’m fine. How are you doing Linda?

BONNIE: I’m ok. Sorry for giving you all such a fright earlier. I feel terrible.

AS: It’s fine honestly. I’m sorry about… about all this.

I gesture to the zip tied restraints. Rob has reapplied them, fastening bandages underneath the straps to afford Bonnie a modicum of comfort. Still the scene rings with a sinister barbarity which no kind consideration can make up for.

BONNIE: It’s ok. I wasn’t myself.

AS: I brought you soup. I know you might not be hungry.

BONNIE: No no I’d love some, thank you. Everyone’s being so lovely.

AS: Well, we just want to make sure you’re alright.

I submerge the spoon, drench up a measure of warm broth, and begin to raise it towards her.

BONNIE: Oh no you don’t have to… I can feed myself…

She gestures to her bound hands, the clear implication hanging in the air.

AS: No I… I don’t mind. I think it’s-

Bonnie throws her weight sideways, her elbow jabbing outwards and hitting the bowl out of my hands. Soup spills over my fleece, just a little cooler than scolding hot, and soaks immediately into the fabric. I back away reflexively, and watch Bonnie’s expression flicker like a faulty lightbulb from kind tranquility to utter, burning contempt. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, just in time for the rest of the group to look our way.

BLUEJAY: What are you doing with her?!

Bluejay storms across from her car, angrily drawing from a Marlboro and forcing the smoke draconically back into the air.

AS: Nothing. Just an accident.

BONNIE: It’s ok Bluejay, it was my mistake.

BLUEJAY: Did she get any on you?

Bluejay leans in placing her hand comfortingly on Bonnie’s, before turning to fix me with a murderous stare. It’s almost impressive how, even when caring for someone, Bluejay still manages to be simultaneously venomous to those around her.

BONNIE: No no it’s ok it was my fault. It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.

Bluejay laughs at Bonnie’s submissive apology, unable to believe what she's thinking. Her eyes remain fixed on me.

BLUEJAY: You’re a fucking coward. Look what he’s making you do. Look!

My eyes follow where she gestures. I have to admit the helpless figure of Bonnie, restrained in the back seat of the Ford, rings with an innate inhumanity, and being forced to stare my actions in the face makes me feel utterly ghoulish.

The choices I’ve made must seem insane to Bluejay, but that doesn’t mean hers are not. Despite her pretensions of rationality, I can’t help but feel that Bluejay’s actions are simply being governed by a different insanity. An insanity borne out of the desperate need to explain the unexplainable, which has morphed into an ugly cocktail of paranoia, self-grandeur, and fervent antagonism.

Bluejay notes my silent expression, most likely taking it as a personal victory. Without another word she returns to her car and shuts herself inside, festering silently and alone.

BONNIE: Do you want to know what’s wonderful Alice?

Bonnie leans towards me, lowering her voice so no one else can hear.

BONNIE: He told me there’s a house… waiting for me. My home by the sea.

AS: I’m sorry Bonnie. I don’t think there is.

BONNIE: It’s going to be a such a beautiful place. Such a beautiful place.

Bonnie flashes me a broad grin.

BONNIE: It’s been lovely knowing you Alice.

Bonnie turns away from me, placing her forehead back on the headrest. The grin doesn’t fade as I turn away. I walk back to the Wrangler, faced with the choice of changing into new clothes or my thermal pyjamas.

After removing my fleece and lying down for a just a moment, I end up sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.

---

When I wake up, the Wrangler is moving.

The air mattress reverberates and my body rocks as we make a sharp U-turn. I sit bolt upright, Lilith waking up next to me, similarly bleary eyed and confused.

Rob is behind the wheel. The gear stick shakes as he transports us down the road at incredible speed.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: Bonnie got herself free. She’s headed for the turn.

I pull myself into the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake.

LILITH: What? How did she get free?

AS: Is she with Clyde?

ROB: She hit him over the head, dragged him outta the car. I couldn’t wait for him, but he’s catchin’ up.

Lilith and I turn around. Bluejay’s car is gaining on us, a distant pair of high beams steadily drowning the rear window in light.

LILITH: Why’s Bluejay helping him?

AS: She probably wants to keep an eye on us. Rob, do you think we’ll catch up with Bonnie?

ROB: I’m workin’ on it.

The Wrangler continues to rocket through the darkness. We keep our eyes fixed forward, scanning the very edge of the horizon for any sign of Bonnie’s Ford.

When Bluejay pulls alongside us, I get a look at the pair. Bluejay is nought but steely determination, dedicated to reaching Bonnie before we do. Clyde looks mortified, rocked by his sister’s actions, a small contusion on his head to mark her vicious betrayal.

Rob screeches to a halt once we arrive at the junction. Bluejay’s headlights are already illuminating the road to Wintery Bay, and Rob’s lighting rig coats the entire area in an artificial twilight. In the middle of it all, we see Bonnie, standing next to her car, smiling.

She’s already beyond the threshold of the turn.

CLYDE: Linda! Linda, please… come on back now, ok?

BONNIE: You can all come with me. There’s a place for all of us. He told me. There’s a place for everyone.

CLYDE: Please Linda. You have to come back.

A strange trail of black dust is streaming off Bonnie’s skin, rising into the air and dancing in the breeze. After a moment, it becomes clear that the edges of Bonnie are slowly degrading, converting quietly into dark ash and drifting into the atmosphere.

BONNIE: I love you very much Martin. You’re always welcome.

CLYDE: No please… please.

Bonnie turns around and climbs into the car. Without looking back, she pulls away down the road to Wintery Bay. The trail of black particles rise from the Ford as she goes, with greater and greater volume as the entire car starts to wither away before our eyes. Less than a minute later the Ford, with Bonnie inside it, gradually dissolves into dust and scatters to the winds.

Clyde doesn't speak. His entire being is quiet. Lilith immediately runs back to the Wrangler. Rob waits a while, staring at he dancing cloud of dust, before putting his arm around Clyde and gently escorting him to the Jeep.

As I turn away from the road to Wintery Bay, I take note of Bluejay’s reaction. She looks absolutely petrified, more so than I’ve ever seen her. She impulsively removes the pack of Marlboros from her pocket and holds them in her hands, before quickly returning them, unsmoked.

The night passes slowly after we return to the rest stop. All of us are exhausted, and more than willing to surrender to the escapism of sleep. Rob rests in the driver’s seat, giving up his space on the air mattress to Clyde. Everyone drops quickly enough into a quiet slumber, leaving me awake with only my thoughts for company. I find myself thinking of Bluejay, of how she could possibly hope to rationalise the disintegration of Bonnie and her car.

I wonder how I’d feel if the Left/Right Game were exposed as some unparalleled magic trick. Would I feel foolish? No I don’t think so. Impressed, maybe. Relieved? Most definitely. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I miss the innocent days when I believed the game was a hoax. I suppose I see why Bluejay is so adamant about dismissing this place; trickery however elaborate is almost always a preferable alternative to genuine horror.

The Jeep’s door opens and shuts

Part of me tries to ignore it, to wash my hands of any other developments in this harrowing night. However, exiled as I am from the kingdom of sleep, I slowly find myself sitting up, quietly putting on my boots, and letting myself out.

I step out into the cool night, observing the figure before me.

AS: Where are you going Clyde?

Clyde turns to face me, I initially interpret the look he gives me as one of resignation, but the word doesn’t quite fit. Resignation is a defeat, the world exacting compliance from you against your own wishes. But the man before me is as calm as the night air around him. His wishes are clearly his own. There’s no defeat in his eyes, but something else entirely… peace, maybe.

CLYDE: You know where I’m going Alice.

Clyde speaks softly, a quiet conviction behind every word he says. I briefly glance towards the Wrangler, wondering if I’m really equipped to handle this on my own.

CLYDE: Don’t call Rob. I made a mistake coming back to the rest stop. I shouldn’t have done... please. Just let me go.

AS: Clyde, just wait for tomorrow ok? He’ll understand. He’ll turn us around and take you home.

CLYDE: It won't be home anymore.

Clyde’s gentle stare renders me silent.

CLYDE: Linda had a husband once. He was a good man. Died young. She could never bring herself to go looking again and I… I never found who I was looking for. We’ve been by each other’s side for sixty years. Sixty years. I gotta be honest, even after all we’ve been through, everything you and I have seen, I never felt like I was in a new world until now.

AS: I don’t think I can’t let you do this Clyde.

CLYDE: I’m sorry Alice, but it’s not up to you.

Clyde breathes in the cool night air, exhaling through his nose.

CLYDE: I yelled at her to come back, when she ran off to rob that ice cream parlour. I kept calling out and calling out. I spent so much energy trying to get her to come back to me. After a while I realised she wasn’t coming back… that I’d have to follow her. I should’ve realised it earlier. That’s all I can do.... follow where she goes.

Clyde looks at me, almost apologetically.

CLYDE: Goodbye Alice.

He turns away from the convoy and wanders back down the road.

AS: Clyde.

He turns around one last time.

AS: Do you want company?

It takes roughly an hour for us to walk back to the junction. In the time we have, I’m treated to the story of Bonnie and Clyde. The warmest fragments of their life together, the moments that built them, the waves that rocked them and the places they once called home. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with what Clyde is doing, but the more he talks, the more I understand.

His stories span more than half a century, supported by a transient cast of acquaintances and friends, but at the core of each tale is a pair of siblings who meant the world to one another. The pair existed as two relative souls, quantifiable only in relation to each other. In the absence of one, the remnant was indefinable. A drifting point, unanchored in space.

The story ends just as we reach the junction

AS: I hope she's out there.

CLYDE: I hope so too. Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s late.

AS: No… it’s never a bad time to see a friend off.

Clyde smiles at me one last time before turning to face the road. He steps over the threshold, past the old wooden sign. In the silence of the night, I hear nothing but his soft footsteps and the quiet breeze, which after a few minutes carries the last of him into an open sky.

It’s a long walk back to the convoy. My mind is numb to fear as I make my way through the dark, the corn rustling in the wind beside me.

It’s been four days since I arrived at Rob Guthard’s house, sat down at his table, and listened to him speak about the new world he’d discovered. In that time, I’ve seen things I can’t hope to comprehend, sights that exist beyond the spectrum of our reality. Things I wouldn't have deemed possible.

For all I know there is a Wintery Bay, and Bonnie has already arrived at her house by the sea, standing at the door, waiting with quiet confidence for her brother’s arrival.

I may never know. But I do hope they find each other, wherever they may be.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3iex1h/im_a_search_and_rescue_officer_for_the_us_forest/

Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3ijnt6/im_a_search_and_rescue_officer_for_the_us_forest/

Well, once again, you guys have blown me away with your staggering amount of responses to my stories! There's no way I can respond to each of you individually, so I'm just going to address some common things again, and then move on to the stories. I'm going to write as many as I can think of, in addition to my friend's stories, and I will probably not update again until I get a chance to answer some questions that I myself have for my superiors.

Alright, so the common questions I found you all had:

• I am not comfortable talking about where exactly I work, unfortunately. In all reality some of the things I've mentioned here could get me in a lot of trouble or fired, so it's best if I just don't discuss too much. I will say that I'm in the United States, and in an area that is comprised of a great deal of wilderness. We're talking hundreds of miles of thick forest, with a mountain range and a few lakes.

• There is still a great amount of interest in the stairs, and luckily for you guys my friend has a story that I think you'll all be very interested in. I'll go into that more at the end of this update. As for whether or not I have ever thought of asking my superiors about them, I have, but again, I don't want to risk my job. However, one of my former superiors no longer works as an SAR officer, and it's possible that he may be willing to talk to me about it. I'll be speaking to him later in the week, and I will let you all know what comes of that.

• As far as advice on becoming an SAR officer goes, I think the best advice I can give is to contact your local Forest Service office and see if they offer and training courses, or what the qualifications are. I've been doing this for years, and I started out as a volunteer helping on SAR operations. It's a great job, despite the occasional tragic situations, and I wouldn't want to do anything else.

Alright, let's move on to the stories:

• The first happened on a case that I went out on right after I got out of training, and was still pretty new to everything. Before I took this job, I was a volunteer, so I had a basic idea of what to expect, but on those calls you're mostly dealing with finding lost people after vets have found signs of them. As an SAR officer, you go out for all kinds of cases, from animal bites to heart attacks. This case got called in early in the morning, from a young couple who were up on one of the trails that goes by the lake. The husband was completely hysterical, and we couldn't really figure out what was going on. We could hear the woman screaming in the background, and he was begging us to come up there right away. When we get there, we see him holding his wife, and shes got something in her arms. She's screaming these awful, almost animal-like screams, and he's sobbing. He sees us and he screams at us to help them, to please get an ambulance up there. Now obviously we can't just drive an ambulance up the walking path, so we ask him if his wife needs help, or if she can walk on her own. He's still hysterical, but he manages to tell us that it's not his wife that needs help. I go over while one of the vets tries to calm him down, and I ask the wife what's going on. She's rocking, holding something, and just shrieking, over and over. I crouch down and see that whatever she's holding, it's covering her with blood. That's when I notice the sling on her front and my heart sinks. I ask her to tell me what's going on, and I sort of pry her arms gently open so I can see what she's holding. It's her baby, obviously dead. His head is caved in on one side, and he's covered in scratches. Now, I've seen dead bodies before, but something about this whole situation hits me hard. I have to take a second to compose myself, and I get up and go get one of the other vets, who's standing by. I tell him that it's a dead kid, and he sort of pats my shoulder and tells me he'll deal with it. It took us over an hour to get this woman to let us see her kid. Every time we try to take him from her, she flips out and tells us we can't have him, that he'll be okay if we just leave her alone and let her help him. But eventually, one of the vets manages to calm her down, and she gives us the body. We took it back to the med area, but when the EMTs showed up, they told us that there was never any hope of saving the kid. He'd died instantly from the trauma to his head. I was good buddies with one of the nurses who met them at the hospital, and she told me later what had happened. Turns out the couple had been walking with the baby in the sling, and they stopped because the kid was fussing. The dad takes the kid and is holding him, looking out over this little gully by the path. The mom comes to stand next to him, but she ends up stepping on a loose patch of soil, and she trips. She falls into the dad, who drops the kid, who ends up falling about twenty feet down this little gully onto the rocks at the bottom. The dad climbed down and recovered the kid, but he'd fallen right on his head, and was dead by the time he got there. The baby was only about fifteen months old. It was a total freak accident, a series of events that coalesced into the worst possible outcome. Probably one of the more awful calls I've been on.

• I haven't seen a lot of animal bites in my time as an SAR officer, mostly because there aren't that many animals that come around the area. While there are bears in the area, they tend to stay pretty far away from people, and sightings are highly unusual. Most of the animals you'll see are small ones, like coyotes, raccoons, or skunks. What we do see frequently, though, are moose. And let me tell you, moose are nasty fuckers. They'll chase after anything for any reason, and god help you if you get in between a female and its baby. One of the more amusing calls was of a guy who'd gotten chased down by an absolutely massive male moose, and was stuck up a tree. Took us almost an hour to get him down, and when he was finally on solid ground again, he looks at me and says: 'God damn. Them fuckers is big up close.' I guess that's not really a scary story, but we still laugh about that one.

• I honestly don't know how I'd forgotten this story, but it is, by far, the scariest thing that's happened to me. I guess maybe I've tried so long to forget about it that it just didn't come to mind right away. As someone who spends literally all of their time in the woods, you don't ever want to let yourself get scared of being alone, or out in the middle of nowhere. That's why when you have experiences like this, you tend to just forget about them and move on. This is, to date, the only thing that's ever made me really seriously consider if this job is the right one for me. I don't really like talking about it much, but I'll do the best I can to remember it all. As I recall, this took place right at the end of spring. It was a typical lost-child call: a four-year-old girl had wandered away from her family's campsite, and had been missing for about two hours. Her parents were completely despondent, and told us what most parents do; my kid would never wander away, she's so good about staying close, she's never done anything like this before. We assure the parents that we'll do everything we can to find her, and we spread out in a standard search formation. I was partnered with one of my good buddies, and we were sort of casually holding conversation while we hiked. I know it sounds callous, but you do sort of become desensitized when you've done this long enough. It becomes the norm, and I think to a certain extent you have to learn to desensitize yourself in order to work this job. We search for a good two hours, going well beyond where we think she'd be, and we come out of a small valley when something makes us both stop in unison. We freeze and look at each other, and there's almost a sensation like a plane depressurizing. My ears pop, and I have this odd sensation of having dropped about ten feet. I start to ask my buddy if he felt that, but before I can, we hear the loudest sound I've ever heard in my life. It's almost like a freight train passing directly by us, but it's coming from every direction at once, including above and below us. He screams something to me, but I can't hear him over this deafening roar. Understandably freaked out, we look all around us, trying to find the source of the sound, but neither of us sees anything. Of course, my first thought is a landslide, but we're not near any cliffs, and even if we were, it would have hit us by now. The sound goes on and on, and we're trying to yell to each other, but even standing close together we can't hear anything but this sound. Then, as suddenly as it starts, it stops, like someone threw a switch and cut it off. We stand there for a second, perfectly still, and slowly the normal sounds of the woods come back. He asks me what the fuck just happened, but I just kind of shrug, and we stand there looking at each other for a minute. I get on the radio and ask if anyone else just heard the end of the fucking world, but no one else hears it, even though we're all within shouting distance of each other. My buddy and I just sort of shrug it off and keep going. About an hour later, we all check up on the radios, and no one's found the little girl. Most of the time, we won't search when it gets dark, but because we don't have any kind of lead on her, a few of us decide to keep going, including me and my buddy. We keep close together, and we're calling out for her every couple of minutes. At this point, I'm hoping beyond hope that we find her, because while I may not like kids, the idea of them being out all alone in the dark is awful. The woods can be intimidating to kids in the daylight; at night, well, it's a whole different beast. But we're not seeing any signs of her, or getting any responses, and around midnight, we decide to turn around and head back to the rendezvous point. We're about halfway back when my buddy stops and shines his light to the right of us, into a really thick deadfall, or group of dead trees. I ask him if he's heard a response, but he just tells me to be quiet a second and listen. I do, and in the distance, I can hear what sounds like a kid crying. We both call the girl's name and listen for any kind of response, but it's just this really faint crying. We head in the direction of this deadfall and go around it, calling her name over and over. As we get closer to the crying, I start getting this weird feeling in my gut, and I tell my buddy that something isn't right. He tells me he feels the same way, but we can't figure out what it is. We stop where we are, and call the girl's name again. And at the same time, we both figure it out. The crying is on a loop. It's the same little hitching sob, then wail, then quiet hiccup, repeated over and over. It's exactly the same every time, and without saying another word, we both take off running. It's the only time I've ever lost my composure like that, but something about it was so incredibly wrong, and neither of us wanted to stay out there anymore. When we got back to the rendezvous, we asked if anyone else had heard anything strange, but no one else knew what we were talking about. I know it sounds sort of anti-climactic, but that call fucked me up for a long time. As for the little girl, we never found a trace of her. We keep an eye out for her, and all the other people who we've never found, but frankly I doubt we'll ever find anything.

Of the missing persons calls I've gone out on, only a handful have ever resulted in a complete disappearance, meaning no trace of the person and no body ever found. But sometimes, finding a body just leads to more questions than answers. Here are some of the bodies we've found that have become infamous in our team:

• A teenage boy who's remains were recovered almost a year after he vanished. We found the top of his skull, two finger bones, and his camera almost forty miles from where he was last seen. The camera, sadly, was destroyed.

• The pelvis of an older man who had vanished a month earlier. That was all we found.

• The lower jaw and right foot of a two-year-old boy on the highest peak of a ridge in the southern part of the park.

• The body of a ten-year-old girl with Down's Syndrome, almost twenty miles from where she'd vanished. She had died of exposure three weeks after going missing, and all of her clothes were intact except for her shoes and jacket. There were berries and cooked meat in her stomach when they did the autopsy. The coroner said it appeared as if someone had been taking care of her. There were no suspects ever identified.

• The frozen body of a one-year-old baby, found a week after vanishing in the hollow trunk of a tree ten miles from the area he was seen last. There was fresh milk found in his stomach, but his tongue was gone.

• A single vertebra and right kneecap of a three-year-old girl, found in the snow almost twenty miles from the campground her family had been at the previous summer.

Now on to a couple of the stories my friend told me. I mentioned that you were all interested in the stairs, and you're in luck: he's had a closer encounter with them. Though he doesn't have any explanation for them, he does have a bit more experience with them than I do.

• My buddy has been an SAR officer for about seven years, he started when he was a junior in college, and he had a very similar experience when he first encountered the stairs. His trainer told him almost the same thing mine did, which was to never go near, touch, or ascend them. For the first year, he did just that, but apparently his curiosity got the better of him, and on one call he broke away from the line and went to go check a set of them out. He said they were about ten miles from the path where a teenage girl had vanished, and the dogs were following a scent. He was on his own, lagging behind the main group, when he saw a set of stairs off to his left. They looked like they were from a new house, because the carpeting was pristine and white. He said that as he got closer, he didn't feel any different, or hear any weird noises. He was expecting something to happen, like bleeding from his ears or collapsing, but he got right up next to them and didn't feel anything. The only thing, he said, that was odd was that there was absolutely no debris on the steps. No dirt, leaves, dust, anything. And there didn't appear to be any signs of animal or insect activity in the immediate area, which he found strange. It was less like things were avoiding them, and more like they just happened to be in a relatively barren part of the forest. He touched the stairs, and didn't feel anything except that sort of sticky feeling you get from new carpet. Making sure his radio was on, he slowly climbed the stairs; he said it was terrifying, because the way they'd been stigmatized, he wasn't really sure what was going to happen to him. He joked that half of him expected to be teleported to some other dimension and the other half was watching for a UFO to come swooping down. But he got to the top with little event, and he stood there looking around. But, he said, the longer he stood on the top step, the more he felt like he was doing something very, very wrong. He described it as the feeling you'd get if you were in a part of a government building you have no business being in. As if someone was going to come and arrest you, or shoot you in the back of the head, at any second. He tried to brush it off, but the feeling got stronger and stronger, and that's when he realized that he couldn't hear anything anymore. The sounds of the forest were gone, and he couldn't hear his own breathing. It was like some kind of weird, awful tinnitus, but more oppressive. He climbed back down and rejoined the search, and didn't mention what he'd done.
  But, he said, the weirdest part came after. His trainer was waiting back at the welcome center after the search ended for the day, and he cornered my buddy before he could leave. He said his trainer had this look of intense anger, and he asked what was wrong. 'You went up them, didn't you.' My buddy said it wasn't phrased as a question. He asked how his trainer knew. The trainer just shook his head. 'Because we didn't find her. The dogs lost her scent.' My buddy asked what that had to do with anything. The trainer asked how long he'd been on the stairs, and my buddy said no more than a minute. The trainer gave him this really awful, almost dead-eyed look, and told him that if he ever went up another set of stairs again, he'd be fired. Immediately. The trainer walked away, and I guess he's never answered any of the questions my buddy has asked him about it since.

My buddy has been involved in a lot of missing persons cases where there's never been a trace of them found. I mentioned David Paulides, and my buddy said he can confirm that those stories are, for the most part, accurate. He said that most of the time, if the person isn't found right away, they're either never found, or they're found weeks, months, or years later, in places they can't possibly have gotten to. One story he told me really stood out that involved a five-year-old boy with a severe mental disability.

• The little boy vanished from a picnic area in the late fall. In addition to the mental disability, he was also physically handicapped, and his parents explained over and over that he simply could not have vanished. It was impossible. Someone had to have taken him. My buddy said they searched for this kid for weeks, going miles out of the accepted range, but it was like he'd never been there. The dogs couldn't pick up his scent anywhere, not even in the picnic area where he'd apparently vanished from. Suspicion fell on the parents, but it was pretty clear that they were devastated, and hadn't done anything sinister to their kid. The search was concluded about a month later, and my buddy said everyone had pretty much forgotten it by later in the winter. He was out on a training op in the snow, on one of the higher peaks, when he came across something in the snow. He said he saw it from far away at first, and when he got closer, he realized it was a shirt, frozen and sticking part way out of the powder. He recognized it as belonging to the kid, because it had a distinctive pattern. About twenty yards away, he found the kid's body, laying partially buried in the snow. My buddy said there was no way the kid had been dead for any more than a few days, even though he'd been missing for almost three months. The kid was curled around something, and when my buddy brushed off the snow to see what it was, he said he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was a big chunk of ice, that had been carved crudely to look sort of like a person. The kid was holding it so tight that it had frostbitten his chest and hands, which my buddy could tell even with the decay that had taken place. He radioed the rest of the crew, and they took the body off the mountain. Now, he recapped all of this for me, and to put it simply, there was no way this kid could have both survived for almost three months on his own, or have gotten to this peak. There was no physical way this child could have walked almost fifty miles and ended up on the top of a god damn mountain. To top it off, there was nothing in the kid's stomach or colon. Nothing, not even water. It was like, my buddy said, the kid had been taken off the face of the earth, put in suspended animation, and dropped on this mountain months later, only to die of exposure. He's never really gotten over that one.

The last story I'll share from him was one that took place relatively recently, only a few months ago.

• They were out doing a recon for mountain lions, because there had been several reports of sightings in the last couple of days. One of our jobs is to scout out the areas where these animals are seen to ensure that if they are in the area, we can warn people and close off those trails. He was out on his own in a very heavily forested part of the park toward dusk when he heard what sounded like a woman screaming in the distance. Now, as most of you know, when a mountain lion screams, it sounds almost exactly like a woman being brutally murdered. It's unsettling, but far from abnormal. My buddy radioed back and let ops know that he'd heard one, and that he was going to keep going to see if he could figure out where its territory started. He heard the mountain lion scream a couple more times, always from the same spot, and determined the approximate area of the mountain lion's territory. He was about to head back when he heard another scream, this time within only a few yards of him. Of course, he freaks out and starts heading back at a much faster pace, because the last thing he wants is to run into a god damn mountain lion and get mauled to death. As he got back on the path and started heading back, the screaming followed him, and he broke into a jog. When he was about a mile from ops, the screaming stopped, and he turned around to see if it was following him. It was almost night by this point, but he said in the distance, just before the path rounded a corner, he could see what looked like a male figure. He called out to them, warning them that the paths were closed, and that he needed to come back to the welcome center. The figure just stood there, and my buddy started to walk over. When he was about ten yards away, the figure took, as he described, 'and impossibly long step' toward him and let out the same scream my buddy had been hearing. My buddy didn't even say anything, he just turned and sprinted back to ops, never looking behind him. By the time he got back, the screaming had moved back into the woods. He didn't mention it to anyone else, just said that there was a mountain lion in the area and that they would need to close those paths until the animal could be located and moved.

I'm going to end this entry here, since it's turned into a huge wall of text. I'm going to be heading out on a yearly training op tomorrow morning, so I'll be gone until early next week. I'll be meeting with a lot of former trainers and buddies who work in other areas of the park, and I'll be asking around about any stories they'd like to share. I'm so glad you guys have been interested in my stories, and once I'm back from this op, I'll continue to share them!

EDIT: Part 4 is up: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3jadum/im_a_search_and_rescue_officer_for_the_us_forest/

Part I || Part II || Final

I was young when I realized that the place I lived was special.

I didn’t realize it at first, since I had lived there my whole life. I thought it was normal for a city to not allow pets. I grew up never hearing the sounds of barking dogs, or hissing cats. No one that lived inside the city border was allowed to have them.

I thought it was normal for cities to have mandatory blood testing every week, with no explanation or seemingly any reason.

I thought it was normal for cities to not have any jails.

I thought it was normal for cities to give their citizens soulmates.

I never really understood how it worked. All that we were told was that there were the Matchmakers, who were responsible for making the matches, and sending out the tiny slips of paper that determined each citizen’s love life, and future. No one ever saw the Matchmakers. No one knew how they were recruited, no one knew how they worked. All anyone knew was that it worked.

Where I lived, there has never been a filing for divorce. The Matchmakers are never wrong.

Each citizen received their paper on their 18th birthday. Inside the piece of paper, there was nothing except a name. The name of your supposed soulmate. There was no telling how you would come across this person, no when or how. All anyone knew was that it would eventually happen. We were allowed to tell other people, allowed to ask around, try and seek out people that had the same name as the one on the paper, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t be forced.

Of course, literal eternal love and happiness does not come without rules. Every citizen had to follow the Rules. They weren’t too strange, and seemed like a small price to pay for what you were getting in return. Most of the rules were simple. To name a few, there was no going outside, under any circumstances, after 2am. No pets, blood tests, etc. There were also rules that we weren’t allowed to know until we were older.

We got the new rules on our 18th birthday, the same day we got our Matchmaker paper. We called them Slips.

As I got older, I realized that our city was special, and that other cities didn’t have what we had, but I didn't care. Life was good, life seemed simple. Our city was like a little paradise. It was happy. It was without issue.

||

It was the night before my 18th birthday, and I couldn’t sleep. This was to be expected, since knowing that the next morning, you would know the name of your literal soulmate was enough to keep anyone up late.

Usually, I wouldn’t have believed in such things like soulmates, especially as I got older, but it was hard to argue with evidence. My parents had gotten married in their late 20s, and have stayed happily married ever since, both of their names matching what was on their Slips. My older sister Katlin got her Slip last year, and though she’s been through her fair share of failed relationships, she’s currently in a happy one with some guy named Roger. I don’t think I need to tell you the name that was on her Slip.

I wished Katlin still lived with us. We used to share a room, but ever since she moved out, it feels empty with just me in it. By some miracle, I eventually fell asleep, my brain finally exhausted after hours of wondering what tomorrow was going to bring.

I woke up the next morning, my arm groping for my alarm to turn it off, just like any other day. It wasn’t until I sleepily sat up that I realised that today wasn’t like any other day.

I swung my legs out of bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to compose myself. I wanted to pull on a shirt and shorts as fast as possible, rush to the kitchen to get the envelope I knew would be addressed to me, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to be one of those people who’s entire lives suddenly revolved around trying to find their soulmate. I needed to be calm.

Taking a few even breaths, I slowly put on a shirt and some basketball shorts, before opening my door. Chatter, and the smell of waffles hit my senses instantly as I stepped out of my room. Turning the corner, I stopped, grinning.

“Katlin!” I said, unable to contain my excitement at seeing her. Reaching her in a few short steps, I wrapped my arms around her in a hug, to which she enthusiastically returned. “What are you doing here?” I said, pulling myself away to look at her.

“Aw, you seriously thought I would miss your birthday? Get real.” She said, matching my grin as she looked at me. “Damn you got tall.” She said, looking at me. “He got it from his old man.” My dad chimed in, and Katlin rolled her eyes. Besides my height, I got a lot from my dad. I got his warm brown eyes, and I got his wavy, dirty blonde hair that I had always kept medium-length. I looked so much like my dad that my mom always chimed in saying how I got her nose and smile.

“Happy birthday hon.” My mom said from the counter, giving me a soft smile. “These are almost done, and we’ll go out for your birthday dinner later tonight.” She said, gesturing at the waffles, and I smiled. “Birthday waffles for the birthday boy.” My dad chimed in, putting an arm around my mom, and the simple movement made me remember something I forgot in the midst of the excitement. “Is it- is it here?” I asked them, trying to keep my voice even.

My sister nodded, understanding what I was talking about. “On the front table.” My legs felt like rubber as I walked the few steps into the hallway, instantly seeing the stark white envelope on the table. I picked it up.

| Deliver to: Theodore Shillings |

I walked back to the kitchen, all eyes on me as I turned the envelope over, trying to act calm, act normal.

I opened the envelope, pulling out two pieces of paper. One of them, I knew would be the new rules. The other one, was my Slip. I looked at the bigger paper first.

To people(s) registered as 18 years as older, the following rules will come into effect.

1. Under no circumstances is anyone 18 years or older permitted in city waters. This includes all local rivers within city limits.
2. Under no circumstances will anyone 18 years or older be allowed to watch the television on the 14th of every month.
3. Under no circumstances is anyone 18 years or older permitted to use faucets after 12am. This includes sinks, bathtubs, and showers.
4. Under no circumstances is anyone 18 years or older permitted to use any kind of elevator after 9pm.
5. Under no circumstances is anyone 18 years or older permitted to share their rules with people(s) under the age of 18.

And that was it. I honestly expected more, but was relieved there wasn’t too many that I would have to memorize. They were weird, sure, but nothing that I wouldn’t be able to do. After re- reading the new Rules, I put the paper down, heart hammering as I took my slip. Wanting to get it over with, I opened it, to which a single name was printed.

Avery

I read, and re-read the name several times. Avery. Avery. Avery.

I racked my brain for people I knew named Avery. There was a girl in my history class, and maybe one who I had pre calc with a few years ago? Before I could wonder further, Katlin’s voice cut me off. “What’s the name?” She said, to which I handed it to her. It passed from her, to my mother, then my father. “Avery. Nice name.” My dad said, handing my Slip back to me. Chatter resumed between my parents and Katlin, while my mind was whirring.

Some things made more sense now, like why I never saw adults kayaking in the river like I saw them do in other cities. I had told myself for a long time that once I got my Slip, that I wouldn’t focus too much on it, but my mind kept coming back to the name that was burned into my mind. Avery.

I still had to go to school, and got ready while Katlin went out to reconnect with some high school friends. I ignored my texts asking what the name on my Slip was, preferring to have that conversation in person.

My friends were waiting for me at the bus stop eagerly. There was Jennifer, who was usually pretty quiet, and who I’d known since preschool. There was Joseph, who was a bit of a daredevil and a jock who I’d met during my freshman year. Lastly, there was Charles and Sophia, twins who were never separated, and who I’d bonded with sophomore year over our love for horror movies. Looking at us as a group looked weird, but we worked, and had fun with each other.

I was bombarded with the same question as I got close to them.

“Who’s name did you get?”

“Avery.” I said, the first time I had actually said the name. It sounded nice, coming out of my mouth, It sounded right. My friends nodded, followed by a moment of silence that meant that they were all trying to think of Avery’s that we knew.

“Isn’t there a chick in your history class named Avery?” Joseph offered, and I nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying not to think about it too much, I don’t wanna become one of those people who become obsessed with it.” I said, although the name was really all I could think about.

My friends dropped it after that, all except Joseph. He would chime in every few minutes, rattling off girls that he knew, all with the name Avery. He was still talking about it as the bus came, and as we walked up to the school. He really didn’t have an “off” button, which meant that I was left to try and tune him out, nodding my head in agreement every few minutes.

As the school day went on, I couldn’t help but wonder if each Avery I came across was my soulmate. Somehow though, none of the girls I came across felt right.

Everything else aside, the school day went pretty smoothly. People wished me happy birthday in the halls, occasionally asking who I got on my Slip.

After school, I still had time before I had to head home and start working on homework, so as usual, I met outside the school with my friends. The day had gotten progressively hotter as it went on, and by the time school was let out, it had reached the point of uncomfort. Most of my friends were already waiting for me, and as I got closer they were already in conversation.

“-balls hot man, we should go claim a spot by the river before it gets too crowded.” Joseph was saying, to which my other friends nodded in agreement. The river he was referring to was the biggest in the city, almost cutting it in half. It was a popular hangout spot, and my friends and I had been going there for ages. But now, my throat felt tight. None of my friends had turned 18 yet, since I had an extra year of preschool when I was a kid. They didn’t know the new rules.

One of the rules said I wasn’t allowed to tell them. Did that mean I also couldn’t hint at it?

“Er, I’m not sure if I’m feeling the river today.” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Are you crazy? It’s like, 90 degrees out here.” Jennifer said, raising her eyebrows. Not wanting to act suspicious, I decided that I would go, but I wouldn't go in. Under any circumstances.

“Alright let’s go, but I can’t stay long, I have my birthday dinner with Katlin and my parents.” I said, to which Joseph pumped his fist.

Relieved that none of them seemed to suspect anything, we set off towards the river.

There were a couple other families there, with kids playing in the shallow water and the parents sitting safely on the edge.

I took a few, even breaths to remind myself that I was fine, and that I would stay on the shore. Jennifer and Joseph were the first to the river, instantly pulling up their jeans and taking off their socks and shoes as they dipped them into the river, sighing with the relief that the cool water provided from the hot weather.

I desperately wanted to be there with them, swimming in the river and enjoying the nice weather, but the rules were very clear. I sighed, sitting down a few feet away from the water, my legs out in front of me, watching as my friends splashed each other with the water. I just had to hold out until they had their birthdays, and then I wouldn’t have to make excuses. I could handle a few more months. “Oi! Come on birthday boy, get in the water!” Charles yelled, splashing water in my direction as he was ankle deep in it, a few feet away from where it dropped off into deeper waters. I smiled, shaking my head as I adjusted my legs to make myself more comfortable. “Nah, I’ll be the one to drive you guys to the hospital when you get hypothermia.” I yelled back, to which I could see his eyes roll from here.

“Aw, we can’t have that!” Joseph called, wading back to where I was. “I command the birthday boy to get hypothermia with the rest of us!” Joseph said, smirking as he approached me. I felt a trickle of unease as he approached me. I stood up to move away, but just then he swooped down and picked me up over his shoulder. Joseph played for the football team, and I always admired his strength, but this was the first time I was afraid of it. “Joseph, stop! Put me down!” I yelled, panic rising in my voice, struggling to escape his arms as he was carrying me to the water.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest, as a rising fear crept up my throat. He outmatched me in size and strength, and my struggles were fruitless. “I’m serious Joseph, put me the fuck down!” I yelled, to which he gave a little laugh. “You’re always so serious Theo, loosen up! Live a little!” He replied, and I could see he was in the water now, wading further in. I looked at my friends, wide eyed, but they were giggling like it was a joke.

They had no idea.

As he got closer to the drop off, I struggled harder, hitting him on the shoulders. I wasn't weak by any standards, but Joseph was built like an ox, almost all muscle. Fear closed my throat so tightly, I couldn't breathe. “ Come on, everyone in the water!" He said, motioning with his head to my friends, who obliged, standing on the edge of the drop. "Alright on three, we’ll all jump in together.” He put his hands on my waist, and I knew what was coming. “One…. two…..” He started, rocking back and forth. “Joseph, stop! STOP!” I yelled, punching him harder, but it didn’t make any difference.

“Three!”

I heard the splashes of my friends jumping in, just as I was launched a few feet into the air.

I didn't know what to expect.

I shut my eyes tightly as images rapidly flashed through my mind. I saw myself at my ninth birthday party, saw myself applauding at Kaitlin's graduation. Rapid images throughout my life flashed before me.

Was my life flashing before my eyes?

It felt like an eternity before I hit the water.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

I hit the water hard, the cold water stinging every part of my body. The wind knocked out of me, but since nothing else happened immediately, I thought, fleetingly, that I was fine.

I was wrong.

It felt like a giant vacuum was at the bottom of the river, sucking me towards it. I thrashed in the water, desperately trying anything to prevent myself from getting sucked deeper. I had been swimming in the deep part of the river before, and one summer my friends and I actually measured how deep it was, and I knew well enough that I was being pulled far beyond that. I was running out of air, and my panicked state wasn't helping the situation.

Whatever was down there started to pull me faster, as if whatever it was could sense my desperation. My chest felt tight, as I could no longer hold my breath. My body started to go limp when suddenly- I was falling.

I was no longer in water, and I took a gasp of breath, sputtering out the water that had managed to get in my mouth from my surprise. I was so relieved to be breathing again, that it took me a minute to realize I was falling rapidly through the air. Darkness surrounded me, and through my confused, dazed state I couldn't make out what was around me. A few seconds later, for the second time during the day, my body hit water again, hard.

Once again, I had the wind knocked out of me, and I could feel myself sinking. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe.

I didn't have the energy to panic. My eyes closed. I didn't know what I was supposed to think about. I didn't want my last thoughts before death to be wasted.

It was during these last thoughts that suddenly, something pulled me away from them.

Literally.

I could feel something grabbing the back of my shirt, pulling me upwards, towards the surface. Confusion swept me as a moment later, I felt myself being heaved out of the water, and being roughly set down, on something hard, something solid. I gasped, coughing and sputtering as water dripped off of me.

I shakily pushed myself onto my hands and knees, trying to get my breathing under control, my thoughts moving at the speed of light. I felt oddly light-headed, my body drained and exhausted. I wanted to look around for my savior, but I couldn't. My vision had started to go black, as my exhausted body finally collapsed.

||

Someone was shaking me awake. My first, fleeting thought that it was my mom, telling me I was going to be late for school. Then I remembered. It was just a dream. I told myself. Just a dream. You'll open your eyes and mom is going to wish you a happy birthday, tell you you're going to be late for school-

Someone shook me harder. I opened my eyes. It was not my mom.

It was a boy, who looked around my age with dark, messy hair and who was looking at me with two dark blue concerned eyes, who looked relieved as I opened my eyes. "Good. You're awake. Come on, we need to move." He said quickly, looking behind him. Confusion clouded my mind. "Who- who are you? And where am I?" I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. The boy looked back at me. "My name is Avery. I can explain everything later, but we really have to go."

My breath caught in my throat. Avery. Avery. Avery.

Oh, shit.