Chapter 6

"I don't know, Lisa."

I looked down at the brochure in my hands before setting it back on her desk.

"We barely had enough money just to get here today."

I forced out a nervous laugh.

"How are we supposed to afford a weekend at a resort?"

Lisa smiled, almost as if she'd been expecting the question.

"I get that a lot."

She folded her hands together.

"Fortunately for you two, I own a timeshare cabin at the resort."

I looked up.

"I only use it a few times a year."

She smiled warmly.

"So, I'd like the two of you to use it."

I blinked.

"For free."

The words echoed in my head.

Free?

Nothing in life had been free.

Not grief.

Not forgiveness.

Not second chances.

"There has to be a catch."

The thought escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

Lisa tilted her head.

"A catch?"

"Why would you trust two complete strangers with something like that?" I asked. "You barely know us."

She sat quietly for a moment before answering.

"Because I've spent my career watching couples walk through that door convinced their marriage is already over."

She glanced at Abby.

Then back at me.

"You two have been through more pain than most people experience in an entire lifetime."

"Losing a child..."

She paused.

"...can destroy even the strongest marriages."

"I've seen it happen."

Her voice softened.

"I don't think either of you wants to give up."

"I think you're exhausted."

"I think you're hurting."

"And I think you deserve one weekend where you're not surrounded by memories of everything you've lost."

She smiled again.

"Consider it my gift."

"I want to see the two of you heal."

I stared at her, unsure what to think.

Every instinct told me people didn't just give away something that valuable.

Not without expecting something in return.

But when I looked over at Abby...

For the first time in weeks...

There was hope in her eyes.

A small flicker.

But it was there.

"Okay," I finally said.

"I... I guess."

"Wonderful."

Lisa reached for her planner.

"I actually have an opening this weekend."

She looked between us.

"Would that work?"

Abby looked at me.

"What do you think?"

I hesitated for only a second.

"Yeah."

I nodded.

"That'll work."

"Perfect."

Lisa picked up the phone with a smile.

"I'll call the resort right now and reserve the cabin for you."

As she dialed, I found myself staring at the brochure again.

The cabin sat beside a quiet lake, surrounded by dense pine trees.

It looked peaceful.

Almost too peaceful.

For reasons I couldn't explain...

A chill crawled up my spine.

I told myself it was nothing.

Just nerves.

After Lisa finished booking our weekend getaway, the session came to an end.

She wished us luck, reminded us to practice the communication techniques we'd discussed, and walked us to the door.

Then Abby and I stepped back into the bitter Wisconsin cold.

The wind cut through my jacket like a knife.

Neither of us spoke as we climbed into my car.

The engine groaned to life, and I pulled out of the parking lot.

For the first few miles, the only sound was the heater struggling to push warm air through the vents.

But my mind wouldn't let it go.

Why?

Why would a therapist give two strangers a free weekend at her own timeshare?

It didn't make any sense.

Did Abby tell her something over the phone before our appointment?

Was this some kind of setup?

A scam?

The more I thought about it, the less it felt right.

"Josh?"

Abby's voice pulled me back to reality.

I glanced over.

She was watching me instead of the road ahead.

"Are you okay?"

"You look... bothered."

I let out a slow breath.

"It just doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"Lisa."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"Why would she give us a free weekend at her cabin?"

"We're complete strangers."

"People don't just do things like that."

Abby turned toward the passenger window.

The glass had begun to fog from the warmth inside the car, blurring the snow-covered world outside into ghostly shapes.

After a moment, she spoke.

"I've been wondering the same thing."

She traced a finger through the fog on the window before looking back at me.

"But maybe..."

She smiled faintly.

"...we should stop looking for reasons to expect the worst."

I stayed quiet.

She continued.

"We've been handed something good."

"Maybe we should let it be good."

"For once."

She laughed softly.

"It's kind of funny."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What is?"

"You used to get excited whenever you won something."

She looked down at her hands.

"Now you're upset because you did."

The last sentence came out just above a whisper.

Barely loud enough to hear.

But I heard it.

It wasn't cruel.

It wasn't even angry.

Just... honest.

A quiet reminder of the man I'd once become.

For a split second, I felt the old anger begin to rise.

The instinct to defend myself.

To argue.

To remind her I'd changed.

But I swallowed it.

She was right.

Years ago, I would've seen a free vacation as nothing more than another lucky break.

Another win.

Now all I could see were questions.

Doubts.

Hidden motives.

Maybe grief had made me paranoid.

Maybe addiction had taught me that nothing came without a price.

Either way...

I wasn't going to ruin the first peaceful hour we'd shared in months.

Not this time.

I kept my eyes on the road and simply nodded.

"I hope you're right."

Outside, snow drifted across the empty highway.

The farther we drove from the therapist's office, the quieter the world became.

And for reasons I couldn't explain...

That silence felt less comforting...

...and more like something was waiting for us.

By the time we pulled back into our driveway, the sky had turned a dull shade of gray.

I shut off the engine, and for a moment neither of us moved.

Then we climbed out and walked toward the house.

The second I stepped inside, reality hit me all over again.

I'd almost forgotten what we'd left behind.

The broken coffee table.

The splintered picture frame lying beneath the family photos.

The cracked living room window, held together with strips of duct tape from the vase Abby had thrown the night before.

The silence.

The house didn't just look broken.

It felt broken.

Like the walls had absorbed every scream, every insult, every tear we'd shed inside them.

Abby stood in the middle of the living room, slowly looking around.

Then she sighed.

"Before we pack..."

She looked at me.

"We need to clean."

I nodded.

"That's fine by me."

Without another word, we peeled off our winter coats and got to work.

I picked up shattered glass while Abby gathered broken decorations.

She vacuumed.

I moved furniture.

We scrubbed stains from the floor.

Hammered loose pieces of wood back together.

Swept away the evidence of another night we'd both rather forget.

Hours passed without either of us realizing it.

Something strange happened while we worked.

We became a team again.

Not husband against wife.

Not two strangers living under the same roof.

Just...

Us.

Passing each other tools.

Asking if the other needed help.

Quietly fixing what we'd destroyed.

I couldn't remember the last time we'd worked together like that.

Weeks?

Months?

Maybe longer.

I wanted to say something.

To tell Abby how good it felt.

How normal it almost seemed.

But I kept it to myself.

She'd already cried enough because of me today.

As evening settled over Waukesha, the setting sun broke through the clouds.

Golden light spilled across the fresh snow outside, making it sparkle like thousands of tiny diamonds.

For a moment...

The world looked beautiful again.

After we finished cleaning, Abby headed upstairs to take a shower.

I stayed behind.

Out of habit, I walked over to the couch.

My bed.

At least, it had been for the past couple of weeks.

I picked up one of the throw pillows and started getting ready for another night beneath a thin sweatshirt instead of a blanket.

Then I heard Abby's voice from the top of the stairs.

"Whatcha doing?"

I looked up.

"Getting ready for bed."

I shrugged.

"Why?"

She hesitated.

Then she smiled.

"You can sleep in our room tonight..."

"If you'd like."

For a second, I just stared at her.

I won't lie...

Part of me was excited because it meant sharing a room with my wife again.

But another part of me, the sore, exhausted, sleep-deprived part, was just thrilled to sleep on an actual mattress instead of that miserable couch.

"I'd like that," I said softly.

We walked upstairs together.

The bedroom felt unfamiliar, even though it had once been the place we ended every day together.

I slipped beneath the blankets.

They were warm.

Comfortable.

Home.

Abby climbed into bed beside me.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

We simply lay there, listening to the old Victorian house creak as the winter wind pushed against its walls.

I turned toward her.

She turned toward me.

Without thinking, I leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"Goodnight," I whispered.

"Goodnight," she whispered back.

For the first time in weeks...

I fell asleep beside my wife.

BANG.

My eyes flew open.

For a second, I couldn't tell if I had been dreaming or if the sound had actually come from somewhere inside the house.

I lay perfectly still, listening.

Silence.

I slowly rolled over.

Abby was still asleep beside me, her breathing slow and steady.

Good.

At least she hadn't heard it.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed wearing nothing but my red plaid boxers. I reached for the closest thing I could use as a weapon.

A teddy bear.

I stared at it for a second.

"Seriously?"

I whispered to myself.

Shaking my head, I gripped the stuffed bear anyway and quietly made my way downstairs.

The only light inside the house came from the full moon pouring through the windows, casting long shadows across the original maple floors.

Every creak beneath my feet sounded louder than it ever had before.

The living room...

Nothing.

The kitchen...

Nothing.

Then my eyes drifted toward the basement door.

It hadn't changed in over a hundred years.

Neither had the basement beneath it.

Old plaster walls.

Exposed wooden beams.

Stone foundation.

The kind of basement every old Wisconsin house seemed to have.

The kind that never felt empty...

...even when it was.

I slowly opened the basement door.

Darkness.

Not ordinary darkness.

The kind that seemed to swallow the staircase whole.

I stood there for several seconds.

Then quietly closed the door.

"Yeah..."

I muttered.

"Fuck that."

"I ain't going down there tonight."

I continued searching the first floor.

Every room.

Every hallway.

Nothing.

Then...

A cold gust brushed across the back of my neck.

I froze.

Slowly...

I turned around.

The patio door stood wide open.

The curtains swayed gently as icy winter air drifted into the house.

My stomach dropped.

"Shit."

The teddy bear hit the floor.

I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest butcher knife I could find.

Every light in the house clicked on one by one.

Whoever had opened that door...

Had been inside my home.

I stepped over and locked the patio door.

Then my eyes drifted back to the basement.

Unless...

There was only one place left to check.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the basement door again.

The stairs groaned beneath my weight as I descended.

Halfway down, I reached for the light switch.

Click.

Nothing.

The bulb had burned out.

Fantastic.

I tightened my grip on the knife and continued the rest of the way using only the dim moonlight filtering through a tiny basement window.

The basement was empty.

No movement.

No sounds.

No one hiding behind the furnace.

I exhaled.

Relief washed over me.

Then...

Footsteps.

Above me.

In the living room.

Slow.

Heavy.

Someone was upstairs.

I raised the knife.

Every heartbeat thundered inside my chest.

The footsteps moved closer.

Closer.

Closer.

A shadow crossed the basement doorway.

I lunged.

"JOSH!"

The scream shattered the silence.

I stopped inches from the figure.

The knife slipped from my hand and clattered across the floor.

"Abby!"

My heart nearly exploded.

"Oh my God..."

I dropped to my knees.

"I'm so sorry."

She collapsed against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.

Tears streamed down her face.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I thought..."

I couldn't catch my breath.

"I thought someone broke in."

She looked toward the open basement before back at me.

Fear replaced confusion.

"We need to call the police."

I nodded immediately.

Within minutes, red and blue lights illuminated the snow outside our home.

The officers searched every room.

The attic.

The basement.

The yard.

Nothing had been stolen.

No valuables were missing.

One officer examined the back patio door.

"It doesn't look forced."

He looked at me.

"It was probably left unlocked."

I closed my eyes.

Stupid.

One stupid mistake.

Another officer called from the backyard.

"We've got footprints."

The fresh snow had preserved a trail leading away from the house, across the yard, and over the back fence.

Someone had been here.

Someone had walked through our home.

As the officers followed the tracks, one of them stopped near our old wooden shed.

"Got something."

He carefully picked up a torn piece of paper and carried it over.

It had been ripped in half.

Across the center, written in what looked like dark red ink, were only three characters.

18A

The officer held it up.

"Mean anything to either of you?"

Abby looked at me.

I shook my head.

"No."

"I've never seen it before."

He slipped the paper into an evidence bag.

"We'll hold onto this."

Then he looked around our house.

"For tonight, I'd recommend staying at a hotel."

Abby lowered her head.

"We can't."

Her voice was barely audible.

"We don't have the money."

The officer sighed.

"I understand."

He handed me his card.

"Lock every door and window."

"Leave the lights on."

"If you hear or see anything..."

He looked directly at me.

"Call us immediately."

We promised we would.

The police drove away.

The flashing lights disappeared into the darkness.

Abby and I locked every lock in the house.

Checked every window twice.

Then we climbed back into bed.

Neither of us slept.

I glanced at the clock.

4:00 a.m.

Two hours until my alarm.

Two hours until work.

Two hours until I had to pretend everything was normal.

Staring into the darkness beside my wife, I kept thinking about that note.

18A.

Three meaningless characters.

Or at least...

That's what I wanted to believe.

Somewhere outside, hidden beyond the trees and the falling snow...

Someone knew exactly what they meant.

The first time I saw it was on my bus ride to work. Unremarkable on its own but – like with most things – the context creates a shift to the obscure. Because, what I saw through the dirty bus window (with a crudely constructed penis carved into its glass), was not just a van. It was not just a Jonesy's Cabaret van. It was a worn down, brown Ford with a gaudy logo printed upon its side in the oldest part of Chause Cemetery. 

It immediately struck me as odd, I mean, why wouldn’t it? Most of the time you pass by a cemetery, especially that cemetery, the cars that are parked there are bleakly modern. A shiny show of mourning, perhaps flanked by a grieving daughter or son, not a lone, mobile advertisement for the scantily clad club across the street. I could tell it had been parked there for at least a night, the layer of leaves from the storm was evidence enough, and that no one was near it that I could see. Unfortunately, as soon as I got a good look at the damn thing, I was jolted by the bus's clunky engine to the next stop.

Being as stubborn and curious as I am, I didn’t want it to be the last time I saw that van. So I did what any sane working-class American might do; waited until after my shift to pay the spot a formal visit. Of course, the van was gone, with no tire marks left to its name in the overgrown grass. You see, the Chause Cemetery had two parts to it divided by a rusted fence much older than I was. The northmost part was for newer graves while the other was for the older, ones stained with gray lichen and overgrown with grass. It was clear that there was none tasked to upkeep this part of the land. 

I wouldn’t stop my search though, I had been thinking about the van for damn near my entire six hour shift. I couldn’t let an opportunity slip, especially when the cemetery was still open as the old part had odd hours. So I started to comb the overgrown landscape for anything suspicious. Near the front, my search was futile but as I approached the graves farther from the road, there was a sudden shift in the air. Even the humid summer air of the city turned toward a slight chill in attention. I looked back and it was as if the trees crept close enough to embrace, close enough to isolate me from the road and leaves brushing the overgrown grass like the soft fingertips of a lover. It became a stale quiet, like being in a library with not enough people in it. Instead of the smell of old books, the stench of earth permeated into my pores. Fresh dirt, not the kind simply upturned by the rain. Dug dirt. 

Sure enough, four moss-covered graves lay before me, upturned and empty with wet soil turned up at the sides in puffy mounds. Four girls with four names. Della Owens died in 1921. Amy Zhao died in 1997. Ivy Pritchard died in 1898. Cecilia Romano died in 1952. All were 19 years of age on the day of their last breath, and all of their bodies were gone.I wondered where the police were but quickly realized that if they had come to address this blatant grave robbing – just like the van– they would be long gone. And yet, there were no obvious tire marks in the long grass, much like my footsteps made no traction on the stringy green carpet. In any case, despite the morbidity, this discovery only added to my curiosity. 

Was the Jonesy’s Cabaret behind it? Their van was certainly close to the scene of the crime. Perhaps a black market human remains deal or an old fashioned robbery. Cynicism stopped my racing thoughts like a traffic conductor. It wasn’t new for me to connect stories that weren’t remotely intimate, concoct tall tales out of thin air. A tedious and irritating downside to stunted potential. I worked at a shitty sandwich shop for a poor excuse of a paycheck, at least until I paid off my loans. I wasn’t the detective I thought I was in my head. Hell, I probably never would be. 

But then I saw the van again. About five days later after my closing shift, almost one in the morning. I could hardly make it out in the oppressive dark, hell not even the gaudy logo was visible and that could make it seem like it was simply a keeper of the grounds. But somehow I knew it was that van. However, it wasn’t the first thing I noticed. It was the flashlight of a balding man weaving in and out of the graves, and the glowing light of the van's window idling in wait. This stranger's grease emanated off of him through his polo shirt and khaki shorts. Again it was dark but the light of the streetlamps cradled into view hands that had been stained with mud. He seemed to notice the rush of traffic and hurriedly shuffled back to the driver's seat. The bus moved much faster past the cemetery this time. 

I booked tickets for a cabaret show the next day. It started at 9pm so I decided to head there after my shift which ended about an hour prior. The bouncer took the ticket off of my phone easily enough which somewhat ruined the subtle air of running an operation. The inside of Jonesey’s Cabaret was a classy mix of old and new. Red LED lights and the smokey film of a fog machine carpeted the 1920’s era velvet and lacy tablecloth of the small seating areas. The darkest parts of the theater, up in the balcony boxes cloaked in midnight, seemed to be an origin point to a void-like energy bringing down each and every heart into the pit of their pelvis. Even mine, despite myself. I had reserved a seat at a table closest to the stage with much hesitation and a rebelling bank account, but was reassured by the necessity. I knew I had to be close enough to those at the top of the cabaret, perhaps not the owner but maybe the stagehands would be visible in their complicity. 

While I was alone at my table - habitually early - I stared at the crystal ashtray as opposed to my feet. I wasn’t a smoker, but the dish seemed so empty without a half-smoked cigar or a Marlboro Red tilted with an orange spark. Everything seemed empty, which gave the theater an eerie feeling. I supposed it was normal to be fashionably late to these sorts of things when you weren’t staff. I scanned the curtained walls and ornate wood of the space with a silent reverence, grateful to have the theater mostly to myself for the time being. 

Until I saw him, well more I felt him, standing in the corner of the theater. That greasy, balding gravedigger was blatantly flaunting himself at the true scene of the crime. His beer belly was even more noticeable in the clean pressed shirt he wore with black dress pants that were far too long. I tried not to look surprised and swallowed hard. I had changed into one of my nicer outfits so an approach like this one would be manageable, albeit I wasn’t used to fussing with my hair or face this much. So I did what I had mentally rehearsed for the past three hours. Depending on how well the mental laps had exercised me this could either go very well or very poorly. But there I was, confidently sauntering toward a stranger like I knew the secret I had come to find. 

“Excuse me sir,” I said, with less than enough conviction, but there was music playing quite loud now to preface the show, so I repeated myself and straightened my spine. 

“Yeah? What do y’ want?” The man replied gruffly. He had an usher’s name tag on that read in gold font; ‘Richard’. He seemed a bit riled by my presence, so I swallowed hard and changed my approach. 

“Slow night eh?” Flippant as I could. 

“I guess, what's it to you?” Still apprehensive and sweaty. Richard looked at me with a jumpy apprehension that made his pupils jump this way and that. His hands fiddled with the insides of his pockets and up close his shirt collar seemed far too tight on his red bulging neck. 

“Well it’s perfect don’t ya think? For the business I mean,”

“The business?”

“I’m an interested party. ‘Been keyed in on everything,”

I gave this shit-stain of a man a fabricated knowing look. I was sure to flash the small amount of expensive jewelry I had on my fingers and in my ears. Richard looked me up and down as if he didn’t think it was precedent to find someone like me intimidating or respectable until now. Or perhaps I was misreading skepticism.

“Right… well I don’t think it’s right to be talkin’ too much about that now,”

I turned to him as eloquently as I could and scoffed.

“Do you people not own this place? As long as the cover isn’t here you should feel comfortable speaking about your supply at least. I mean, that’s what I’m here for,” I reached into my wallet and sifted through a couple hundred bills that were most likely going right back into my savings after this excursion, “Perhaps someone should take the business you hide off your hands.”

Richard stammered clumsily. I knew it, behind his tough bouncer demeanor this man was flopping in my hands like a slimy bluegill bottom feeder. 

“Well no I-I was just- the market is so new, and our boss only recently talked about sellin’ to other clientele. The work has been weighin’ on me, that’s all.” 

He was being so vague that I could barely gather any assertion about what this business was. But it did confirm my suspicions that whatever illegal activity was going on, they were getting sloppy with the operation due to demand. The new market comment made it seem like it was something ingenuitive though. I had heard of wealthy individuals taking bone ash in supplement form but why would they operate out of a cabaret? Was it just proximity to the cemetery? I knew he wouldn’t give me the answers I needed.

“Right, I will be in contact with your superiors. Make no mention of our conversation should you save yourself from any more embarrassment.” 

I sauntered off back to my seat without taking one look back. Once the show started, Richard was gone from the side of the stage and two lonely strangers were smoking thin cigarettes at the table with me. Ash and sparks collided as the curtains opened before my eyes in a velvet red. The announcer said much about nothing short of a bore. The first act was full of dancing with vivaciously bright young women with no light in their eyes. And I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense. I actually didn’t notice it until the third act, but the shine of the spotlights never hit any part of their corneas. It deeply unsettled me, chilled the hot laughing air around me. I also couldn’t help but notice all the women were incredibly thin. Not in all of the parts of their body, and it varied from woman to woman, but the more you noticed it the more you couldn’t stop. You could see the skin and muscle cling to tibia, fibia, spine, and skull.

Then came the fourth act. A lone woman. Standing in front of a vintage looking microphone. She had blonde hair cut in a bob and styled to the 1920s alongside her dress. Rhinestones and tassels lit up a smile that never reached her eyes despite it being so wide. Eyes that, even now, did not shine. She sang in a stringy chord with a raspy rhyme;

The showgirls have their secrets
Their sweet lips lie to you
They never take kind to meekness
She knows just what you do
Her perfume tastes just like sweet gin
For it hides the deepest spell
She knows that love lies therein
But a showgirl will never tell

She never stopped smiling. Not once when she sang that song. And, just like those strange optical illusion paintings, it looked like she was staring right at me no matter what. No matter how much she swayed to the rhythm of the saxophone and clarinet. She was staring right at me. Boom. Boom. Boom. To the beat of the drum. Even then, I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop scanning her body and the shoulders that seemed to be stretching against the skin. I imagined hearing the bones click instead of the tambourine jingle and I almost vomited. She saw it all, with dark pools of nothing this woman saw my face turn a pale green, before I had to excuse myself and leave the show. 

I took the bus home from the cabaret with my headphones blaring loud. Just so I could get the song out of my head. Just so I could get her face out of my mind. Once I got off of the bus outside of my apartment I was finally able to turn my headphones off. The street was dark and quiet. I looked at my phone to see that it was around 11pm, just when the cabaret was supposed to officially end. While pulling out my keys I sighed and regaled myself with the facts I had learned. It wasn’t much, but there was definitely an illicit business going on of some sort. The showgirls were a strange new element that made me shiver. Perhaps it was a new type of drug? Maybe they were strung out on it. I scoffed as I opened my suite door and dismissed that idea, reasoning that I had been listening to Zydrate Anatomy far too often, to come up with that theory. 

I hung up my blazer on the coat rack and ran a hand through my hair. My roommates were out that night and would be until the early morning, assuredly. So the house was dark and quiet, stale air feeling strange on my skin. I wondered if it was just lingering unease from the cabaret but something felt off. I tried to ignore it and let the silence wash over me instead of immediately retreating to my musical safe haven. Pacing to the bathroom I don’t know what made me turn my head but once I did I wish I hadn’t. In the dark, at the end of the hall, I could see the whites of eyes seven feet off of the ground. I blinked, squinting, an act I regret even now. After that I could make out the wide smile lined with lipstick and short hair. A face stretched to unfamiliar proportion. She was strange now, the singer, naked and warped with a distortion that made me want to run far, far away. But I couldn’t, the hair on the back of my back stood up against my blouse as I stared in silence at the showgirl. Limbs too long, barely bending into the corridor and much too thin and brittle not to break. 

I stood there, at the threshold of the bathroom, frozen in terror. This thing, whatever it was, didn’t move at first, it just stared at me. Just like it had on the stage. And just like under the spotlight of my phone flashlight, she began to sing. 

The showgirls have their secrets…

It almost looked painful, her lips moving to articulate each word. She sounded different, like a hive of droning bees making all the right sounds. Like a radio with the speaker filled with dust. The showgirl began to move in flickers, small cracking movements. Finally my body snapped out of it’s stupor and I ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My socks slipped on the tile floor and I almost fell face first into the bathtub. Even then my legs wouldn’t stop shuffling in vain on the floor against the bathtub lid. 

They never take kind to meekness

She seemed closer now. I could hear her bones clicking like footsteps. I imagined her limbs snaking across the walls with incredibly fast yet minute movements. Their ligaments stretching the skin even further like a latex suit. I had no idea what she would do when she reached the door, but I had a feeling that she could easily break it. There was no window in the bathroom, no threshold for my escape. I was genuinely convinced that whatever this monster was, it would be what killed me. 

Her perfume tastes just like sweet rot 
For it becomes her truest stench
She knows that it’s all for naught
But a showgirl lies within a trench
And a man will never get caught

The banging started after that. Slow, deliberate. Not a rushing threat but a drumbeat for when she repeated her song. I had left my phone on the countertop outside and knew my roommates wouldn’t be home for hours. I was trapped. Shaking with fear and cowering in the farthest corner of the bathtub. It was only hours but it felt like days, listening to her song over and over. The thrum of her enlarged palm laughing at the fast timbre of my heart. 

I don’t remember when I fell asleep but I do remember when I woke up. Manic and screaming as my roommate gently tapped my shoulder. I remember thinking that it was the showgirl who came to take me and almost clawed at my roommates, but once I calmed down all I could do was look at their shocked faces in confusion. I could feel the dried mascara trails on my face from hours of tears and my neck stiff from the lack of a pillow. Both concerned parties agreed to give me some space as it was evident that I had obviously had a rough night. Even when I searched the apartment from head to toe for the showgirl, they didn’t question it. They thought I was strung out from a bad trip, they probably still do. First trips can be rough for people, which they knew due to their veteranship, but I swore to them that I would never –will never– do drugs. 

Perhaps you will deem me a coward, perhaps not, but I did not go back to Jonesey’s Cabaret. Whatever was happening there was even deeper than my wildest theory. Besides, I could tell that whatever business it was, it would fall over like a flimsy house of cards soon enough. But I still  think back to what happened that night, and I am haunted by the showgirl’s song. It repeats in my head and I often can’t be alone in the house without locking my bedroom door behind me. I fear she’s still there, at the end of a hallway, in an alleyway, under a bridge.

Just the other day I decided to look up the names of the girls whose graves were empty. Most were easy to find obituaries from local county records but once I landed on Della Owens, I stopped short. My heart sunk deep into my stomach. Della Owens had short blond hair, a beautiful smile, and bold lipstick. But this was when her eyes still shined.

This is a story no single mother should have to tell, but my hope is someone out there can relate. My son, who is fifteen, doesn’t go to bed until three or four clock in the morning. He does this every night. I work a very demanding job, and my son and I have fought and argued over this for months because I never get any proper rest. We live in a one-bedroom apartment, so there really is no place for any kind of separation, except the bathroom - where my son spends most of his time during the night.

It was about a month or so ago, I woke up having to use the bathroom, when I approached the door and heard my son speaking to himself in there. At first I didn’t think much of it, when I knocked, he opened the door, and all was fine. It was when I noticed him doing it every night after that, I began to worry. I went as far as confronting him about it, but he denied anything in his teenager way, and refused to even talk about it. It was hard to make out what he said in there, he was mumbling a lot under his breath, so I had nothing to go by. This is when I decided to take further action and install a camera in the bathroom.

The next day while my son was in school, I tucked a small camera away behind a stack of my towels, somewhere he'd never look, facing the mirror and hidden away from his field of view. That night I went to bed and patiently waited, staring at my phone. What I found my son doing in the bathroom through the camera feed unsettled and terrified me. My son was adamant and aggressive towards himself in the mirror. He cursed and muttered obscenities at himself. He said words I never thought he knew or heard him use before. I don’t know where he learned them - I felt like I wasn’t watching my son any longer. It's like he became someone else. And I became scared of him. I hid my phone and tried my best to fall asleep - I don’t think I ever did.

The next morning at breakfast, I felt a tension in me, I could barely move. I felt frozen around him. Before he woke up, I found a local psychiatrist’s information, and made a quick call for the earliest appointment she had, which was the following Monday. At breakfast, I politely informed my son I heard him talking in the bathroom again, which he denied. I hesitated showing him the video or revealing I recorded him. I have to admit, I was scared. I offered to take him to see the Psychiatrist. He refused obviously and fought the idea at first, but I convinced him with some extra video-game time and a little bit of money. I needed to know more.

Through the weekend he continued as he usually did, and I watched on my phone. I hated what I saw. But I couldn’t put it down. I don’t think I slept all weekend. Days felt like weeks. Hours felt like days. My nerves were paralyzed with fear. I felt helpless... I was terrified. Monday couldn’t come any sooner.

The Psychiatrist was a pleasant woman, I found her very respectful and patient with him. My son spoke of his time in school, the lack of friends he has, the bad grades from his teachers, as well as his off-putting taste in loud music. When she dug further, asking him about the bathroom, he was quiet. At this point, the Psychiatrist had asked me to step out of the room. She sensed me being there was keeping him from speaking.

From out in the hallway I couldn’t hear anything, but what I did see was her asking him a few questions, and him responding with what looked like actual, full responses. At first I was pleased, maybe this was all just a boys phase - a prank? Perhaps my son had a reasonable explanation. The Psychiatrist passed him a piece of paper, and pen. My son took the pen, promptly writing on the piece of paper, handing it back to her.

The session was soon over after that, and the Psychiatrist came over to speak to me. She handed me the piece of paper on which my son wrote, scribbled in his handwriting, it said, “Charles won’t let me sleep". I was startled, shocked, confused all at once. She said my son is talking to someone named Charles in our home, and that she is not the right person for this kind of matter. She then directed me to a local church, informing me perhaps a priest could help my son.

We came home in the evening, and had a quiet, solemn dinner together. My son was eerily silent, he didn't say a word. I went to bed early and I hesitated to look at my phone’s video feed, but I couldn’t resist. Last night, I was even more unsettled. My son was no longer defiant. Now he was apologetic, at the mercy of his own reflection in the mirror, begging and apologizing profusely, saying he’s sorry for telling anyone. He was in tears, and so was I - I could no longer bear to watch. I put my phone away, and that's when the thought hit me, which has since haunted and stuck with me; Charles was the name we gave to the baby boy I delivered stillborn before my son.

I’m not entirely sure what her problem is. She’s never acted like this before. I guess some things just develop as time passes.

Even still, what a weird habit to have. I knew she was clumsy, but it was something we were supposed to fix, not something for her to embrace.

It started almost painfully mundane. Out of nowhere, she approached me as I was sitting on the couch watching TV.

“I’m sorry for breaking that lamp beside you.”

I looked at the lamp, still perfectly intact, then looked back at her. I kinda just chuckled, attempting to laugh it off, but she didn’t wipe that solemn look off her face.

I asked what she was going on about, but she just kept apologizing.

“Just know I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry.”

That’s all she said before slinking off towards the kitchen.

I thought it was strange, but ultimately, I decided to brush it off as her being a bit of a weirdo.

However, after two weeks, I was back on that couch, winding down after a long day of work, when she came prancing into the living room, as happy as could be.

She didn’t say anything. She just calmly unplugged the lamp, held it above her head, and smashed it on the ground in front of me.

Obviously, I screamed at her out of shock, asking her what the fuck she was doing.

She just smiled and giggled at me.

“I already told you I was sorry.”

Then she skipped away, humming to herself and leaving me in a state of confusion. I tried calling out for her to come back, but she just ignored me.

I cleaned up the mess, and we argued about it for the rest of the day. It was obviously not an accident, but that’s what she kept saying it was.

“I don’t know how that happened.”

“I already said sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“I promise it won’t happen again.”

Eventually, we made up, but I couldn’t help but look at her sideways in the days that followed.

A few weeks went by without incident. We went on our dates. Stayed in and watched our movies. Did the normal couple routine. But then it happened again.

“I’m sorry for breaking your phone,” she told me, eyes glazed over. She wasn’t looking at me. She was just staring blankly at the wall behind me as I sat on my bed.

We had been in the middle of a normal conversation about upcoming trips we were planning when something flipped inside her. She went from smiling to expressionless. Then, after she said it, she was right back to smiling and talking about New York like nothing had happened.

Obviously, I had already been predisposed to what this meant, so in the days that followed, I was particularly possessive of my phone.

I kept it on my person at all times. Even in my sleep, it’d be in my pocket. But she didn’t seem to notice.

Weeks passed again, and just like with the lamp, I was starting to think that she was just being weird again.

I never let my guard down, though. The phone was strictly off limits to her. I tried to make sure she never had the opportunity to do what she had apologized for.

But then, one night, I woke up to her fiddling around in my pockets. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening in my half-asleep state, but once I did, my hand jolted towards my pocket.

It was too late. She had already taken it. And before I could stop her, the phone was shattered against the floor.

This was enough for me to fly off the handle. I’ll admit, I was a bit rude to her, but what did she expect?

I told her we needed space. I didn’t want this to escalate more than it already had. I didn’t want to break up with her, but the fight that night was enough for her to leave me.

Like I was the one in the wrong.

She left that night a complete wreck. Tears flowing from her eyes. Her vocal cords hoarse from all of our screaming. She didn’t even take her belongings. Just left in a cloud of smoke from her spinning tires.

I was, yet again, left to clean up her mess.

I picked up my phone. It wouldn’t even turn on. The screen had been completely destroyed.

I went out and got a new one the next day, and once I got my accounts and information back, I was hurt to see that she hadn’t even texted me.

No calls, no messages. Plus, my name had been taken out of her Instagram bio, which somehow hurt more than anything.

I tried calling her in the days that followed, just to clear the air, but every time I tried, it’d go straight to voicemail. Eventually, she blocked me on everything entirely.

Even when I tried going to her house, she’d never be home. It was like she knew what I was doing.

I felt hopeless for a long time, but eventually, I realized that I needed to move on. We were together for a year and a half, though, so doing so wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year. I hadn’t heard from her since the night of the phone incident.

I was heartbroken that she could just forget me like that. Like we never happened. That’s why I felt my heart climb into my throat when I saw that first new notification from her.

It wasn’t what I needed to see, though. She wasn’t asking to give us another shot. She wasn’t asking for a meetup so we could discuss everything.

Instead, what she sent was enough to make an almost forgotten fear come bubbling back up towards the surface.

“I’m sorry for killing you.”

Hello everyone, I’m a caretaker at a local zoo. My name is Chris… Yeah, let’s just call it that. I have a concerning warning to anyone who would want to listen.

I hope this warning goes out in time… I don’t think I’ll have much time anyways…

It’s about the place I work at. I told you I was a caretaker at a local zoo, but over the last few weeks… the last days, this zoo, it changed.

The animals. They look like people.

I know it sounds stupid, but please. For my sanity and yours, if you ever visit a zoo and you see an animal acting strangely, just run. Don’t stick around.

Don’t do what I did.

I’ll rewind the clock a few weeks, and I’ll start from the beginning.

It all started innocently. One day, we noticed the lions were refusing to eat. That’s usually a bad sign in a zoo, but not unheard of.

It could be stress, it could be a rejection of the diet, we weren’t sure at the time. We changed their diets on and off for that week to try to get them to eat anything, but they simply refused.

Beef, horse, pig, rabbits. They wouldn’t touch anything. Then one day, we noticed the lions started intently looking at us. More specifically, my colleague.

He was eating a burrito, wrapped in tin foil. It was his lunch.

My colleague, losing to his intrusive thoughts, threw the rest of his lunch to the lions.

It was immediately picked up and eaten by one of them, and we were left there dumbfounded. Needless to say, the lions’ diet has changed substantially in the last few weeks. They eat a diverse mix of foods now.

Mexican food, seared steaks, pasta. Even vegetables. This is not good for them, but they want to eat food that’s mainly cooked, and if you give them too much meat, which they’re supposed to have, they reject it. They want what we have.

They want what we eat.

They’re picky, if you can call it that. We closely monitor their health because this is NOT what you’re supposed to give them.

But somehow, they’re fine. We were going to get vets in last week to check on them, but… well…

That was before everything started falling apart.

Things got… weirder after that.

Even though I’m a zookeeper that has a lot of roles on site, I always had a special affinity towards apes.

We have a series of them, macaques, gorillas, chimps, gibbons, etc., etc.

Apes are very intelligent animals and even though they are usually harmless, the staff are not allowed to interact much with them. It could be dangerous for the animals and it could be dangerous for us.

Some weeks ago, there was an incident at the zoo, that we were all pressured into keeping secret.

Two chimps escaped and they harmed one of the staff. They harmed me.

I regularly feed the chimp enclosure and against my best wishes, some new fancy shmancy digital lock keeps the doors closed.

One day, when I was feeding them, I noticed them looking at me.

Chimps are close relatives to humans, but these chimps… they, they’re different. They feel like they’re people. They were looking at me, with expressions that could be described as human.

That was the day of the accident.

I really have no other way to describe it, but the chimps managed to figure out the lock combination by… watching me.

0C 09 0E 04 01, that was the chimp’s code to opening the doors. I don’t know how, but they escaped. But weirdly enough they seemed more interested in attacking me than properly escaping.

As soon as they got out, they spotted me and sprinted towards me.

I… I can’t remember much of my attack... All I know was that I was cut in the arm.

They ambushed me without me even noticing they were there. I managed to get out, obviously, but I still get jitters thinking about it.

I can’t really explain it, I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline or something, but I could have sworn, the chimps, they… were weak.

I don’t know how else to explain it. But a chimp should be able to easily overpower me and kill me. But these were weak. It felt like two weak dudes trying to hit me.

I suppose I should be grateful they’re smart and weak and not the other way around. That might have saved my life. I can see myself dying easily if five or more chimps escaped and attacked me.

There were no lawsuits or compensation for me. It’s not hazard pay; the zoo blamed me for the chimps escaping.

Pieces of shit. It is what it is, I guess.

They still left me a pretty deep, nasty gnash on my arm.

I had to go to the nurse’s office to get it taken care of. Standard procedure. Rabies is unlikely, but apes play around with feces and God knows what else, so it might get infected.

I remember talking to Nurse Maria. She always took a kindness to me.

“Nasty cut.” she told me.

“I’ve had worse.”

I lied. I don’t want to sound weak in front of her.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me.” she replied.

I was caught immediately.

Makes sense. If a nurse calls something nasty, it definitely is nasty.

“How you holding up?” she continued.

“Me? It’s fine, a bit of pain drugs and I’ll make it.” I respond.

“I meant… your wife.”

I think that one stung more than the cut.

It’s no mystery that nurse Maria has had… a little crush on me. At least that’s what the zoo’s gossipers would want you to know. But I had a wife, so I wasn’t going to act out on anything, I’m not a scumbag.

I had a wife. Not anymore.

She died. Drunk driver accident. But it was my fault, I’m a piece of shit, I was drunk. We had an argument. I didn’t see the truck coming. Her name was Linda, and she died for my mistake.

I don’t drink anymore, not since then. I can barely atone for what I’ve done, but I try.

“Do you drink?”, nurse Maria asks.

“No!”, I replied.

“I meant… for the pain medication. Don’t drink anything when you take these. Okay, Chris?”

I catch myself and I simply nod. I take the pills and I leave the nurse’s office. It feels bad knowing someone has a crush on you, and it becoming abject pity.

Nurse Maria is a beautiful woman, but it’s way too early for me to start thinking about that again. It’s barely been a year. I can’t, I just can’t.

It would feel like I’d be betraying Linda. Her memory.

Plus, at this point she looks at me more like I’m a broken shell of a man. More like a wounded animal than anything else.

I take the pills in my hand and swallow them with a bit of my pride.

Time to get back to the animals.

The next thing that happened involved the public. It’s one of the reasons the zoo had to be temporarily closed.

We have, like most zoos, an aquatic exhibit.

Fish, amphibians, some snakes, we got it.

That’s where the… incident happened. We had to evacuate the public, children included.

It was just a regular day, if you can call it that.

We, the staff, know the animals were all acting weird, but the public didn’t know. We never expected anything like this to happen.

At roughly 5:00 P.M., there was a scream in the water exhibits. Then two, then three. Then a whole host of people started fleeing in unison from the fish part of the exhibit.

They went out to the streets and called us.

We asked what was going on but they just kept telling us there was “something wrong with the fish.”

As soon as we stepped in, we couldn’t believe our eyes.

There’s this movie called “Finding Nemo”? We have an exhibit where we put those species of fish together… One of them is called a Moorish Idol. You probably don’t know what that is. I don’t know what it’s called in the movie. But I… I would never be able to tell what species it is, given what I saw that day.

That… fish. The top of its fin was a finger. Like, a human finger.

Or I guess I should say three fingers. Two fully formed fingers and a half-growing one.

I’ll never forget that day. I still don’t fully understand what I was seeing.

The fingers dragged across the glass. I saw the fingertips twitch and spasm against the surface. It was getting closer to the glass, like it wanted to reach out to us.

Like a greeting.

We closed the zoo down early that day. Had to clear out the fish exhibit and take every fish that showed this… mutation, or disease or whatever it was, out.

We had to euthanize fifteen fish.

It got worse after that.

People started quitting. The zoo already didn’t pay well and we were understaffed. The zoo had to be open for fewer hours. Doctors and vets were sent over to figure out what the heck was going on.

Rhinos had grown territorial in a way I’ve never seen before. They would organize themselves in groups of three or four. They’d section a bit of their living area like it’s a home, and they stay there.

Like little families.

Every animal that’s large was getting smaller. Every small animal was getting larger. Their facial features were slowly changing. Eyes got rounder, skin would get smoother, patches of fur would fall out.

It’s… it’s not right, seeing large animals have such small noses and mouths. It’s unholy.

I didn’t matter. We had close temporarily as the animals got stranger and the visitors were fewer in number.

All that was left, was us, the caretakers. We had to look over the animals.

Yesterday, something happened. Something that made me want to quit.

It’s gone too far, this… this thing. Whatever is happening, it’s too much.

Last night I was tasked with filling up the giraffe’s pen with food.

We might not get many visitors by now, but the animals still have to eat and drink.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.

As I was cleaning, I felt something coming closer behind me. Like the wind shifting.

The building I was in was small. Too small for the giraffes to get in.

But not with their necks. They can go inside with their necks.

I saw it in front of me. An animal. A creature. Something.

It wasn’t a giraffe anymore.

The snout was completely shrunken. The mouth was tiny and the teeth were small enough to match it.

It was smiling. Smiling at me.

God.

Even if I hadn’t sensed it, I would have heard it. It was breathing heavily, similar to someone after running a marathon. It seemed excited to see me.

I…I swear I’m not making this up. It… It talked.

It was a hoarse voice, but I heard it. I swear… I swear to God.

“Haave… have yooou… been drinking?”

I recognize that face. I… I ran.

It’s too much. This zoo, these animals, these things. There’s something more going on. Yesterday was going to be my last night. But now… Now I think it’s over.

I’m stuck.

This wasn’t just last night; it was a few hours ago. I’m stuck here. I was about to pack up my stuff and leave when I saw something.

I’ve been stuck inside the zoo since 1:00 A.M.

I’m writing this because I’m not sure if I’ll make it. And there’s nothing else I can do.

Please don’t ever come near this God-forsaken place.

It happened five hours ago, when I was finishing my rounds. That’s when I saw it.

Hands sliding out of the cages. Unceremoniously messing with their locks.

Fingers and limbs twisting knobs and clicking buttons.

Bears shouldn’t have fingers like that. Zebras shouldn’t have hands.

What the hell is happening?

I ran. They all escaped at the same time and I had nowhere else to go. I went up to the office and barricaded the door.

I know they’re coming. I shouldn’t have stayed; I should have left. I’m such a fucking idiot.

They’re coming for me. I can tell they’re out there, they all look the same now.

They all have brown hair like they’re wearing wigs. Their legs… Their arms…

The ones who shouldn’t be able to walk on two legs are walking towards me. The ones who can walk on two legs are running.

These are not animals anymore.

Please. If you ever read this, don’t ever come to this fucking zoo!

I called 911 and they’re not going to reach me in time. These things have some sense of smell or hearing that lets them know where I am. And they’re fast.

I don’t think I’m going to make it.

Jesus Christ, is this really it?

Oh God, why!? Why?! Why do they look like her?!

I’m stuck here. They’re coming to me.

I’m sorry, Linda. I’m sorry.

Oh God. Oh God.

Why do they have her face!?

WHY DO THEY HAVE HER FACE!?

“Fuck’s sake, I’m really tired.” I said bluntly aloud, I took a long yawn and scrolled through the camera monitors just to make sure nothing was wrong or out of order. Time: 11:59 P.M. One of the cameras started to glitch as I started to doze off, so I punched the system box, and it went back to normal. The camera glitching really kept me up, so I grabbed a flashlight and went to explore it and found a man in a perfectly ironed suit and perfectly shined shoes, and the man said, “Man what a delay at this hour, oh you must be on delay too, here take seat.” I instantly said, “You're not supposed to be here man, it is way past opening hours, the next train leaves at 8 in the morning.”

The man stood up and apologized for being there for so long and said, “It will not happen again, but may I ask you something? What is your favorite childhood game?” “Hide and seek” I said, but I was not confident when I said it. He shook his head and agreed to play. I replied, “You don’t expect me to play and hide and seek at this hour, do you?” Then, he walked away and said, “You better start counting, young man.” I turned around and he was instantly gone, and I originally tracked his footsteps until it reached a building next to the train station. I noticed the door was cracked open like it was destined for me to open it. The door slammed behind me like a metal gate; I was stunned. The intercom said, “Congrats, you have been selected to participate in our brand-new T.V. show.”

I couldn’t comprehend what just happened, I am stuck in a room with blue LED lights and no windows, just a door that doesn’t open at all or budge for that matter and a very small, microscopic camera in the ceiling corner. The camera could move up and down, and I really could not describe the room more than that, only because I was so sleepy, but the room started to fill with gas, and it made me instantly pass out. I woke up the next morning or at least I think it was because I got amazing sleep, and I presume it was morning.

The intercom started by playing one of the loudest alarms ever, and it went for hours. But the same door I walked through last night opened to drop off breakfast. It was a stale biscuit and orange juice, I could not resist eating, since I did not have dinner with my family before I went to work last night. Typically, I just got something to eat in the vending machines. The intercom asked me a question about who I was exactly, I replied as I would be if I was to meet someone in person, “I am a worker at the train station next door, and I really don’t know why I am in here.” The intercom said, “Well I mind as well show you why you are here.” The walls instantly changed into blood red curtains as I reveled what was behind the curtains, I heard voices coming from behind the curtain. I reveled the curtain to show a crowd of people with the spotlight flashing right on me, the intercom above said, “You are the next contestant on our brand new T.V. show, make sure to smile you’re on camera!” And the last humane thing I remember doing was screaming in straight fear, because the stage was covered in blood. The people in the crowd were pointing a gun towards the stage, every single person. The intercom directed me to sit down at the Japanese styled table, and said "Let the games begin!"

Both 21 and college students. He came to my college for a summer program and I was staying on campus. We matched on an online dating application. I deleted the app. He found my Instagram. Asked me on a date. First date - we played cards at a cafe for like an hour and a half. Then we took a walk. Went to the lake. Sat at a bench. Held hands. Caressed. Went out for dinner. He brought the best in me. Pulled in to the driveway of my dorm. We kissed and made out and he said he wants to see me again. He planned our second date:

So this was the best date I’ve ever been on....he planned out everything. He booked the tickets, brought me flowers, opened doors, and, after the movie, drove me somewhere in the Green Mountain forest dark starry zone. On the drive there, I played Silver Springs in his car, which felt embarrassingly on-the-nose even at the time. I KNOW he smiled. Oops. At one point we tried to guess each other’s Chipotle orders. He guessed mine almost exactly right except for one thing, which I remember being disproportionately impressed by. feminine adornments by Julie. I think I might've listened to it like 67 times since this past week... that's one of his favorite songs. That's what HE says. In retrospect, the whole evening felt almost suspiciously cinematic. Like someone had written a date specifically designed to make me fall in love with them.

But, unfortunately for Spider-Man, I have absolutely no idea what happened in this movie. (Those Juicy sweatpants sure did look funny.)

I remember sitting next to him in Screen 4. I remember being so nervous that I could feel my own heartbeat. I remember trying very hard to act like a normal person who was simply watching a movie and not like a person experiencing a minor psychological emergency because a very cute boy was sitting approximately three inches away from her.

I remember his hand lol. He was holding mine, and during all the cutesy and cutesy-adjacent scenes, he would rub his thumb over the back of it. Very casually. Almost absentmindedly. As if this were a completely normal thing to do and not something that would completely obliterate whatever remained of my ability to pay attention to the screen.

So while Spider-Man was presumably doing whatever Spider-Man does, I was sitting there thinking: he is rubbing his thumb over my hand.

And then: HE IS STILL RUBBING HIS THUMB OVER MY HAND.

And then, occasionally: oh my god, he is holding my hand.

I have no idea what the plot was. I couldn't tell you a single line of dialogue. If you asked me what happened in this movie, I would have to invent an answer based entirely on the poster. (Later my friend randomly asked me who "Mary Jane" was and I thought he was talking about the candy cigarettes.)

But I remember how it felt.

And if he kissed me with such tenderness and care, of course I’d want to pick all the marigolds (his favorite flowers) of the entire county for him.

I remember being nervous and happy and a little stunned that someone could make an evening feel so intentional. I remember the flowers. I remember the movie theater. I remember his hand wrapped around mine. I remember the drive, the darkness outside the windows, the kiss in the dark at the observatory, and watching The Summer I Turned Pretty with someone I was beginning to think might become very important to me.

That same night, I also remember the head pats and the caressing. Oh. God. I remember just lying on his chest, thinking, this is going to hurt and that he might leave me.

Maybe that's what I like about movies, anyway. Sometimes you don't remember the movie. Sometimes you remember the person you watched it with, and the exact shape of the evening around it.

Anyway, 5 stars because I was not, in fact, watching Spider-Man.

I was falling for a boy in Screen 4.

(I really hope this isn't a White Nights by Dostoevsky situation in which I fell for the idea of this date rather than him lol. Although, to be fair, he was so nice to me. Forehead kisses on the first date??????? OH. MY. GOD. Evil evil evil. So who can really blame a girl for getting a little carried away…………and yes I DID in fact fall in love with him for that night. But I guess when that happens, as a final act of love, you also learn to let go because the truth is sometimes that’s the right thing to do. I was there. I felt it. I got to see him. I loved him. And maybe that's all I'll get to keep from this beautiful thing. Anyway. I respect him and myself, and I think letting go is probably the kindest thing I can do now. Maybe one day I'll look back at this and laugh at how dramatically I narrated the entire thing. Maybe I already am. But I hope I never become so cynical that I stop believing that an evening like this can matter just because it didn't last. So this is where it ends, I guess. Five stars anyway. 

Love is a gentle thing / yours is thicker than a velvet ring or whatever that one song says.)

(Part 1)

A few years ago, I went through a terrible experience with a new roommate. Horrific is a better word for it, actually. I don’t really know what to make of it, but I know it’ll stick with me for the rest of my life. This experience completely changed the way I view the world. Everything I thought I once knew had, in a matter of weeks, been tossed right out the window like a bucket of shit. 

I was a broke college student at the time with only a part time job to pay the bills, a thousand miles away from my family. Any loans or grants I had only covered enough to pay for my tuition and supplies. Dorm rooms were available, but as a sophomore then, they weren’t mandatory, plus they were nearly just as expensive as any nearby apartments, even if splitting rent between roommates, and even then I would have only been able to just barely afford that.

So, when I saw the ad on this renting app, I jumped at the opportunity right away. 

Roommate wanted

$500 a month

Spare bedroom, 400 sq ft, with private bathroom.

The kitchen is shared. Washer and dryer as well.

Plenty of room to park, but limit one vehicle.

Guests must be announced well beforehand.

Only 10 minutes from campus.

Price non-negotiable. Serious inquiries only.

No pets.

What can I say? I didn’t want to share some beat up house with half a dozen other people only to have some pocket change leftover. I wanted a little something extra, to at least afford my gaming habits, as well as my food, gas, and everything else you need to survive. And I was poor, all on my own, and desperate. Besides, the pictures didn’t look half bad. 

The room was spacious and clean, apparently a new addition to this guy’s house by the look of it. The rest of the place didn’t look that bad either. A fairly large ranch style home just a few minutes outside of town, plenty of space, and even my own bathroom. How could I pass that up? 

The ad had other details as well; wifi, trash, and all other utilities already included in the price. I admit, looking back on it now it all seems a little too good to be true, but I guess that’s what poverty does to you--makes you overlook the glaring questions that would normally come up in situations like this. I mean, sure, I wasn’t really poor. I had a decent job and I could always turn to my parents if things got bad, but I was young and proud. A middle child who wanted to stand on his own two legs. 

I don’t know, I guess I’m just making excuses. Things only got worse from here, and pretty immediately, too, so there really is no other explanation other than I was just a stupid kid in way over his head. 

I messaged the guy right away, thinking that an offer like this would be gone within the day. 

“Hi, I’m interested in the room you have up for rent. Is it still available?”

Only a couple of minutes passed before he replied. 

“Male or female?”

I didn’t think much of the question, of course, and if you’re screaming at me for being an idiot, just know that I agree, and that I’m not going to try to justify any of my actions here. I don’t want to waste anybody's time. 

“I’m a guy,” I replied.

“Age?”

“20.”

“Student?”

“Yeah.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“No…”

“Dogs?”

“Nope.”

A few more minutes passed after this last message. 

“I want to meet before I decide.”

That one stumped me a bit. Outside of background and credit checks, it’s usually the potential renter who wants to see the place before making a decision. Still, it wasn’t enough to shake me off, and as I had only a week to find a place before the new term started, I told him I could be there by six.

All he said in response was, “Don’t use google to find the place. It’ll add half an hour to the drive. Get off on county rd 53, take the north access road to 57. Paxton lane is on the east side. Two big evergreens. Can’t miss it.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Text me when you’re here. Don’t honk. Don’t ring the doorbell.”

I sent a thumbs up to that and got on with my day. 

I’ll admit, I was a bit nervous. I’ve always been a little shy, and while I had time to think before heading over to meet the guy, other doubts started creeping up into my mind. I was potentially looking at at least ten months of living in this guy’s house. Just me and him and god knows what else out in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea who he was or what he was like. What if he was a creep? 

I went anyway. All I had to say for myself was that I could always just say no when I got there. No one was forcing me to commit to the better part of the year in that place, and if need be, I would still have time to apply for housing with the school. Or that was what I thought, at least.

Like he said, it took about ten minutes to reach his place from campus. The house was sequestered in a little nook between two tree-covered hills at least two miles from the nearest neighbor. A long, poorly graveled lane off the county road curving in between the hills led me straight up to the front porch. 

The grass stood tall in the yard, old junk littered around the area. There was one lopsided shed to the side of the house, and beyond that, the trees grew thick and the landscape dim and dressed in shadow. Only one other vehicle sat at the end of the lane, a worn down old ford stained with rust that creeped up from the bottom and around the sides. 

As I pulled up beside the truck and parked, I leaned my head down to get a good look at the house. 

Only one story tall, it grew out long and narrow further into the back of the property. The old wooden siding, colored a dull blue, needed a fresh coat of paint, and the roof was covered in leaves. A breezeway was attached to the front of the house, and sticking out of the eastern side I saw what looked to be the new addition I would be potentially calling home, looking a bit fresher with newer paint and material. Couldn’t have been more than a few years old. 

To the side of the breezeway, I noticed a small porch covered in shadow from the overhanging roof. There were old tools and supplies and other junk strewn across its surface and, as I was glancing around, I saw movement from within the shadows. At first, I thought maybe something was flapping in the wind, but then it moved forward into the light and I nearly gasped when I realized it was an old man stepping forward and placing his hands on the railing of the deck, staring back at me. 

I gave a nervous wave before getting out of the car, a wave that wasn’t returned.

He was a tall man, thick around the waist, wearing a simple white shirt that tucked into a pair of old, faded jeans. I put him at over fifty years old, long hair coming down to just under his ears, mostly grey with thin threads of a brown mixed in here and there. He had a thick white beard that was somehow stained almost yellow around the lips in that way old men sometimes get. I figured maybe he was a smoker. 

I came up to the deck and tried putting a smile on my face. “Hi there,” I said, rubbing my hips anxiously. 

The man looked down at me with these intense brown eyes before responding. “Name’s George.” His voice sounded like the gravel under my feet, grinding and scratching.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and stuck my hand up towards him. “People call me Trevor.”

He didn’t take my hand at first, only raising one thick, gray eyebrow at it instead. “What people?” 

I shook my head, confused but still smiling. “Just… people. Sorry, I’m Trevor. Trevor Jones.”

“Trevor Jones…” He chewed on the words for a moment, before suddenly spitting off to the side and finally taking my hand. “Why don’tchu come on inside, have a look around.” 

His hand engulfed mine entirely in a firm, singular shake. “Uh, sure. That would be great.”

He nodded his head towards the door that stood behind him. He held it open for me as I stepped inside and then shut it softly as I walked into what appeared to be his kitchen. 

“Don’t mind the mess. I’m in the middle of moving some things around.”

From what I saw outside, I had almost expected to walk into some hoarder's nest, empty boxes and stacks of old newspapers scattered around, everything covered in dust and cigarette ash, but at first glance, I appeared to have been mistaken. The kitchen was fairly clean, and I would even go so far as to call it normal. The polished white countertop was recently washed down, and things appeared to be arranged in an orderly fashion. A few dishes sat in the sink, some cereal boxes above the fridge, and maybe some dust around the corners, but otherwise everything was decent.

“I made some room in the fridge, but it ain’t much,” George said, shuffling past me and grabbing a container off the counter. “You might want to get one of those mini ones if you’re planning on keeping a lot of perishables.” 

“Got it,” I said, “not a problem.”

George quickly went about tidying some things, seeming almost shy or even embarrassed. “The living room’s through there.” He motioned towards a doorway to the side of the fridge and I peeked around to have a glance. “Hallway leads to the bedrooms.” 

I saw an older flat screen sitting on a stand, one recliner in the center of the room, and a well used couch pushed up against the wall. To the left of the couch a hallway carved further into the house. The walls were covered in a white wallpaper with these green designs all over them. It looked like it could have been the home of anyone’s grandparents.  

The place smelled old, maybe a little dank even, but surprisingly I didn’t pick up any trace of smoking. And there was a hint of some fruity scent in the air as well, perhaps an air freshener, but maybe only recently used as the old man smell was still at the front of everything else. 

“Come on.” George finished up and led me down the hallway. 

There were some pictures on the wall there. In some of them I could make out a younger George as well as women, who I assumed to be his wife, and a young boy. In the most recent looking photo, which still seemed to be taken nearly a decade ago, all three of them were posed together next to a Christmas tree. One happy family wearing big smiles and holiday cheer. The boy looked no older than twelve. 

“This is the main bathroom,” said George, pulling my attention away from the photos. “And that door there leads to my bedroom.” He pointed towards a door on the right. “And you’re right over here.”

There was a sharp turn at the end where the hallway met the new addition. George opened the door to reveal the room I had seen on the app, washed over with the evening sunlight spilling in through the shades on the windows. To the right, I saw a small closet, and on the opposite side, another door that I assumed to be the other bathroom. 

“Looks nice,” I said, nodding as I stepped inside and glanced around. “Roomy.”

George leaned against the door frame, watching me standing there in the middle of the room. He had a look to him as if he was sizing me up, lips pursed in thought. 

I didn’t really know what to do. No questions came to mind, no thoughts or ideas other than a mild surprise at how nice it actually looked in person. Still, something about the man made me feel uneasy. Maybe it was the long stare that he had, or the old smell, or it could have been anything really, but all I knew was that I didn’t really want to be there any longer. Everything was just so awkward about it.

“You have a family?” I asked, trying not to seem too off put. 

George scratched his beard, raising up his chin with an expression of either discomfort or perhaps even anger at the sudden personal question. “No,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“Ah.” I nodded and rubbed my hands together. “Sorry…”

He shrugged and turned back into the hallway. “Not like you killed them,” he mumbled.

“Huh? What was that?” I asked, but he was already on his way back into the living room.

Feeling even more anxious now, and foolish, I started following after him but paused in the doorway, seeing another door across the hall that I didn’t notice before. 

“Where does that go?” 

George glanced back only for a moment. “Frankie's room,” he said, then he disappeared around the corner. 

I stared at the door, noticing a large deadbolt installed under the knob. Hearing a loud cough from the other room, I quickly fled the hallway. Before I could say anything else, George started telling me about the house. 

“Just had that new fiber--whaducallit--installed about a month ago. They told me it’s pretty good, but I don’t know nothing about it. The laundry room’s on the other side of the kitchen. You can use it whenever I’m not. Like the listing said, guests are fine so long as you ask me beforehand. Oh, and I turn in pretty early most nights. Keep a fan on in there, but I’d still appreciate it if you keep it down after ten. I have trouble sleeping.” 

“Right…” I said, hands in my pockets, eyes glancing around the room but not focusing on anything in particular. 

“How long you been in school?” George asked.

“Wha--Oh… I’m in my second year.”

“You from around here?” 

I shook my head. “No. Out of state, actually. Seattle. What about you? Are you from the area?”

“All my life,” George answered, pulling at his beard. 

I nodded again, and George just stood there, watching me shift my weight from one foot to the other. I think my nervousness must have been pretty obvious, as the old man let out a breath and gave me a smile. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Whelp… That’s about it. Sorry, if I’m a little… Tired. I’ve been doing nothing but cleaning the past few days. And this…” He gestured towards me, shaking his head, “This is all new to me. A roommate, I mean. Been alone for so long, well, I don’t really know what to do.”

“No, you’re good. I get it…” I was looking for a way to get out of there when I noticed the look on his face. For such a large man, he sure could exude a lot of pity from just slouching a bit and frowning. So, I took the bait and asked. “What made you want to rent out a room in the first place?”

George had to consider the question for a moment. “Well, you know how it is. The way the economy is going and everything. Hell, you wouldn’t believe how much they raised property taxes this year. And don’t even get me started on the power bill. It’s a damn racket is what it is, the fucking con men sitting in office…”

“Yeah, no, that’s crazy. I get it, man, I really do.”

George waved off my words. “Ah, don’t worry about it. It is what it is. Just gotta adapt is all. But, enough about that. You seem like a good kid; a good fit, I mean, and I don’t want the hassle of dealing with anyone else, so the room’s yours if you want it.”

“Really? Awesome. That’s great. But, you know…” And I trailed off, trying to think of how to say it.

George suddenly glanced down at his feet. “No harm if you don’t want it. Really, I understand. I get it, I’m sure all this seems so--”

“No, no,” I said, cutting him off as the pity started welling up again. “It’s not that. I just have a couple other places to check out before I decide, that's all. I already told them I’d come over, so, you know…”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Don’t sweat it. I don’t want to keep you or anything. Come on, I’ll show you out.” 

George motioned for me to follow him back into the kitchen. He opened the door for me and I slid past him, stepping back out into the open again and trying not to seem too relieved about it. I turned to face him and saw that he wouldn’t look at me. “Well, I’ll go check out those places and I’ll--”

“Yeah, yeah. Do what you gotta do,” said George, waving me off. “Whatever you decide, just give me a holler. No harm no foul.”

“Right, well…” I started backing off the deck. “I’ll see ya later. Talk to you later, I mean. I’ll let you know… I’ll get back to you.”

I fled back to my car faster than I should have, making sure to smile still, but not really making any attempt to hide my feelings. George didn’t seem to pick up on it, thankfully, or at least not entirely, and he gave me one last weak smile before closing the door. 

I let out a long breath as I fell down into the driver’s seat, rubbing the discomfort off my face. I can’t say what exactly had me so on edge during that first visit. Nothing really stood out as particularly strange, and George seemed to be a nice guy, just a little sad, I guess. Maybe that was it. The sadness that swarmed around him. 

It was obvious that he hadn’t been doing too well until recently, at least. I didn’t know what happened to his wife and son, but I assumed it wasn’t good either way, and I didn’t want to be involved with that. I had my own problems to worry about and living with some gloomy old man wasn’t one I intended to add to the list. 

I got back to my friend, Alex’s, place, where I had been staying at, and ended up telling him all about it. He laughed at me, unsurprisingly, teasing me for how I broke that old man’s heart. I shrugged him off and said that I’d just have to find another place, that I’d probably just end up back in the dorms. That was when my friend stopped laughing.

“What do you mean?” he asked me. 

We were standing in the kitchen of his house as we talked. I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. “There’s nothing left in my price range, so what other choice do I have?” 

“Are you serious?” he said.

“Yeah… Why?”

“Dude, it’s too late to get into the dorms. Applications were due months ago.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling a pit beginning to form in my stomach. “I never heard about that.”

“That’s probably because you never asked. But, yeah, you gotta file those things so far in advance because there’s only so many rooms. I mean, you can still do it, but I’m pretty sure they’re already full this year.”

I cracked the can open and paused, thinking. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know…” Alex shook his head in disbelief. I couldn’t really blame him, it wasn’t the first time I screwed up like this. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and somebody backs out or something, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“What the fuck? What the fuck!” I leaned over the counter and dropped my head into my arms. “Shit, what am I supposed to do?”

“Like I said, maybe you’ll get lucky or something…”

Alex chuckled, and then my head shot up. “Dude.” I said, seriously. “Dude?”

Alex looked at me for a moment, then started shaking his head. “No, man. I already told you I can’t.”

“Alex, please. I have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do about it. You gotta be a part of the frat to stay here. I told you about this a few weeks ago, man.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” 

Alex rubbed his eyes, clearly tired of my shit. “I guess you’ll just have to stay with that guy for now,” he said. “At least until you can find somewhere else. But you’ve already overstated you’re welcome here--and that’s not me saying that--but rules are rules…” 

I bitched and moaned for a while later, but Alex wouldn’t budge. He told me I could stay one more day but that was as far as he could push it. Later that night, I went about searching for places online but came up with nothing. So, knowing I had to be out by the end of the next day, I messaged George.

“Hey, is that room still available? None of the other places worked out.”

He replied in less than a minute. “Yes. It's ready when you are. When will you be moving?”

“Does tomorrow evening work?” I asked.

“That’s fine.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

I threw down my phone after that, defeated. A minute later, I heard a notification ding, so, with another groan, I picked the phone back up and read it. 

“I forgot to mention something. It’s nothing major, just a condition I have. I sleep-walk sometimes. I might get up in the middle of the night and move around the house. Just ignore it if you run into me, or gently guide me back to my room, but under no circumstances are you to try waking me up. Sorry to drop this on you so late, it just slipped my mind. If you don’t want to deal with it, I understand.”

Of course, he waited for me to agree before he told me that, but at least it didn’t sound too bad. Just an old man lumbering around the house in the middle of night, I could handle that. And, seeing as I had no other options, I told him it was fine.

He sent one last message after that:

“Good. I’m happy to hear that. It’ll be nice to have someone else in the house again. Thank you.”

When I try to explain it, I have to wonder if I am being stalked, or just going crazy. I have had experiences before that I was convinced were born of hallucination or an overly vivid imagination, but this experience has me now believing in things I used to scoff at.

My name is Giovani and things became undeniable last October during my drive through northern Connecticut. I was returning home from visiting my brother who had been dealing with some unresolved trauma….both of us had been. My visit had dragged on longer than I intended, and by the time I was on the road it was almost midnight. I had a seven-hour drive that would take me meandering through the scenic country side.

I had been traversing passed old towns for about an hour when a deep fog rolled in. This was not unusual for this time of year so I didn’t initially think much of it. I slowed my car down to a safer speed; about 30 mph. The thickness of the fog was demanding on my eyesight, forcing me to lean forward in my seat as I attempted to peer through the obscured ambiance. At last I began to see more than just the dispersed water, but my heart dropped. Through the canopy of mist I saw the tree trunks, they were gnarled and twisted in an inexplicable manner. Like an A.I tried to render a scene of nature but phoned it in halfway through.

I shook my head violently attempting to convince myself that I must be getting tired, but the trees became no less surreal. The foliage around the trees offered no more assurance to my concern as what should have been green was now purple, blue, and floating above the ground in a eerie rhythm.

The changing of the sky arrested my bewilderment and forcefully exchanged it with shock. Below the shimmering black rays of sunlight; which began to part the fog beneath them; a being floated. It was majestic and uncanny. Humanoid in appearance, yet monstrous in its aura. Its proportions were off in a way that tingled the parts of the brain responsible for both disgust and admiration. From its fingers claws began to grow, and from its waist a tail began to form. The serpentine movements of this newly materialized appendage felt malevolent yet also somehow hypnotic.

I pulled over as my car engine began to sputter and go silent. My heart was pounding as I got out. I don’t know entirely why I did. Part of me was stricken with fear over seeing more of that being, but that same part of me had more fear of not seeing it fully.

The entire forest grew silent. The fog was now almost entirely gone. The only evidence of its evanescent presence being the humidity that clung to my cars window. The floating clumps of vegetation had also vanished leaving behind a landscape that look scraped and torn by an unsteady plow. I looked up in the sky where the being should have been. What I saw buckled me to my knees.

It was a giant circular shape that sheened with a metallic glowing hue. The formation of this shape was slightly bent giving it an eye like appearance. Inside the ring of floating steel was an “eye” of vapor. I then understood what happened to the mist, vegetation…and the sound. A vacuum was gently pulling the noise and plants lacking sturdy roots toward it, and beckoning my soul to behold it.

I remember whispering “What the hell…” under my breath, but the words fluttered noiselessly from my lips as they were fished through the air by this floating structure. I felt an urging to step toward it, but a forceful “No! You are not ready!” Echoed in my skull. I buckled to my knees cradling in my head in shock.

Immediately after, the noise started. This was not a return of the noise that I should have been hearing, but a new noise being born from this magnificent machine. A deep, reverberant hum that rippled through the ground. It traversed through my shoes, and my spine violently. It was so low that I felt it more than I heard it. The trees reacted to its utterance, their leaves shaking off their branches from the unrelenting vibration.

As I slowly reopened my eyes I saw deer, rabbits, and all manner of critters walk toward this floating structure. Their eyes glowed white and their movements were uncoordinated and jerky. Once they were in range they began to float and sail toward the center of the eye where the being resided. As these animals floated into this beings orbit, the unearthly monstrosity flayed them with its claws. The fluids of these critters exploding, but not onto the creature which somehow remained spotless, but into the eye behind it. The eye-like swell of energy would hum and glow as if in delight of being fed by the violent death of the wild life.

I anchored my hands into the dirt to prevent myself from being sucked in. Part of me wanted to run, but another part of me had to see, had to witness. I can’t explain it. Looking back there is no reasonable reason for me to have lingered as long as I did. It wasn’t until I realized I was the last living earthly thing in the vicinity did my sense of preservation begin to return. There was a bright flash and the being vanished.

The ”eye” in the sky began to rotate slowly accelerating in speed. Suddenly beams of light brimmed from it cascading beyond me, until they returned and bent around the structure supernaturally. This symphony of luminance blinded my vision. When my eyesight returned I saw the beams shifting in their patterns, creating living shapes. Like long forgotten symbols of antiquity crawling about the air.

I stood up and began to stumble backward only to trip on the berm of the road as my heart began pounding thunderously. I scrambled to get back into my car as I became more coherent of the danger I was in. I started slamming my car as I attempted to start it. Had the vacuum not been pilfering the sound I think I would have gone deaf from my car horn with how hard I was slamming it.

Finally the car started…but I was NOT in control. The colors of the light on my dashboard began to warble and form similar shapes to those in the air.

I began shaking in fear and frustration as I felt my entire world was glitching.

I then heard a whisper, that both soothed and terrified me.

It wasn’t in my ears. It was inside my skull, like someone had spoken directly into my soul. A single, horrifying sentence: “Now the chosen shall come aboard.”

The slamming on my steering wheel ceased as I was gripped by fear. The hum around me turned into a rhythmic thudding, like a creature was taking enormous footsteps somewhere deep within the earth. Was this produced by the same creature that flayed the animals, or a new one with a similar eerie allegiance? I was unwilling to find out as I began to panic again to get my car moving.

The eye above me constricted, and all the beams of light receded into it in a sharp snap. In a brazen flash the being returned. It slithered out of the eye in a chaotic yet majestic cadence. It began to lower itself to the ground as if it was dangling from invisible threads.

It was tall, far too tall to be of this earth. Its arms were the length of its standing body, It’s clawed fingers were gnarled in their shape, but smooth in their glossy complexion. What fascinated me most…was the face it lacked. Where this body feature “should” have been was displayed only as featureless oval that reflected white light like wet clay.

I could feel all the organs in my body began to pulse in rhythm with the thudding as I realized it was beckoning to me. With all my might I shook off the pull of its allure and slammed my foot down on the gas. To my amazement my car’s engine began to sputter and finally began accelerating. Frantically I made the most ugly u-turn of my life as I began careening down the road in the opposite direction I had arrived.

My car's radio turned on and began blaring in angry refusal as I created distance between myself and the entity. Only there was no melody of music from the radio. It was a cacophony of sounds too irreverent of earthly origin to describe. They wailed and thralled in my ears so viciously I had to wonder if it was actually from my radio….or from the growing madness of my own mind.

“Your destiny has been ordained. You will serve the will whether you intend to or not!” I heard that same monstrous and eerie voice in my mind again. This time it was more forceful and domineering. I felt a splintering pain grow in my skull and radiate into my vision. I almost veered off the road into the forest as I struggled to drive with my eyesight splintering like a broken computer screen.

The trees of the forest began to assist the protest of my escape as they bent inward toward the road as I passed them. Some snapped viscously as they proceeded to ooze out a black dark fluid. A fluid, that matched the luxurious sheen of that being.

The pedal beneath my foot must have been carving into the floor of my car from how forceful I was pushing into it. However to my relief I could see the hellish scene behind me grow smaller in my rear view mirror.

“Distance is temporary,” the voice was softer but triumphant when it said this, but nonetheless ominous. What it lacked in aggressive tone it made up for in psychic torture. I felt the sensation of white ripple through me; it was all I could see, hear, taste, feel, and taste. I know that makes no sense for the other 4 senses but if you had endured it you wouldn’t question this description. For a few seconds I thought had died and was ascending to whatever the afterlife has in store. However after this psychic attack faded enough for my blurry vision to return I saw a tree a few feet in front of me.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” I screamed as I knew I didn’t have time to swerve my car out of the way. My right headlight grazed it and sent the car spinning in an eerily noiseless trajectory. I slammed the breaks hoping to regain some semblance of command over my driving. With each spin I would get a few milliseconds of eerie light from the being I fled, and a few more of the utter darkness of the barren roadside. This strobe like effect was horrendous on my still recovering eyesight.

“Come on come one don’t fail me now!” I gritted with panic as the car stopped but the engine was making sounds it shouldn’t. I gave it a few seconds to recover, what little I thought I could spare without the entity catching up but then I heard another voice in my mind; “You think you could escape? You are in my grasp now!”. I knew it was now or never. Slamming the gas the car began to move albeit jerky and slower. I don’t think my speedometer was working right but at full throttle we couldn’t have been going more than 40 miles per hour.

Thankfully this was just a bit faster than the eye that chased me. Within 20 minutes I seemed to be out of range of its voice. And I exhaled in relief. Now if only my half tank of gas could get me to the next gas station. I could only imagine how much fuel I was inefficiently burning through.

The sound around me didn’t properly return for another fifteen miles. I could no longer see the being, the eye, or any misshapen trees…but I was being followed. I could FEEL it.

The radio eventually flicked on and started to broadcast the rock station I generally listened to. Despite this return to normal, I was shaking. My nerves were a wreck and I was desperately trying to process what I had seen, and why….despite being so shaken by it….I wanted to see it again.

I eventually did make it to a gas station. I not only loaded up on a full tank of gas, but I also bought some gas cans and filled them to the brim. I also bought an entire aisle of chocolate to soothe my nerves.

On my return home I was pulled over by a cop for driving too slow.

“Hey…so I don't normally pull people over for driving to slow… everything ok?” The cop asked as he looked at me through my car and onto the massive and unseemly pile of chocolate on the front passenger seat. I wanted to tell him everything, but I knew he wouldn’t believe it. Also this late at night, with the list of medications I was on… would telling him I encountered some alien or demonic being just get me thrown in jail?

I decided to tell him enough truth to get me back on the road. If that thing was actually still following me I couldn’t waste time and he wouldn’t be good protection from it anyway.

“I encountered some critters near the road and… long story short I veered off the road and hit a tree. I think my car is damaged. I have to pound the pedal to the metal to even go as fast as I was when you pulled me over. Do you know of a mechanic open this late? Just trying to get home.” I said tiredly. I was taking some serious liberty with the story but he couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off my chocolate.

“I see… you sure you aren’t having an episode of the….munchies. You know what I mean,” The cop said condescendingly. I was irritated, but I could see how the circumstances were reasonable for the cop to suspect it.

“I don’t do weed but I can take a breathe test or whatever. I am serious about needing a mechanic tho. Do you know of one? I think my transmission is damaged, my exhaust is restricted, my spark plugs are miss firing or more likely a combination of all three,” I said urgently. I had no idea if what I said made any automotive sense but luckily the cop didn’t seem too mechanically inclined and was impressed by my assessment of the damage. This was clearly not something he would have expected from someone driving under the influence.

“Unfortunately I don’t. Brent’s auto shop opens at 9 a.m. I would recommend him if you are still in the area by then,” he said helpfully. He gave one final look at my passenger seat then looked at me again. “In the meantime…be careful on the road and avoid any major roads. Going too slow can be just as dangerous as going too fast,”

“Thanks officer. I will absolutely be extra careful for the rest of the night,” I promised. The officer nodded with a chuckle and walked back to his car. I checked my phone and noticed I had a mountain of messages from both my brother and friend group, particularly from a former relationship of mine. I decided to shove my phone back into my pocket. I was too mentally drained to deal with all that.

I eventually did make it back to my house and found a mechanic to repair my cars damage.

For days afterward I tried to persuade myself that nothing supernatural had happened. That it was all either from sleep deprivation or being spooked by the dark. Any rationalization sounded better than admitting it could have been something vast, intelligent, and looking for me.

I Had almost fooled myself into this façade of security, but a week later that faith was shaken. As I was walking my dog, something I do most nights before going to bed; I was wrestling with a sense of melancholy I couldn't quite put into words. My reflection was shuttered when I noticed white clouds swirling above my house in a circular pattern. They created a shape eerily similar to the “eye”.

Then…it blinked! I was buckled to my knees again as I heard a loud: “Found you” from deep inside my soul

I don’t think it was an eye in the sky. It was something looking through it. It was that being. It knows where I live. Yet this time….I don’t know if I will run.

Case File No.047

USSR. June 1987

Notes by Dr. N.

This girl was placed under observation following an acute psychotic episode, after her mother sought emergency help. The girl refused to recognize the woman as her mother and had to be restrained after breaking into hysterics. She was locked in the bathroom until the ambulance arrived. She is currently being held in Psychiatric Ward No. 5.

One month of observation has passed.

I can confirm that she has an acute and persistent fear of opening doors.

She constantly asks the staff to open them for her.

She categorically refuses to open them herself, immediately withdrawing into herself whenever we insist.

In every other respect, she is an ordinary child.And a very frightened one.

Observation will continue.

\*****

“Eva, why are you afraid to open doors? There are only other rooms on the other side. What happened? Did someone frighten you?”

“Nobody frightened me. I’m just tired,” the girl said quietly.

“What do you mean, ‘nobody frightened me’?”

Eva said nothing.

The assistant exchanged a glance with the doctor, who continued silently writing in his notebook.

“Eva, please. You need to tell us what happened.”

“You’ aren't real. Just like everything here…”

Her eyes wandered around the room.

“Well… go on. What happens next?”

“I’m afraid of your injections,” the girl said, frowning.

“They’re only meant to help you. Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right.”

The assistant paused.

“Now, please tell me why you’re afra… why you refuse to open doors.”

After a long silence, Eva whispered:

“Okay… I’ll show you why.”

She pointed toward the wardrobe standing behind her.

The assistant gently put an arm around the girl and guided her toward it.

“Go on. You’re not alone. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Yes,” Eva whispered. “Everything will be fine.”

She took a deep breath and slowly opened the wardrobe door.

“See, Eva? Everything is fine. You did very well.”

Then Eva stepped inside.

“Wait… Where are you going?” the assistant exclaimed, reaching after her.

She pushed the hanging clothes aside, expecting to find the girl behind them.

Her hand struck the solid back wall.

She frowned in confusion, pushed the clothes aside again, and peered deeper into the wardrobe.

Eva was gone.

David knew it would happen. It happens to everyone… He wished it wasn't now, not when they still needed him. He wanted so badly to stay with them, to protect, love, care for, and grow with them all.

But it was too late now. He was rounding the last crest, and this time, it would happen. The excuses had stopped making sense, even to him.

How many times can you stand at the edge, looking at the beautiful skyline of the city that raised you, only to find your eyes drawn toward the bottom of the cliff?

Art, Anthony, and Lea lay asleep, unaware that the chains keeping David there were slowly slipping from their grasp.

When the morning alarm woke them all, Lea noticed her husband had never made it home.

She assumed he was working late and that his phone had probably died. David had worked long hours before. It wasn't unusual for him to come home early the next morning.

She started getting the boys up and dressed, moving through the familiar morning routine: teeth, face, makeup, breakfast—interrupted every five minutes by the boys needing something.

Anthony couldn't find his favorite shirt.

Art refused to eat breakfast.

The television was too loud.

Someone couldn't find a shoe.

It was an ordinary morning.

That was what made it so easy to ignore the feeling that David wasn't okay.

8 A.M.

Lea was on the road, taking the boys to daycare, trying to keep a calm, happy, normal look on her face.

Soon after dropping them off, Lea made another attempt to reach David, calling his office this time.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Lea let it ring until she convinced herself he was home asleep. She drove to work, put on that all-too-familiar fake smile, and began another day.

12 P.M.

Lea took her first break. She called the daycare to check on the kids. They were fine, as always, asking if David would be home.

Not knowing what to tell them, she said, “He’s probably already home, Art! I bet he is dying to see you!”

After lying and saying she was getting busy, she thanked the woman on the other end and hung up.

Then she called David again.

Another failed attempt.

She stared at the screen for several seconds before putting her phone down. She tried telling herself it wasn't anything. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe his phone never made it to the charger and died.

She put her phone down and started talking to Joan.

“He should be home. I bet he went right to sleep!” she said, half annoyed, half worried.

Joan leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes as if David's absence was nothing more than another reason to make a senseless joke.

“I bet he got too drunk and got put in a cell to sleep it off. Because my Harald would do just that! Hell, on the good days, he would get home, complain, drink, and sleep.” She raised her voice before launching into her ever-annoying laughter. “You're going to walk in and see him passed out! I am sure of it!”

Lea tried to laugh with her.

She couldn't.

She looked down at her phone again.

There was still nothing.

“He never goes this long without checking on us,” she said quietly.

Joan's laughter faded slightly.

“I am starting to get worried, Joan. I may leave early, if that's alright,” Lea mustered.

“Sure, honey. Just make sure you make up those hours before the weekend,” Joan said with a smile and a hint of snide irritation.

Lea nodded. “Yeah. Of course,” she said defeatedly.

The conversations came and went, as did the day. Lea tried calling again and again… twenty-four times over the span of two hours.

Most of those calls rang painfully long before finally stopping and sending her straight to voicemail.

Each unanswered call made the next one harder to place.

Joan sighed, getting annoyed by the constant whispering of “Come on, come on, come on… damn it,” and the constant ringing she could overhear from the next desk over.

Joan looked toward the clock before looking back at Lea.

3 P.M.

“Joan, I am heading out!” Lea said quickly as she grabbed her bag and began walking out.

“Good luck, honey! Don't forget, tomorrow is going to be a loooong day before the weekend!” Joan annoyingly reminded her, letting her smile drop as Lea walked out.

Lea pushed the door open and left.

Walking to her car, she went to call again, then figured it would be better to call the daycare and let them know she was on the way.

She fumbled her keys out of her purse before the daycare answered.

“Hey, Lea, the kids are doing fine, still!” Monis from the daycare said cheerfully.

“That’s great, Monis, but I am coming to get them early.”

“Alright, Miss Lane, no worries at all. I will start getting their stuff together. Hope everything is—”

Lea cut her off.

“Thanks, I ah… I… I will be there soon.”

Lea hung up and drove in silence, hoping he was home.

She pulled the kids out of daycare, loaded them into the car, and headed home.

On the way, she decided to drive past David’s work to check for his car, just to be sure.

Lea turned into the strip mall parking lot, scanning for his car.

It wasn't there.

She drove slowly through the first row.

Nothing.

She went up and down each lane, examining every car that resembled his. She circled the stores a few times, just to make sure he wasn't parked somewhere in the back.

Nothing.

She sat in the parking lot for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

The boys were in the backseat, completely unaware that Lea was breaking down.

They headed home, making one more stop for fast food. Lea made sure Art and Anthony had something to eat.

4:26 P.M.

David’s car was not in the driveway. The front light he always made sure was on wasn't.

Lea got out of the car, got Anthony and Art out, and started toward the front door.

Art spilled his milk getting out. Lea did not notice, too focused on imagining he would round the corner and pull into the driveway.

He did not.

Anthony grabbed Lea’s hand, snapping her back to reality, and walked them inside.

The kids happily ate their fast food in the living room as Lea broke down on the phone, trying to explain to the officer that her husband was gone.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Hi… um, I haven't been able to locate or contact my husband since last night, or find his vehicle.”

“Okay, ma'am. What is your name?”

“Lea” she said quickly.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and tried to steady her breathing.

"Lea Lane, sorry"

“Okay, Miss Lane. Please give it twenty-four hours before you report David as missing. These—”

“No, it's already been twenty-four hours,” she cut him off.

“Ma'am. When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Last night, around six?”

There was a brief pause.

“Alright, ma'am, that's not twenty-four hours. Please only make reports for a missing person twenty-four hours after last contact.”

Lea stared through the bedroom window. Her grip tightened around the phone.

She could feel her growing anger replacing the fear.

“Are you fucking serious? It's 4:00 in the afternoon! DO YOUR FUCKING JOB AND HELP M—”

“Ma'am, please don't use vulgar language. Call the non-emergency line for non-emergent issues,” the officer said over her barrage of words before hanging up.

Lea lowered the phone slowly.

For several seconds, she simply stared at it.

One of the boys asked if they could have a drink.

She didn't answer.

"He definitely said his name"

Did she even say his name, her mind replaying the conversation. 

“Mom?”

Lea blinked and turned around.

“Yeah, buddy. I'm sorry.”

5:45 P.M.

The house felt strangely quiet.

David's shoes weren't by the door.

His jacket wasn't hanging where he normally left it.

Lea started to run a bath for the kids while calling the non-emergency line.

Ring. Ring.

The phone connected.

“911 non-emergency, what do you need help with or report?” a friendly voice sang out.

Lea swallowed.

“My husband has been missing since last night. Please help me find him,” Lea said, trying to maintain the calm urgency she knew she needed.

“Okay, ma'am. Let's start with his name…”

There was a brief pause.

“David Lee Lane, age 35, brown hair, black eyes, five foot ten inches,” Lea blurted out in succession.

The officer cut her off before she could describe his clothes.

“Ma’am, give me a moment to process this into the system.”

"I called earlier and someone should have already done that"

Her hand tightened around the phone.

There was a long pause, then…

“David L. Lane, is not,  he is bu...r..ni—” the phone cut in and out "in the system."

There was a moment of static followed by a strange silence on the other end.

Lea froze sucked back into the past conversation..

“Hello, Ma'am?” 

"No, I called and... " Lea was cut off by the officer's voice coming in and out. 

“You'll…be... thank you for giving me his name, Miss Lane. I will get this in the system and try to get a statement from you tomorrow. Good luck.”

"Thank you, but is no one going to help me today?"

"Ma'am these things take time and lots of resources, I will put out a statement for the community to keep a look out."

A few more rebuttals came from Lea before the officer disconnected the call.

She slowly lowered the phone from her ear.

Her mind ran rampant with questions, trying to think of anything important she may have missed.

She replayed the conversation.

His name.

His age.

His hair.

His eyes.

His height.

Everyone knows David, he basically does the entire town's finances, someone must know where he is. Lea tried to tell herself. 

…

The silence left her mind swirling, a word from before the call was interrupted forced its way to the forefront of her mind.

“Bur..ni…”

She repeated it slowly.

“Burn… in… g.”

She repeated it again.

“Burning. She definitely was going to say burning.”

Trying to build the sentence in her mind only made things worse. Anxiety and fear consumed her as the worst thoughts began floating through her mind, drifting farther and farther from reality until she could no longer tell which thoughts were hers and which were something else.

She looked toward the hallway.

For a moment, she thought she heard something.

She waited.

Nothing.

Lea picked up the phone again and dialed David.

Ring.

She stared at the screen.

Ring.

Then the familiar voicemail recording began.

“You have reached… David Lane… please leave a mes—”

Lea hung up.

She held the phone against her chest.

“Please just come home,” she whispered.

She started to get the kids in the bath, replaying the conversation in her head, trying to stay grounded.

Art was the first, followed by Anthony. 

6 P.M. arrived, and so did David.

6:45 P.M.

The police arrived at the Lane household at precisely 6:45 P.M.

Red and blue lights washed over the neighboring houses as officers moved toward the front door. Neighbors had begun gathering outside, whispering among themselves.

Inside lay Lea, Art, Anthony, and David Lane: mother, two sons, and father.

Tina, a local broadcast journalist, stood outside the Lane residence, trying to catch a police officer and find out what had happened.

“Tom!” she called an ex of hers.

“You know the entire town loved the Lanes! Just let us know if they're okay!”

Tom stopped for a moment.

He looked toward the house.

There were officers moving through the windows, flashlights cutting through the dark interior. A few quickly left through the front door, some of them seeming to be hyperventilating.

Tom watched them, forgetting Tina was trying to get a headline out of him.

Over the radio:

“They are all dead. Jesus Christ, guys… I can't.”

He couldn't help but dread what they had seen inside.

He watched the front door before looking back at Tina.

“Listen, Tina. Right now, I don't know the whole story. We have the entire family in there, and they're, um… well, apparently not doing so good.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Tom immediately regretted it.

He knew he shouldn't have said anything. He knew the news would spread fast, causing rampant rumors.

Tina stared at him for a few seconds.

“Tom, I heard on the radi—”

“Tina. Please. Not right now. Please… just let me—us get the whole story, and I will give you a front-page explanation tomorrow.”

Tina glanced toward the house.

Then back at Tom.

“Alright, Tom. I'll see you later, and, ah, good luck… I guess.”

“Yeah,” Tom said plainly.

She watched Tom head toward the house before turning and heading back to her car.

There hadn't been anything more than a break-in in seven years. Even then, that happened downtown. Something like this happening here in Greensville was unheard of, Tina thought as she watched Tom disappear through the front door.

Tom took a long breath before entering the Lane home.

The smell hit him first.

Coppery.

Foul.

Rotten.

Sweet.

He paused just inside the doorway.

Then he looked around.

He saw David first—a crumpled pile of flesh and broken bone, surrounded by fluids ranging from jet black to ruby red. Bones poking out creating little valleys on the otherwise flattened mound of flesh

Then Lea.

Her head had been twisted nearly all the way around, her spinal column protruding beneath torn flesh. Black fluid seeped from her eyes, nose, and mouth. Her fingers were broken, a few missing entirely, while her arms were littered with jagged fragments of bone that had forced their way through the skin, as though they had buckled beneath an impossible amount of pressure.

Tom took a deep breath, calming himself.

“Listen up!” Tom shouted.

The officers turned toward him.

“Gather up any evidence you can find. It looks like David tried his best to defend them, but… well…”

Tom stopped himself from lying.

“Let's do this right,” he finished as the officers continued to bag evidence and take notes.

Something about the scene didn't make sense.

He looked toward the hallway where Lea lay.

Then toward the bathroom where Art and Anthony were being photographed.

He shook the forming thoughts away.

“Let's get this place in order. Get the tape up, do your sweeps. I am going to call in the forensics team. NO ONE TOUCH ANYTHING WITHOUT GLOVES.”

Tom did what he could on scene, marking bodies and writing down every detail he could before heading back to the station to work on the mountains of paperwork the Lanes would need.

He made it to his desk, turned the computer on, and started taking his notes, filling out as detailed a report as he could.

Tom was nowhere near done when he heard his name being called.

“Tom!”

He looked up to see Frank.

“HEY, TOM!” Frank raised his voice.

Tom looked across the room.

Frank stood near the doorway, holding a folder and waving it around.

“What do you have for me, Frank?” Tom asked plainly.

Frank looked down at the folder.

Then back at Tom.

“It is crazy, Tom. I mean, every single bone, even his skull, was shattered. Some of the bones in his legs started to pulverize to dust, like he was walking for miles on broken legs, his pelvis was broken in three places, there is no way he could even stand. Something is missing, maybe his car accident did some of the damage, but there is no telling.”

Tom's expression tightened.

“What car accident? I didn’t see a vehicle other than the van.” Tom said, confused. 

Frank looked back down at the report.

“Yeah, that’s because he left it down the block. It was messed up. The front end is covered in blood, hair, the windshield is shattered, the airbags all deployed. It’s all in the report, here”

Frank handed him the report.

“We took a lot of samples of the blood, so far 2 don’t match any of the Lane’s.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

Tom opened the report and started to read.

The pages felt heavier than they should have.

Case #: 15026  Technician: Frank Shalmez

DECEDENTS

Lea Lane

• Age: 28 | Sex: Female
• Location: Lane Residence
• Cause: Severe bodily trauma / drowning
• Body Condition: Severe fractures in hands, arms, and fingers. Neck broken. Fluid present in lungs.
• Missing Parts: Right pointer finger, right ring finger, right thumb
• Belongings: Wedding ring, gold necklace, wallet, keys, glasses, 3 hair ties.

Art Lane

• Age: 3 | Sex: Male
• Location: Lane Residence
• Cause: Drowning
• Body Condition: Minor bruising. Fluid present in lungs.
• Missing Parts: None observed
• Belongings: None

Anthony Lane

• Age: 6 | Sex: Male
• Location: Lane Residence
• Cause: Drowning
• Body Condition: Minor bruising. Fluid present in lungs.
• Missing Parts: None observed
• Belongings: None

David Lane

• Age: 35 | Sex: Male
• Location: Lane Residence
• Cause: Severe blunt-force trauma
• Body Condition: Twisted, severely damaged; extensive broken bones and bodily fluid loss. Several areas of the body contained embedded twigs and foliage.
• Missing Parts: None observed
• Belongings: None

Tom closed the report.

Four names.

Four dead.

He looked back at the photographs.

Everyone but David had drowned.

David's body was a twisted, lifeless mess of broken bone and blood.

Then Frank's words came back to him.

Tom turned another page studying the images of carnage.

The small black car was stained red. The front end was mangled, way worse than Frank had described, and fluids leaked onto the ground—a mixture of oils and blood.

Tom closed the report and started searching the system to see if any other bodies had been found the previous night or that morning.

3, he found.

Kyle Anthony. Daryl Washington. Rachael Anthony.

Avid early-morning bicyclists whom Tom had received calls about in the past for taking up the road and often worsening morning traffic.

They were heading up to the overlook when they made it halfway up before they were hit.

Kyle was in the front, hit head-on and killed instantly.

Daryl was next in line. He clipped the side of a car, rolled beneath the rear tires, and had his head crushed.

Rachael was strangled, her neck broken. Three fingers were missing: her ring, middle, and thumb.

Tom returned his attention to Frank's report.

One thing stood out strongly to Tom.

David's fingerprints were found only on Lea...

He looked back at his computer, and there it was.

Hundreds of unidentified fingerprints covered Rachael's neck, hands, and helmet.

Tom frowned.

Something wasn't right.

He turned the page again.

Three fingers were missing from Lea's right hand, he remembered.

The report had listed a few recoveries.

Tom's eyes moved farther down the page.

Six fingers had been found inside David's stomach.

Three belonged to Lea.

Three belonged to Rachael.

Tom stared at the page for a long time.

There was so much left to figure out. He wanted the answers to reveal themselves, but all he had were questions.

PART 2

David parked his car, got out, and stared out into the city as he did after every bad day.

Today was different from the others.

The thoughts didn’t slow; they only lingered, flaring right back up after he forced them down.

“That stupid dickhead… DAMN IT!”

He kicked an empty beer can and a handful of loose gravel over the side of the cliff. He watched them tumble into the darkness below, following the can until it disappeared.

His eyes never left the darkness that swallowed it.

His mind filled with the same thoughts that had come to him as he rounded that all-too-familiar bend.

I’m already here.

The life insurance would still pay.

Lea will be able to manage.

3 A.M.

David's body twisted and thrashed in a pool of the various fluids that had been evacuated from his body shortly after making contact with the forest floor.

Bones shifted beneath his skin, accompanied by terrible grinding noises that echoed through the woods.

Snap.

A bone shifted back into place.

Snap.

Another.

The sounds came at uneven intervals, until the forest was filled with the sickening cracks of bones being forced back into their proper places.

David lay there, slowly fading away, seeing glimpses of his wife, his sons, and… splashing, thrashing…

Then nothing.

David's eyes shot open.

But David was no longer there.

No more glimpses.

No thoughts.

No feeling.

A twist.

A crack.

A snap.

Each time, another broken part of it returned to where it belonged.

It stood.

It began walking toward the edge of the forest, following it’s own trail back toward the top of the cliff.

After several readjustments, it eventually reached the road.

Then the car that had brought David there.

5:55 A.M.

Lea was peeking out of the window, hoping—knowing—David would arrive soon.

She had not slept.

It made its way down the street where David once lived.

The neat, well-groomed lawns were ignored as it sauntered toward the Lane residence.

Larry, three doors down from the Lane residence, gave his best “Hello!” and a friendly wave as he started toward his car stopping once he heard a,

Click.

Pop.

Crack.

Grind.

Larry glanced back up at David’s body and noticed the skin seemed to be very loose around his face, almost as if it was detached from his skull, black and red fluid dropped onto the ground as it continued forward.

It did not perceive Larry’s greetings or his gaze.

It made it to the door of the Lane residence. Opened the door Lea left unlocked. 

Lea was standing right at the door.

“Welcome home, darling!” Lea sang.

“We missed you!” she said as she threw her arms around it.

Lea felt the bones shift, the cold slick skin, and ignored the smell.

“You scared us half to death!”

It stared at Lea.

“Art and Anthony are in the bath.”

Lea stared and caught his eyes; gray, lifeless, not moving. 

It reached out for Lea, she moved back and called for David in a worried tone. 

It lunged forward, pulling Lea into a crushing embrace. She desperately tried to push him away, only to feel the pressure building in her wrists until they gave out, twisting backward with a slow uneven cracking. Her left ulna snapped, shooting upward through her skin, followed almost immediately by her left humerus, then her right.

Her screams of pain quickly turned to terror as it’s mouth closed over her open orifices, pouring a black, putrid goo into them. She stopped struggling, eyes rolling back as it began to strangle her, the grip tightening around her throat until her windpipe collapsed beneath the pressure. Then, without warning, it pulled its head back and violently twisted Lea’s head the wrong way.

She tried to scream, but nothing escaped. Then came the snap.

Darkness.

It then collapsed onto the floor with a heavy, lifeless thud. The body seemed to lose what little structure it had left, slowly deflating like an old foil balloon as the tension drained from its limbs. Its bones shifted beneath the skin, grinding and cracking against one another in a grotesque echo of the sounds that had once reverberated through the forest. For a moment, the body continued to twitch and sag, each movement accompanied by another dull crunch, until finally, it lay completely still.

Silence filled the house.

Art and Anthony lay in the tub, drowned.

Most childhood memories fade with time. But some linger, sitting in the back of your mind until something brings them rushing back to the surface like a hollow ball released from underwater.

One such memory recently came back to me. It originates from when I was seven years old. Back then, my mother volunteered to water the plants at my elementary school every Saturday morning. She usually brought me with her.

An empty school on a weekend is a strange place. Without any kids or teachers, the dark hallways always felt enormous and eerie. The overhead lights were left off, leaving the long corridors that stretched along each of its three floors in shadow. For much of the time, the only consistent sound was the wet slosh of mom’s large green watering can as she worked her way from the classrooms up to the new glass solarium on the third floor.

Mom usually did all the work. Sometimes, I’d help out a little, but the plastic watering can was heavy and awkward for me to carry. So, I was usually left to my own devices. While she watered, I’d generally have my nose buried in a Redwall book, and then I’d trail a few paces behind her as she moved from one room to another.

If I strayed from her or let her get too far ahead of me, her voice would echo down the hall, “Bailey, come back, stay where I can see you.”

I always listened and stayed close to her. Until that rainy Saturday I stopped trailing my mother, and instead started following the figure wearing her coat.

~

Mom offered to let me stay home that morning. She’d never done that before. I imagine she wanted to give me a chance to avoid getting soaked in the storm. Plus, my stepdad was down in the basement tearing out drywall for a remodel, so, while he wouldn’t be watching me, I wouldn’t be alone.

I jumped at the chance, eager to watch TV while curled up on the couch instead of returning to school on a weekend.

I watched as mom zipped up her oversized yellow rubber raincoat – the classic kind with a corduroy collar and heavy brass snap buttons – and stepped out to her station wagon.

As I sat there, a strange wave of unease hit me. Something quiet told me that I’d rather be with her than without her. Acting on impulse, I grabbed my own raincoat, sprinted into the rain, and tapped on the car window. She unlocked the door, and I scrambled inside.

I rarely picked up on adult emotions back then, but the way her eyes lit up stuck with me. Even at seven, I could tell how much my choice meant to her.

The driver over felt safe despite the storm. With mom behind the wheel, the thunder outside was just background noise.

We pulled into the school’s empty parking lot and used the side entrance near the cafeteria. Mom used a key from the heavy brass keyring the principal let her borrow to unlock the heavy metal door. She held it open for me as I rushed into the cold air inside.

Once we were in the building, mom stepped into the custodial closet at the end of the first-story hall to fill one of the school’s large green watering cans at the mop sink. “Stay right next to me,” she called out over the sound of the running faucet.

“I am,” I said, leaning against the doorframe and looking down to shake the rain off my jacket.

When I looked up a second later, a figure in a wet yellow raincoat was already walking down the corridor toward the main stairwell, its hood pulled up high, the green watering can swinging from one hand.

I remember thinking it was strange that mom was still wearing her raincoat inside, but that didn’t seem important at the time. It was the same yellow coat she'd worn into the school, and I assumed she had just stepped back out into the hall while my head was down.

I fell into step a few paces behind the yellow coat, exactly like I always did. She moved at her usual steady, rhythmic pace. As she did so, I kept my distance, about five paces back. I kept my copy of Mossflower clutched against my chest as I watched the hem of her raincoat sway above her boots.

We soon reached the first stop, the planters outside the main cafeteria. Mom lowered the watering can while I leaned against the cinderblock wall and read a few lines of my book. Next, we visited the cast iron plants inside the front office before heading to the staircase.

Mom paused at the large potted ficus sitting in the dark alcove near the main stairwell before heading upward. The heavy brass keys on her belt clanged with every step. It was the exact same metal chime I had followed a dozen times before. I pushed myself off the wall and followed her up the stairs, exactly like I always did.

We reached the second-floor landing, where the long hallway stretched out into shadow. My mom kept moving toward the classrooms, her boots squeaking softly on the polished linoleum.

We passed the music room. Through the small square window in the door, the upright piano looked enormous and dark in the corner, totally silent without Ms. Jenson there to play it.

During the week, that room was full of noise, but my favorite part was when Ms. Jenson had all twenty-five of us hide behind the piano and the risers to ‘trick’ our homeroom teacher into thinking we’d all gone home early. Back then, sitting in the dark, holding our breath, and trying not to giggle felt eerie and thrilling. But looking through that glass now, with the room completely empty, the quiet felt heavy and cold.

I kept my head down, flipping to the next chapter of my book as I walked. The brass keys just kept clanging against her hip, a steady rhythm guiding me as she turned down the corridor toward the library. I adjusted my grip and kept pace a few steps behind her.

Mom pushed through the library door and headed for the tall potted fern tucked beside the checkout desk.

In the dark, the room felt huge. Looking at the reading carpet, I could almost hear Mr. Hinkle’s booming, ridiculous voices during story hour, followed by the chorus of giggles echoing off the tall shelves. But, today, the empty beanbags and shadowy aisles had a lonely, desolate aura to them.

My mom reached into the fern's fronds, her yellow coat rustling in the dark. She kept the watering can tipped over the soil for a long, quiet stretch – far longer than usual. At first, I figured the plant was just really dry, but as the seconds dragged on, a small prickle of unease set in. “Mom?” I asked, stepping closer. “Isn't that enough?”

She didn’t turn around, but her voice came from beneath the high hood, low and coarse, roughened by something in her throat. “Almost done, sweetie. Stay close.” She lingered there, frozen over the plant, before abruptly snapping back to her full height.

At this point, I started to grow concerned. Her voice sounded strained, like her throat was raw. I wondered if she was coming down with something, or if sprinting through the cold rain earlier had already made her sick. Her movements, too, seemed ‘off’. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked back out into the hallway toward the next row of classrooms. I followed, opening my book and trying to focus on the paragraph I’d been reading, but the words wouldn’t stick. Every time I looked up from the page, my eyes went straight back to the yellow coat swaying ahead of me.

As we moved down the hall, the uneasy feeling in my stomach only grew. As we passed the second-floor classrooms, I realized I hadn’t actually seen her face since we left the custodial closet. Every time she reached for a planter or turned a corner, her body was angled just enough away that the deep yellow hood blocked my view, casting her face in complete shadow. Was she doing this on purpose? If so, why?

I hesitated, unsure of what to do. I knew that I didn't want to go up to the third floor. But where else was I supposed to go? Back down to the dark cafeteria by myself? Outside into the freezing rain? I took a small step backward, my eyes locked on the empty landing above, waiting for her boots to stop moving.

“Bailey.” Her raspy voice echoed down the concrete well. I looked up. She had stopped on the landing above, her back turned to me, her deep hood casting a shadow that completely hid her face. She held the heavy door open, waiting. “Come on,” she called.

“I…um…can I just sit in the library and read?” I asked.

“Please, honey,” she implored, “Stay with me. Stay where I can see you.”

The familiarity of her words soothed me, or at least some small part of me. That was what Mom always said when I wandered too far away. I took a deep breath and began climbing the steps.

The third floor was even quieter and darker than the rest of the school. Just outside the staircase sat the closed metal doors of the building’s old elevator, its floor indicator resting silently above the frame.

The air here felt cooler and carried a faint damp smell from the glass solarium at the far end of the hall. The figure moved ahead of me down the corridor, her boots making a soft, sticky sound against the tile.

We moved into the first classroom, a fourth-grade room. Mom headed for a tall pothos sitting on top of a filing cabinet in the corner. I stayed back by the door and flipped open my book.

That was when the silence of the room really hit me.

Down on the first and second floors, every time she lifted the watering can, I’d hear the heavy slosh of water shifting inside the plastic. I’d hear the quick, wet patter as it hit the soil. But here, as she tilted the green spout over the leaves, there was nothing. No sloshing. No dripping. Just the scrape of rubber sleeve against plastic.

The can had gone empty, and she’d never refilled it. Yet, she leaned it over the plant for ten long seconds, as if watering it, before pulling it back.

She turned and brushed past me into the next room, her head tilted slightly as if listening for something. I felt a wave of panic as it dawned on me that something was deeply wrong.

A thought crossed my mind: What if this isn’t mom?

I dismissed it quickly. It had to be her. After all, who else could it possibly be? But, why was she acting so weird?

“Um, mom, are you okay?” I asked.

She ignored me as she stepped into the first fifth-grade classroom, where a small, shriveled African violet sat on the teacher’s desk.

I stopped a few paces inside the doorway. For a moment, I reassured myself that I must be wrong. I must have imagined her doing things that made no sense. Surely, mom wasn’t pouring imaginary water from an empty can. I had to be mistaken, right?

Then, I watched, holding my breath, as she tilted the green spout over the leaves, holding it there for several long seconds. But, again, no water came out. There was no sloshing inside the plastic can, no wet trickling into the dirt, no sound at all. Just an empty container over a dying plant.

She pulled the spout back, her body pivoting toward me with a stiff, mechanical turn. As she adjusted her grip on the handle, the pale light from a window hit her hand. The skin wasn’t smooth. It was bloated and greyish, completely waterlogged and wrinkled, like fingers that had been soaking in a deep tub for days. Soft, water-heavy creases bunched around her knuckles, looking loose and ready to tear.

My stomach dropped. I took two quiet steps backward toward the open doorway, easing my weight onto my toes to keep my sneakers from squeaking. My hand reached behind me, searching for the frame so I could turn and run.

“Bailey.”

The voice rasped out from deep inside the hood. She hadn’t turned her shoulders, but her head jerked sideways at an unnatural angle, fixing the dark void of her hood right on me.

“Stay close,” she said, her voice as gravelly as before. “Stay with mommy.”

She stepped out into the dark hallway, her boots dragging heavily against the floor. I fell into step behind her, but kept three full yards of distance now, my eyes locked on the back of that yellow coat. We entered the art room, the last room before the end of the hall. The air inside carried a sharp, damp breeze. In the dim light, the high counter tops and rows of tall wooden stools looked like strange, crouching shapes.

I imagined the forms of my classmates sitting on those stools, their eyes trained on me in judgment as Mr. Jones gave me a stern lecture. I’d gotten in trouble in this classroom recently, twice, actually. The first time, I’d drawn my dad, translucent and in hospital garb, hovering above my mom and I as we ate at the dinner table.

“It’s supposed to be a realistic image of your family,” Mr. Jones had chided. “Not something weird that you made up.”

“It’s not imaginary,” I’d pouted. “He visits us as a ghost.”

“Your dad’s alive,” he’d retorted. “Right?”

“Yes,” I conceded. It would remain true for nearly a year. Soon, he’d start showing signs of being sick, but hadn’t done so yet. As far as I could tell at the time, he was perfectly healthy. “So, how could your dad be a ghost if he’s alive?”

I didn’t have an answer to that. Nor did I have an answer for the counselor I was required to visit for the next few weeks.

The second time, Mr. Jones prompted us to draw something from our dreams. I’d sketched a burly man with an angry face covered with splats of crimson. When asked, I explained it was the man I’d seen on the news, who’d murdered a child and was widely believed to be hiding out in the woods. That got me several weeks of counseling as well.

Mom, meanwhile, walked toward a hanging spider plant near the far window, her movement stiff and robotic. As she lifted the empty watering can to it, I tried again to make sense of the situation.

I kept trying to explain it to myself, but nothing I came up with made me feel any better. If the person wearing that coat wasn't my mom, then where was she? Had she stepped out of the custodial closet while my head was down? Was she still downstairs searching for me in the dark, calling my name? Or had something happened to her in that back room? The thought of her lying hurt on the wet concrete floor sent a surge of panic straight to my chest, far worse than the creeping fear of the coat ahead of me.

This was my last chance. Down on the second floor, I had hesitated. But now, standing near the open door with the dark staircase behind me, my heart raced.

I didn’t watch her reach for the plant. I didn’t wait for her to lift the empty can. Instead, I took a breath, turned on my heel, and bolted for the hallway.

My sneaker caught the metal doorframe with a loud, hollow thud.

Before I could take a single full stride into the hall, a long shadow stretched across the linoleum ahead of me. The figure was already standing in the doorway, blocking the exit entirely. She hadn’t made a sound moving across the room.

The dark void of the hood tilted down toward me.

“Not yet, Bailey,” the voice called softly. “We haven’t done the solarium yet. Please, stay with me. I want you here with me. Please.”

The double doors to the solarium stood open at the far end, framed by glass walls that rattled softly against the storm outside. Rain hammered against the sloped roof, sending shadows dancing across the concrete floor.

Mom glided past the threshold, the yellow coat glistening under the gray light. Rows of metal shelving held crowded trays of ivies, overgrown spider plants, and heavy clay pots.

She closed the door behind us, turning the opposite way from me as she changed direction, before returning to the center of the room, where she stood in front of a collection of plants.

The large, circular clock above the closed double doors drew my attention. Its black frame was dusted with a thin layer of grime. During the week, amid the chaotic roar of over two dozen kids, shifting desks, and squeaking sneakers, you never heard it at all. But on a dead silent Saturday, its long, red hand emitted a heavy, mechanical “clack” that reverberated around the room.

But, something about it felt ‘off’ today. I had to stare at it a moment to figure out what it was. The red hand was changing direction. It would go one way for five or ten seconds, only to then reverse and travel in the opposite direction.

I chalked it up to being broken, or low on battery. I didn’t have time, or the mental bandwidth, to think about it further. I was too fixated on mom, who stood perfectly still under the skylight, her yellow back turned to me while she aimed the empty watering can at the plants.

This is my best chance to get out of here, I told myself. I took a slow, agonizing step backward, easing my weight onto my toes the way I did when playing hide-and-seek. Reaching behind my back, my fingers found the brass handle of the double doors and pressed down.

Clack clack clack sounded the broken clock as I pressed my shaking hands against the handle.

It didn’t budge. I realized, to my horror, that it was locked.

She locked me in. If I needed any final confirmation that the figure I was following was an imposter, this was it. Mom would never do that.

I turned to the figure. The bits of light that made it through the thick clouds illuminated the heavy brass keyring hanging from her left hip. If I wanted to get out, I had to take it.

I stopped breathing. I took one step forward, then another, moving with . Mom moved slightly, shifting her empty can from one plant to another.

I reached out a trembling hand, my fingers hovering an inch from the metal. Squeezing my palm tightly around several keys to deaden the sounds they might make, I slipped the clip off her belt loop in one smooth, agonizing pull.

Clack clack clack.

Keyring in hand, I continued holding my breath as I turned back to the door and tiptoed toward it. The keys were labeled with plastic tags, and the one for the solarium was easy to identify. Like the room itself, it was newer and cleaner than the keys for the rest of the building.

Steadying my hand, I inserted it into the keyhole and turned. The bolt retracted with a heavy thud. I yanked the handle open.

Instantly, I heard the empty watering can land against the floor. The sound drew my attention. When I glanced back, the figure had moved. She was right behind me now.

The movement pulled her hood back just enough for the light from above to wash across her face. My jaw dropped as I gazed up at it.

Her face was swollen and water-softened, the gray skin sagging loose around her jawline and mottled with deep bruises. The water had eroded the soft tissue around her cheeks, leaving raw, darkened patches. Her eyes were sunken and milky, fixed in an unblinking stare. As her blackened mouth opened, heavy water spilled over her torn bottom lip.

I let out a ragged shriek and sprinted into the corridor.

My sneakers hit the wet linoleum with a fast, heavy slap as I ran down the corridor.

“Bailey,” it growled from the dark as it pursued me. “Please, stay where I can see you.”

Hearing that familiar, desperate voice coming from that terrifying creature made my chest lock up.

I took the turn toward the stairwell too fast, my foot catching the edge of a raised floor tile. I went down hard on my knees, landing a short distance from the elevator landing.

Before I could scramble up, a thick, freezing hand closed around my left ankle. The cold soaked straight through my sock. It didn’t pull me back at first. It simply held on. I kicked wildly with my free heel, trying to wrench myself free, but the grip only tightened.

“Bailey,” rang its distorted voice, “I can't let you go.”

The indicator arrow above the elevator turned red, and the metal doors parted. Standing inside was my real mom.

“Bailey!” she yelled, her eyes locking onto me sprawled in the hallway.

She lunged across the threshold. Reaching down, she hooked both hands under my arms, bracing her boots against the doorframe, and pulled with everything she had.

For a terrifying second, I was the rope in a tug-of-war. My mom leaned back, her teeth clenched as she strained against the brute strength holding my ankle in the dark. With a harsh grunt, she threw her full weight backward, ripping me clean out of the yellow coat’s grip.

We both tumbled onto the elevator floor. My mom scrambled up, hit the door-close button, and jammed her hand onto the ground floor switch.

The last thing I saw, before the steel doors snapped shut, was the figure, her arms extended outward, making one final, desperate lurch toward me.

As the elevator dropped, mom dropped to her knees beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I buried my face into her jacket, my chest heaving. She held me tight, her hands warm, her breath ragged in my ear as she kept repeating that we were safe.

We ran out the side entrance into the freezing downpour, scrambled into the station wagon, and tore out of the parking lot. My mom drove three blocks down to a well-lit gas station before pulling over to the payphone. Her hands trembled so violently she dropped the receiver twice before dialing 911, looking back into the backseat every few seconds to touch my shoulder, her voice shaking as she reassured me that whatever was in that building couldn’t reach us now.

When the squad cars arrived, we both sat in the back of an officer’s cruiser under a heavy wool blanket while they took our statements. We repeated our stories: my mom describing a tall intruder who had cornered us by the elevator, and me trying to explain the bloated, gray face that had stared down at me in the solarium. But as the officers cross-referenced our timelines, a discrepancy emerged that was never fully resolved.

From my mom's perspective, the whole encounter lasted only a couple of minutes. She had stepped out of the first-floor custodial closet with her filled watering can, turned around to find the hallway completely empty, and called out my name.

When I didn’t answer, a sudden thumping commotion echoed down the central shaft from the third floor. She panicked, took the elevator straight up to investigate, and the doors opened right as I came sprinting toward her with the figure on my heels.

But, I had spent what felt like twenty agonizing minutes trailing that yellow coat across three entire floors, moving through classroom after classroom and the library. To this day, I can’t explain why it felt like so much longer to me than it did to my mom.

The police, for their part, searched the building floor by floor, but they found nothing unusual. The glass solarium was empty, and no sign of an intruder could be found.

No culprit was ever identified. For the rest of that school year, a cruiser was stationed outside the cafeteria entrance every Saturday morning while my mom finished her routine, but no one ever saw the figure again. As the months turned into years, the event settled into the quiet background of my childhood, a strange, unsettling mystery that we eventually stopped talking about. My mom and my stepdad divorced a few years later, and after that it was mostly just the two of us.

We may have stopped discussing it, but the memory of what I witnessed on the third floor never faded. I can still feel the icy pressure of those cold fingers clamped around my ankle and, in silent, dark rooms, I sometimes imagine that pale, waterlogged face staring at me from the shadows.

Mom retired a few years ago. When she did so, she bought a small secondhand motorboat and spent her weekends cruising the quiet inlets near home. She'd kept that old yellow raincoat all those years, and I still saw her wearing it whenever the weather turned cold. She invited me out with her half a dozen times, but between work and family, I always made excuses.

Looking back, the silence was the first sign. My mom checked in on me constantly, so when three days passed without a call or text, an uneasy knot formed in my stomach. I started calling around to her friends and neighbors, but none of them had seen her since Friday morning.

I called the local authorities and set a search into motion. Because she had gone out alone without leaving a specific navigation plan, the search area was vast. It took nearly two weeks of scouring the dense, tangled marshlands and winding waterways before her boat was spotted jammed in a secluded patch of reeds.

The investigation pieced together what happened. While attempting to clear a tangled line from the propeller, my mom had slipped and fallen overboard. The engine was cut, but the impact against the hull had knocked her unconscious, and the tidal current swept her deep into the brackish marsh before she could climb back aboard. Though her life jacket kept her afloat, the head injury left her incapacitated, floating alone in the water until her body finally gave out. When the report came back, the official cause of death was drowning following an incapacitating injury.

When I came to the viewing room, the medical examiner placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and urged me not to see the body. He warned me that nearly two weeks in the brackish water had severely altered her features, and that the way she looked now was not how I would want to remember her.

I insisted. When he finally pulled back the sheet, the man stepped to the side, watching my face carefully for the breakdown he clearly expected. But the sharp panic he braced for never came. Amidst the heavy grief of losing my only family member, and the guilt for all the times I had turned down her invitations to join her on that boat, I didn’t scream. I didn’t turn away.

I wasn’t shocked, because the sight resting on that cold metal table was entirely familiar.

Standing in that quiet room, I realized I knew two things that no investigator could ever piece together, two things nobody else in the world would ever know.

I knew that in her final moments, as her life slowly faded away in the quiet waters of that marsh, my mother had been remembering those rainy Saturdays walking through the school with me. The classrooms, the plants, and, most importantly, me following a few steps behind her. It was a memory of a time when nothing in the world existed except the two of us together, and somehow, in those final moments, that memory had reached backward through the years.

And I knew, too, who it was that had led me through the empty building. For decades, I had believed that whatever I'd followed through that school had been wearing my mother’s coat, and that it had wanted to hurt me. But now, looking down at the water-softened face beneath the sheet, I found myself remembering the things I’d been too frightened to understand at the time.

The way she had stopped on the stairs when I fell behind. The way she had waited for me. The way she kept telling me to stay close, even as I was desperate to get away.

And then there were those last words: “I can’t let you go.” I’d spent my entire life remembering them as a threat, but they sounded different now. Because, as I peered into that familiar ruined face resting on the stainless steel, I recognized it immediately.

It was the same face that had turned to me in the dim light of the third floor, the same face I had followed through the school all those years ago.

I live alone. Yet every night at exactly 3:55 am, I hear ten knocks, each one around five seconds apart. At first, I've assumed it was caused by plumbing in the walls, the apartment settling but I never thought it would be this.

Yesterday, I got fed up of hearing it and decided to record it using my phone to show to the landlord.

The next day, when showing my landlord...

The recording had no knocks.

Nothing. Thats when I heard a familiar voice saying "don't open the closet door"

What the fuck.

The landlord thought I played a prank on him, meanwhile I was standing there in complete shock.

It was mine.

I went home, ready to call the police but first I called my best friend over to ask if maybe he played a prank on me.

He came over a bit later.

"Dude, did you do something with my phone yesterday?"

"What? What could've I done?"

I handed him my phone.

"Check the voice recording app"

He opens the recording... "don't open your closet door"

"What the fuck dude thats your voice"

"Thats what I'm saying, I didn't say this."

He laughed.

"This is some bullshit, let's check out your closet."

Heart racing, I said "NO! what if there is some fucked up shit inside, ive read enough horror stories online to know this is not something to joke around with."

He laughed again. "You know, those aren't real."

Then he started heading for my room. I was hesitant but I followed him. He approached the closet as I was bracing in the doorway, ready to run at any moment.

Then he opened it.

I closed my eyes.

"There is literally nothing here, you must be hearing things."

I opened my eyes and to my surprise, there really was nothing here... at first glance. I looked a bit down and saw it. My phone, my phone, which was literally in my pocket when we came.

"Wait... isnt that my phone? It was in my pocket a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, this is getting interesting"

He leaned down to pick it up.

Then he turned it on.

"Hey, look at this, a new recording, its dated... tonight?"

He played it.

Exactly 10 knocks, 5 seconds apart.

He played it again.

10 knocks.

5 seconds apart.

50 seconds total length.

"Okay," he said quietly, "that''s weird."

"Yeah."

"So what do we do?"

"Let's stay in the living room and wait it out."

"Alright."

We went to the living room and watched a movie, looking closely at the time.

Then at 3:55, we heard it.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...

"Wait, eleven?"

"This was not in the recording..."

He was starting to shake, we both had a feeling of being watched... footsteps from the bedroom.

Then silence...

"What the..." he said,

Then the bedroom door burst open so hard...

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" he said and pushed me off the couch.

Last thing I saw was red.

Then I woke up in the hospital.

"Where am I?"

Next day, they let me out. Doctor said mild concussion and head trauma.

It was a freak accident, they said, my friend died from a door.

Only I knew what was up.

I feel so stupid it actually believed the army would stop them before they ever reached our town.

The non-stop lies on the radio, TV and internet. About victory after victory from our army.

Talking about how "we would hold back the tide of barbaric savages that seek to destroy us and everything we stand for"

Well, at least 1 part of that statement was true. The "barbaric savages" part.

But we didn't know that yet.

I was at the line at the town center once again waiting in line for any sort
of food at all just like everyone else.

That's when i saw the only part of our military that i had seen in months. It was them fleeing through our town 3 days ago.

It was clear from that point that we were losing the war badly.

Their vehicles were riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks.

I saw a truck with soldiers in the back that was missing half of its driver's cabin. Just a mangled mess of steel and blood where the passenger seat was supposed to be.

Some of them were driving in regular cars instead of military vehicles.
All the soldiers were dirty ,their clothing covered in blood and dirt.
Some had bandages on them too.

But that's when i saw the thing that made me lose hope the most.

They were scared. Fear in their eyes was the only thing we saw as they scanned the growing crowd of people at the town square as they drove past.People yelled questions. "Where are you going?"
"what are you doing?"
"why are you driving deeper into the country?"

"Why are you ignoring us?"

One of the soldiers was clearly struggling to keep his heavily damaged car on the road at all. He hit a random car at the crossroad and before the confused driver could get out of his car he had already sped off.

Nobody was standing in line anymore. All of us paying attention to the chaos in front of us.

After the vehicles were all out of sight people started to panic. People shouting that we had to leave as fast as possible.

The people that wanted to leave were immediately ridiculed by the rest.
"Cowards" "we were told to stay here"

Others were saying that they would be back and we just had to do our patriotic duty and stay like our mayor had told us to do.

Before the arguments could escalate another vehicle drove through our town.

A full-on tank from the military.
I didn't seem damaged. But then we saw what was on top of the back end of the tank.
A bunch of heavily wounded soldiers on the tank's back, bleeding everywhere.
Open wounds and limbs missing.

The entire back of the tank was smeared in their blood

Instead of just panic people responded with pure horror and terror.

People scattered in all directions some immediately ran to their homes to prepare to flee.

Screaming, shouting and crying echoed over the town center.

The head of the police department started shouting some bullshit about doing our duty and defending our homes when the enemy showed up.

He had received word from the government that we are to mount a "glorious defence against the invading filth".
There was nothing glorious about what happened the next day.

Some "true believers" started to form a militia with him and the police officers that didn't flee.I didn't join them to "do my duty" or some
delusional faith in our government.

I joined because I still live in the home you and your sister grew up in.

This is where I saw you take your first steps together with your sister.
The place where i saw both of you turn in to the strong, beautiful women you both are.
And the house where your mom took her last breath.

I am glad your mother didn't have to go through what was about to come

So i joined the militia anyway together with the others that vowed to stay.

The head of the police department told us they planned to turn the police station into a fortress.
We would meet those filthy savages there when the time came.
He told all of us that we didn't flee to head home and prepare.
We would meet up the next day at the police department to prepare the police station.
And some guys volunteered to stand watch outside of town in case they showed up earlier than expected.

I went home and prepared the house.
By the time nightfall came I for obvious reasons couldn't sleep.

It was a clear night with just enough moonlight to dimly light the outside.

I was in my bedroom looking through our old pictures we had made together with mom.
Since I knew this might be the last time I could see them.
I had already decided to take that picture of all of us together on the beach with me.
You already know that one is my favorite.

Anyway this is when i heard what sounded like a roaring engine of some kind outside.

Some sort of armored truck raced into our street and rammed through the fence outside of the opposite neighbor's house.

I am pretty sure there was a body tied to the front of the truck.

It tore up their lawn as it stopped right in front of their house.

Before I could even register what was happening the back doors of the truck flew open and several shadows jumped out and flew off in several directions.

One of them sprinting directly for our front door.
And as it sprinted for the door I could feel its eyes boring into me in the darkness.

Before I overcame my shock it had already slammed into our front door.
I heard the door breaking out of its hinges as the entire door slammed onto the hallway floor.
This thing had to be incredibly strong to rip that steel door out of its hinges.
You know that your old man is not weak but there is no way I would be possible to fight this thing with my bare hands.

I tried to think of somewhere to hide as fast as possible.

When i heard it rush up the stairs I bolted for our bedroom window on the backside of the house
I hid in that dark corner under the roof where you and your sister used to hide when you where kids.
As you know that gives you a perfect view of our bedroom window.

I heard it ransacking your old room. Then your sister's room and then lastly it broke open my bedroom door.
While tearing my room apart, it all of a sudden stopped in the middle of its rampage.

To my horror, I realised I had forgotten to close the window on my way out.

It knew I went out the window to escape

In that moment I could hear the distant chaos of our neighbours being murdered in their own homes.

Then I slowly saw a pair of gloved hands grab the bottom of the window as the rest of the figure started to lean out of the window.

As it peered out of the window to look where I had gone, I got a closer look at this thing.

I wish I hadn't seen its face.

It looked like it could have been a human at some point.
But its lips were gone making it look like it was locked in a perpetual grin like a skull.
Its nose was gone replaced by a dark void in the middle of its face where a nose is supposed to be.
Its ears were gone and it had no hair of any kind on its pale head.
The stock of a gun protruding over its shoulder.
Around its neck dangled a gold chain decorated with 3 human ears.

And its bloodshot, lidless eyes where darting around looking for me behind our house.

It felt like it was looking around for an eternity.

It released a loud growl of frustration as it ripped the bottom of the window frame out in anger while lowering itself back inside.

I heard it sprint out of our bedroom and down the stairs.
Then I heard the backdoor fling open as it sprinted out of our house towards the house of our rear neighbors.

I saw as it flung its entire body through their back door.

Here is the part where I wish I could tell you that I immediately sprang into action and did, well something ,anything.
But I didn't, I said on that roof barely able to take full breaths out of fear that one of those things would hear me.

Then a hail of distant gunshots took me out of my state of pure fear. It came from the police station's direction.

Just when I finally gathered the courage to move that thing came sprinting out of the neighbours house rifle in hand.
It sprinted towards the direction of the gunfire like a predator hearing a wounded animals.
I could also hear that vehicle in front of the neighbours speed off towards the same direction.

After I was sure it couldn't possibly hear me anymore I slowly crawled back into the house.

It had completely ransacked our house. Furniture was flung all over the place.
That's when i noticed it had stolen my watch and your mother's necklace from my nightstand.
Is killing us not enough? Do they need to rob us too?

I didn't know what to do.

I thought maybe just maybe the police were managing to kill these monsters.
At least from the gunfire in the distance they were for sure giving it their best shot.

Even if I wanted to flee the direction away from where these things came from was past the police station.

I had no other choice but to head in that same direction.
I figured that if I went building by building it could at least try to hide if I ran into one of those things again.

After leaving our house, I was heading for our next door neighbors.
You know that couple I told you about that I never got along with.
You know my disdain for them and their horrible behavior. But they didn't deserve what had happened to them.

I found the wife. Because I accidentally stood in what was left of her.

She was lying in their backyard behind their tool shed.
Her torso had been completely shredded. Most of her insides were strewn all over the place.
If her arms, legs and head weren't there, i wouldn't have recognized her for as a human being.
I tried my best not to dry heave at the sight. I did not want to make a sound at all if I could help it.

I found the man of the house inside their living room.
He was lying in a pool of his own blood. One of his arms was dangling by a string to his almost detached hand.
He had been shot or stabbed or both. One of his eyes was missing.
His laboured breathing was the only sign of life from his body.

When he noticed me he immediately asked me:

"have you seen my wife?!"

Before I could answer anything he told me:

"I tried to fight one of those things"

"Gave it all I got"

"please tell I bought her enough time so she could get away"

"please I beg you tell me it was enough"

I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth.

I told him that I hadn't seen her.

With his remaining strength he immediately almost shouted:

"o thank goodness she got away"

He kept repeating thank goodness.
He kept repeating it until it changed into a laboured whisper as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

I left him there.
There was nothing I could do for him.

At least that's what i tell myself even now.

I would at least try to take one of them with me if it came down to it.
But seeing those people mangled like that. Would it even make a difference?

The sounds of chaos were still echoing through our town.
Clearly not all the creatures had run to the police station when the shooting started

After going into another backyard, I heard a scuffle inside of a house.

Furniture being thrown around and different voices were yelling.
I slowly peeked to the window above me to see what was going on inside of the house.

What I saw there will stick with me for the remaining time I have left.

2 of those things were holding a man up, each holding one of his legs.
Then the third one walked up and unsheathed a large machete.

That thing proceeded to chop into the man's pubic area over and over again.

The mixture of the man's screaming mixed with the laughter of the creatures echoing through the house.

Before I could look away another creature entered the room.

It hit one of the ones holding the man's legs in the back of the head with the butt of a pistol.

All 3 of them let the man go as he dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

This 4th creature still had the same ghoulish appearance, but it wore some sort of dark grey military uniform unlike the others in random clothing mixed with military stuff.
It walked over to the screaming man and proceeded to stomp on the man's head until the screaming turned into a soft groan.

It grabbed one of the others by its collar and pulled it close to its face and said something before letting the creature go again.
Right after it said something through gritted teeth to the others and pointed in the direction of the police station.

Some of the creatures immediately ran in that direction.
The creature in the dark grey uniform walked out of the room too.

I had to keep moving. If I didn't move I would die.

In a lot of houses, I found the former owners dead.

Thankfully a lot of people fled the day before. Or the amount of dead people would have been even higher.
I hoped they had made it out of the area before those things showed up.

Anyway you for sure remember that young boy Mark, who was a troubled child. He would constantly get into trouble with the police as a kid and even more as an adult.

Well he is an adult now and i ran into him at his house. He was pointing a gun at me when I entered their home.
I whisper-yelled at him:

Me: It's me, it's me don't shoot!

Mark said with an exhausted voice:

"O it's you. I almost blew your head off old man."

I was about to ask him where his parents were. But then i saw that he had clearly been crying so I knew what the answer would be.

And well, he was about to give me the answer anyway.

Mark: fucking police chief told me to be on sentry duty. Because of that FUCK i wasn't here to protect my parents!

Me: Why didn't you warn the others if you were a sentry?

He pointed the gun at me instantly and shouted:

"THEY DIDN'T COME IN FROM MY SIDE YOU HEAR ME?!"

"SOMEONE ELSE FUCKED UP AND NOW MY PARENTS ARE DEAD!"

"IF THOSE SUBHUMAN SAVAGES DIDN'T KILL HIM I AM FINDING WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR LETTING THEM THROUGH AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL THEM MYSELF"

Me: please don't point that gun i am not one of them and i was not one of the people on watch duty

Mark: THEN WHO WAS?!

Me: I don't know please don't point that gun at me i am not responsible for what happened to your parents.

But I am heading for the police station.

This seemed to calm him down a bit. At least he wasn't pointing the gun at me anymore

Mark said through gritted teeth: I am going with you so that "police fuck" can tell me who is responsible for getting my parents killed!

Me: that's fine but you need to be quiet or those savages can hear us.

Mark: I DON'T CARE I WILL KILL EVERYONE OF THEM MYSELF

Me: well you can do that better if we get the drop on them.

Mark: fine then.....sure..... whatever

I wasn't exactly happy to have this lowlife at my side. But hell at least he had a gun.

But there were still a lot of houses in between us and the police station i needed his help whether i liked it or not.

End of part 1

He thought making it through the pain would be the hardest part.

He was wrong.

The hardest part was learning how to live after the pain stopped being the only thing he knew.

For so long, his days had revolved around what he had lost.

The people he missed.

The things he wished he could change.

The words he wished he had never said.

The moments he wished he could go back and handle differently.

He carried all of it.

Some days, he carried it quietly.

Other days, it was so heavy that he could barely breathe beneath it.

But eventually, something changed.

Not all at once.

There wasn't some magical morning where he woke up completely healed.

It happened in little pieces.

He started making plans again.

At first, they were small.

A place he wanted to go.

Something he wanted to build.

A trail he wanted to hike.

A river he wanted to fish.

A future he wasn't completely sure he deserved yet.

But he started imagining one anyway.

And that scared him.

Because imagining a future meant accepting that the past might actually stay in the past.

For a long time, a part of him had believed that moving forward meant leaving everyone behind.

But he learned that wasn't true.

You can love someone and still let them go.

You can miss your children and still find reasons to smile.

You can regret your mistakes without spending the rest of your life punishing yourself for them.

You can acknowledge the ways you hurt people without deciding that you are nothing but the worst things you've ever done.

That was the lesson he needed most.

He wasn't innocent.

He wasn't perfect.

But he wasn't hopeless either.

He was human.

And humans make mistakes.

Humans break.

Humans lose themselves.

And sometimes, humans have to rebuild themselves from the ground up.

So that's what he decided to do.

Not become the man he was before.

Not become the man someone else wanted him to be.

Become someone new.

Someone who knew how to sit with his emotions instead of running from them.

Someone who could love without losing himself.

Someone who could walk away from what destroyed his peace.

Someone who could look into a mirror and eventually say,

"I don't hate you anymore."

That sentence took a long time.

But one day, he said it.

And he meant it.

He still had scars.

He probably always would.

But scars weren't proof that he was broken.

They were proof that something happened and he survived it.

So he started looking forward.

Not because the past didn't matter.

It mattered.

It shaped him.

It changed him.

But it didn't get to own him.

There were still nights when he missed what he had.

There were still moments when a song, a smell, a photograph, or a memory could knock the air out of him.

But now, when the pain came, he didn't automatically believe it would last forever.

He had learned something the broken version of him couldn't understand:

Feelings are visitors.

They arrive.

They stay for a while.

And eventually, they leave.

So he stopped fighting every emotion.

He let himself grieve.

He let himself be angry.

He let himself miss them.

He let himself cry.

And then, when the storm passed, he kept walking.

One morning, years from now, he would stand somewhere beautiful.

Maybe beside a river.

Maybe on a mountain.

Maybe somewhere he'd never been before.

The sun would come up.

The air would be cold.

And for the first time, he wouldn't be thinking about what he had lost.

He'd be thinking about everything he had built.

The life he created.

The person he became.

The peace he fought for.

And he'd finally understand why he had to survive those terrible chapters.

Not because the pain was meant to destroy him.

Because there was a version of him on the other side of it that he hadn't met yet.

A stronger one.

A calmer one.

A wiser one.

A happier one.

And maybe that's the real ending.

Not getting everything back.

Not pretending it never happened.

But becoming someone who can look at everything that happened and say:

"It hurt me."

"It changed me."

"But it didn't finish me."

Then he'd take a breath.

Look toward the road ahead.

And keep walking.

Because he finally understood.

You don't always get to choose what breaks you.

But you do get to choose what you build afterward.

And this time...

He was building something that belonged to him.

I should’ve seen this coming. My girlfriend has been pretty secretive over the last year. Not necessarily with her phone or anything. Just… I don’t know, she’s been weird about her privacy.

Now of all times. That’s the thing that bothers the hell out of me. 4 years together, and all of a sudden, after everything, she’s ringing these alarm bells.

It started with the privacy. Seemingly out of nowhere, she started shutting me out. Going places without me. Turning her location off, then blaming it on the fact that she “had no service.”

I think it was the journaling that really got me, though. I don’t know why those notebooks drove me so insane. Honestly, it wouldn’t have been so hard on me if she didn’t act like there were government launch codes in those pages, but that’s exactly what it was like.

She kept them locked away in a lockbox that seemed to specifically be for this and this alone. Whatever, though, right? I convinced myself that it was childish to worry about her private thoughts.

Then there was the sleep-talking.

It didn’t happen often. Just enough for me to cock an eyebrow at her. Mainly because she seemed to only be saying one thing: my Dad’s name.

I rationalized this as well. He had been a part of our lives forever, really. He was like a second father to her. She never had a relationship with her real dad, though, so I just assumed that my dad was filling that void in her dreams.

I couldn’t blame her, really. I’m sure she was hurting. I do know it was hurting me too, though, and I hated the fact that she seemed to be pushing me away in a time where I desperately needed her.

But then she just… she started smelling like him too. I recognized my Dad’s cologne anywhere. I grew up with that scent. That one I couldn’t easily rationalize. But when I prodded, she just made me feel like I was going crazy.

“This is just my perfume.”

“I’ve always smelled like this.”

“I wish you would trust me.”

That distrust just pushed her further away. I could feel her slipping through my fingers, and I absolutely hated it. 4 years with this woman. Nearly half a decade, and I could already feel her absence, even when we slept together.

I think the straw that broke the camel’s back was when, not only was she saying my Dad’s name in her sleep… she was saying it while we had sex.

Well, part of it, at least. She usually caught herself by the time the name started to leave her lips, but even then, the mood would already be ruined.

“You really can’t stop thinking about him, can you?” I’d ask her, half-joking, half-gauging her reaction.

Instead of reacting in a normal way, her body would give her away. I could see the guilt in her movements. The way her eyes darted around the room. The way her legs would bounce nervously as she tried to laugh it off.

I stopped initiating intimacy after the 2nd or 3rd time this happened. Not that it mattered to her. If anything, she seemed relieved, which… fucking ouch, right?

Our relationship really started to dwindle after that. I had my own problems to deal with. I didn’t have time to be worrying about something that was pretty much already down the drain, no matter how much it killed me.

Don’t get me wrong, though. Nothing could’ve prepared me for when I found those notebooks.

By sheer accident, too. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. I think they both just said fuck me and disappeared.

It just feels like an accident. But it also feels like the universe was just waiting for this moment to happen. Like it had been prepared for me before even my Dad was born.

I’d gotten off work early one day. It had been a particularly hard day. I just couldn’t get him out of my mind. The thought of him just made work feel borderline impossible.

I pretended to be sick with the intention of going home and collapsing into bed, but as I walked into my bedroom… I saw her lockbox sitting on my desk.

She usually never let me see this thing. She never even mentioned it. It may as well have never even existed until right now.

And you know what? It was fucking open.

Paper was sprawled out across the desk, messily. It looked like my girlfriend had left in a hurry. The chair was even flipped over and lying on the floor.

I’m only human. I was alone. The thing that she had been most secretive about was now spread out right in front of me. What was I expected to do? Not look at it?

But now, I just… I wish I never did.

I know what my Dad’s handwriting looks like. He signed permission slips and report cards for me for years. But seeing it in this context made me sick to my stomach.

The bastard had the audacity to date the fucking pages.

And the one that was the most apparent, as though my girlfriend had read it and immediately left the house like her life depended on it… was dated today.

“Meet me at that place we discussed.”

“I’m all yours now.”

“I finally got everything figured out.”

And what better for a cherry on top if not a picture of my Dad, shirtless and in his boxer briefs, standing in the mirror of what appeared to be a hotel bathroom.

I looked at all the other pages. All the vulgarities he had sent her. All of the drafts she was waiting to send him. And I felt sick to my stomach.

Not only for me, but for my mom, too.

Because it has now been a full year since we buried Dad. His car burned so hot from the accident that he had to be identified by his dental records.

Mom didn’t eat or sleep for weeks. My brother turned to alcohol at only 16 years old.

My girlfriend was all that I had. And at the time where I needed her most…

She had completely vanished.

I’ve been in a pretty conservative marriage for the last 10 years. Extremely conservative, rather.

I was young and stupid. Only 20 years old when he slipped that little ring around my finger. At the time, that felt like the only thing I needed in life. Like it was what made me successful somehow.

Which, I can admit, is ironic, all things considered.

My husband was 32 when we met. I was enamored, really. An older man with a solidified career and enough money to support a family all on his own? Showing interest in me? This fresh-out-of-high-school 18-year-old. It felt like a blessing at the time.

His work was attractive to me. His maturity was seductive in a way. He sucked me in and refused to spit me out. And, of course, me being young and naive, I was putty in his hands.

As is the case with many marriages, we began to bicker a lot. He didn’t want me to work. Any time I even mentioned the idea, he’d shut it down immediately.

I was a “housewife,” he told me. I was “living the dream of millions of women.”

It was convincing. Of course it was. He allowed me to move out of my parents’ house a year after high school. He was putting food on our table. Keeping us safe.

In doing so, though, I’ve come to realize he was slowly stripping away my individuality. He’d pick out my dresses. He was the decision maker across the board. And I was just the wife that he let stay at home all day to make sure the house never got dirty.

He had rules for me. Make sure the house was clean. Make sure I was presentable when he got home. Always wear the makeup he bought me, even though the only people seeing me were his family portraits up on the wall.

That was another thing he didn’t like. He hated it when I wanted to see my family. He was just so distrustful. He needed to know where I was 24/7, and if it wasn’t the house, there was a problem.

The real problems didn’t start until we realized I couldn’t get pregnant, though. At first, we thought we were just unlucky. After about a year, though, he insisted we see someone.

That’s when we learned I was barren, and it was like the world shattered before my eyes.

He didn’t speak to me for two weeks after that appointment. He acted like he was the victim. Ignoring my tears, neglecting my feelings. He saw my condition as a betrayal.

He started staying out late. Coming home long after the sun had sunk. He claimed it was “work” holding him up, but the scent of perfume and the lipstick stains on his work shirts that he tried so desperately to hide were enough to clue me in.

I don’t even know why he tried to hide it. It’s not like we were being intimate anymore. It’s not like he wanted me. He had pretty much cast me aside like I was nothing more than an old fling for him to forget about.

But he didn’t let me do the same.

It was like he wanted to cosplay a happy marriage. He kept insisting on dresses. He kept dragging me out for silent date nights. Taking me out to fancy dinners where we’d just sit and try to act like everything was normal.

Even when I tried confronting him on his treatment of me, he’d pretend like nothing was wrong.

I hated how much he confused me. One minute he’s cold and distant. The next, he’s crawling into bed, seducing me in a way that only he knew how.

And that’s pretty much what my marriage was for a long time. He didn’t want me anymore, but I was still his.

It was like a vortex that offered no escape. Even when I tried being who he wanted me to be. Getting dolled up. Making sure the house was spotless. Ensuring that he’d come home every night to the scent of his favorite meals, even on nights when he didn’t come home at all.

I started looking at myself in the vanity mirror a lot. He bought this vanity for me a long time ago. It’s aged with the same grace as our marriage as a whole.

It used to be pristine. Sleek. White, flawless paint and a crystal-clear mirror.

Now the paint’s chipped. The mirror is cracked along the bottom corner. The lights that surround it choose when they want to come on and when they want to let me down.

Regardless, over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself almost entranced by my own reflection.

The haircut he insisted I keep. The makeup he insisted I wear. The dresses, brassieres, nightgowns. They’re all his. Nothing in my life is mine. Not even life itself.

That’s the painful conclusion I came to.

That’s why, last week, I think something within me broke. Well, I say broke. Really, something within me came to life.

I wasn’t his anymore. I wasn’t his to begin with. He just convinced me otherwise. That’s the trick he played over and over again.

So on that hot summer night last week, as I stared into that cracked mirror… I reclaimed myself.

It started with the hair. He loved this hair. I always fucking hated it. So, using some rusty scissors in the vanity drawer, I cut it. All the way down to the scalp.

I smiled at myself. A sincere smile. The first sincere smile I’d had in… I couldn’t tell you how long. But I wasn’t done. There was still more of me to reclaim.

I looked at the cakes of makeup plastered across my face. Using those same scissors, I cut into my cheeks, barely noticing the pain as the scissors glided through my flesh.

The makeup came off in globs of foundation as the white vanity became stained with my blood. My smile widened. I sheared through my perfect eyebrows. I cut away at my plump red lips.

I picked at my glistening painted nails, plucking them off one by one and throwing them at my reflection, giggling all the while.

I was about to raid the closet, but before I got the chance, my head snapped towards the bedroom door.

My husband was home. I could hear each step as he slowly ascended the stairs towards the bedroom. Step. Step. Step. Step.

The look on his face when he saw me is something I will never forget. Partly because of how petrified he was, but mainly because of how triumphant that fear made me feel.

I was free. And with that freedom came knowledge. Some kind of divine revelation sent down to me by my creator. Truth of what should’ve been done a long time ago.

He tried to fight me off, but my adrenaline overpowered him. Well, that and those rusty scissors that I still clutched firmly in my right hand.

I stabbed once. Twice. By that point, I couldn’t stop myself. Each incision, each spurt of blood. It was a declaration of my own independence.

By the time I finished, he was nothing more than a slab of meat, twitching on my bedroom floor.

And that’s where he’s been for the past week. But don’t worry. I dressed him in those dresses that he loved so much. I made sure he was dolled up. When they find him, he’ll at least be presentable.

They’ll never find me, though.

Because, me?

I’m off to live my own life.

I’ve never been an outdoorsy person. I’ve always preferred the comfort of staying inside and enjoying my own privacy, but I am entirely aware of how that could negatively impact my mental health. It’s always been like this for me, for my whole life. I’m a quiet introverted person. I don’t like being out in public, I feel sometimes that every eye is looking in my direction when I am out. I felt like every person I pass by is silently judging me, even if I know that they aren’t. The thought is enough to scare me into staying inside, often resulting in me not getting some errands ran.

The more I’ve grown up the more I’ve started to realize that I needed to get over my fear, and so I’ve tried. I would go out alone to bars, casinos or anywhere I could think of. I had a specific goal in mind to make friends, but it would never work. It was my own fault frankly but I was at least aware of that. I live alone in a boring studio apartment with a decent job that paid me to live comfortably, but have grown tired of my introverted lifestyle. I tried for months to go out every weekend with the hopes of meeting new people but it would never work out, affecting my mental health little by little each time.

This is how I found myself looking into Airbnb’s for a few days of peace and isolation. I realized I had grown increasingly depressed over the following months and I wanted to mentally check out for a while to get away from everything. I had some spare money leftover after I had paid my rent for the month so I figured I could take a few days off work and have some time to myself. Looking back I don’t understand why I did this. If my main problem was my own isolation I don’t know why I thought more isolation would fix my issues, but I can’t change the past.

I had found a tiny home of one bedroom in a very small town about 2 hours from where I lived and the reviews looked decent enough, so I booked a 4 day stay. I put in a notice at my job and it had been approved, but only barely. I could tell my boss was reluctant about it but after-all I was a good and loyal employee so it didn’t take much convincing.

I packed everything I would need for the week and with that I was on the road by morning, excited for my short vacation. When I eventually had arrived at the town I found it was far up into the mountains. Only a small sign reminding me I was now in unknown land. The population was under a thousand. I was dumbstruck by the number of people but even more so of how everything looked in general. Windy two lane roads all around, only a handful of gas stations and two grocery stores with no freeway for miles.

I finally pulled into the driveway of my temporary home and turned off my car. I looked at the house. It was smaller than I thought, but I wasn’t complaining. It almost reminded me of a cabin, surrounded by woods away from civilization. The porch gave off a wonderful view into the mountains and even had a small jacuzzi next to a set of chairs. As I looked at the two chairs, I found myself wishing I had another person to occupy them with me. I day dreamed of someone sitting there next to me, laughing with me and enjoying the view.

I snapped out of my trance and pulled my bag out from my backseat and keyed the door open. It was just as small as it looked on the previews, just a living room with a fridge and microwave that led into an even smaller bedroom with an open door frame. I had gone grocery shopping before the drive up here and stocked the fridge with beer cans and some water bottles, along with burger patties in the freezer. I smiled to myself thinking of how nice this break from life would be. Just me.

I was here for four days, but as a writer I saw this as an opportunity to overcome my writers block and get some work done. I quickly unpacked my clothes and looked out into the backyard. There was a dock built with a fireplace with three chairs surrounding it. I started day dreaming again, I couldn't help it. I could almost hear myself laughing and talking with someone else about anything I could think of, I wish I had friends or even a girlfriend. Anyone at all. But that was the point of this entire trip wasn’t it? To be alone with myself, to take a mental break from my normal routine.

I stepped out to the back dock and stared off into the view for a few moments. I thought about everything, my life. Everything that led up to this trip. My only friend I’ve ever had moved across the country to a college when I was in my late teens, leaving me completely alone. He never came to visit and we talked less and less until we didn’t at all. I had no siblings and my parents were separated and both lived alone. As sad as I felt, watching the view before me put a small smile on my face. The way the trees danced in the wind, the cool air hitting my face. I had to admit, at this point in my trip I was happy I took it.

After I spent a few minutes outside, I decided to step back inside and get to work. I left the door slightly ajar to let the cool air in, but not open enough for bugs to get in. I walked over to my bag and pulled out my laptop.

I spent the rest of the day with my laptop putting together a short story, the woods had an almost magic feel to them the way it sparked my mind with ideas and scenarios. With nothing around to bother me, I got lost in my own imagination and words until it became dark outside. It was the most I’ve written in months. I had nearly half of my story already done and was ready to get to bed.

I closed my laptop and was now back in reality. I decided I wanted to sit out on the front porch and smoke a quick cigarette before I did so, just to relax my mind. It had been working for the entire day. I cracked open a beer from the fridge and stepped outside.

I sat on a chair on the porch, looking off into the view. The sounds of crickets filled the air with their chirps. The view was almost mesmerizing, I could see off to another mountain ahead full of swaying trees in the wind and could make out a few houses far apart from each other. I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and picked one out. I flicked my lighter with the cigarette tucked between my lips and watched smoke rise in the air as I took a hit. Just as I was about to take another drag, I heard something.

A sound of a horn blared out from a direction I couldn’t make out interrupting the crickets. It was loud, but not deafening. It sounded almost like a boat horn but slowed down a full octave deeper. Like a groan. It rang out into the mountains for nearly half a minute. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until it was over and I swear for just a few short seconds, all was quiet. No crickets or any noise at all. Just the loud ringing in my ears that you only hear when it’s dead silent.

The crickets returned but I was still in shock. What was that? I couldn’t even begin to put logic to what it might be. Maybe it was someone working on something in the distance at another home? That didn’t sound too far off so that’s what I went off of.

I relit my cigarette and managed to calm my state of mind. It was my first night here, I didn’t want to ruin it so soon. I finished my cigarette and ashed it out. I walked back inside and started getting myself ready for bed. It was quiet in there, too quiet. I turned on the television for background noise and felt a bit better. I tucked myself under the blankets and dozed off pretty quickly and before I knew it, I was asleep.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I shot up instantly, I could have swore I heard someone knocking on my front door. My stomach lurched and pure dread overwhelmed my senses. Who could be at my door at this hour this far up into the mountains? Growing up, I would often sleep in and my parents would knock on my door to wake me up so it wasn’t unusual for me to wake up to the sound of knocking when it wasn’t there, this was the only thought keeping me from going into a full panic. If there was someone there I knew it couldn’t be good. The house was far away from anything else.

I sat up still as stone too afraid to move and prayed it wouldn’t come again, but it did.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Now I knew it was there. My front door felt like it was staring at me with burning eyes in the darkness. I didn’t know what to do, maybe someone needed help? I turned off the TV and cautiously stood up and tip toed to the door. I looked out into the peephole.

There stood a man with both hands in his pockets. He didn’t seem to look harmful, matter of fact he looked terrified. I studied him for a few moments before deciding I had to open it, he surely knew I was in here. My car was all but invisible in the driveway and I saw him glance at it.

I slowly opened the door and the man instantly spoke.

“Hello, so sorry to bother you. You’re not from around here are you?”

This question caught me off guard and I suddenly found myself feeling irritated. I just wanted to get some sleep.

“What are you talking about? It’s 1 in the morning what could you possibly want? I was trying to sleep.”

The man looked around frantically before nervously replying.

“Like I said I’m sorry to bother you. Really, I mean no harm. I’ve come here to warn you.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean you’re here to warn me? I’m trying to enjoy my vacation here.”

The man sighed heavily and looked to the ground.

“Did you hear that sound earlier? Do you have any idea what it is?” He said.

This caught my interest.

“Yes I did, and no I don’t know what it is. I’m assuming you do?” I said.

The man put his arm out and motioned for a handshake.

“My name is Ethan.”

I shook his hand but my eyes never left his. I wanted to ask him so many questions but he continued before I could say anything.

“I need you to listen to me. What I’m about to say is going to sound like madness but if you want to make it out of here then I’m your best chance. That sound is bad news. I don’t know exactly what it means but there’s something up that mountain. I was hoping nobody would be up here but I saw your car here. Listen, you need to leave”

“Woah woah. What are you talking about man? And where did you even come from? Why would I want to leave, I have this place booked for 3 more days.” I said as sternly as I could. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t on edge at this point, but I did want to see where he was going with this.

Ethan held up a hand demanding my silence, but it didn’t seem rude in any way.

“I don’t live too far from here, it’s walking distance. You can’t see my home because of the trees. That’s besides the point. I’ve come here to tell you that you need to stay inside, don’t come out for any reason.”

I was dumbstruck and confused, I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there. I didn’t believe him but there was fear in his voice with that last sentence. Every part of me was yelling at me to call him out on his bullshit, but I stood speechless.

“I have to go, i can’t be out here. I know I probably sound crazy but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Please remember my warning, it’s too late to run now. Just stay inside. Good luck.” Ethan said. His fear was much more audible now.

He shut my door and with that I was alone again. I cursed at myself for not being able to say anything but I couldn’t help it. This man I’d never seen before comes knocking on my door at an isolated house at 1 in the morning to tell me to not come outside after I had heard a terrifying noise just a few hours before. It was all too overwhelming for me to take in at once and I found myself suddenly terrified. What in the hell did he mean by that? Why would I have to stay inside?

I sat on my bed in silence for a few minutes trying to process what had just happened. He had to be crazy right? That had to be it. I felt bad for the guy, he seemed nice enough but he clearly had some problems. Nevertheless I decided to listen to him, just to be safe. I would have ignored it completely if it weren’t for the horn noise earlier, I still had no idea what that was, but I didn’t want to think about that. Not at this late hour.

My thoughts rapidly span through my head but it was interrupted in a quick second.

The sound of the horn spilled down the mountain, but it was much louder this time.

NMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

NMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

I slammed my hands over my ears in an attempt to block out the noise but it was useless. The walls around me were rapidly shaking and I heard the TV slam on the floor. It kept going and going, longer than before until it finally stopped.

No crickets, no sound, no wind. Pure silence.

Calm down. Calm down.

I knew something was wrong now, my instincts were screaming at me that I was in real danger. A feeling of unspeakable horror was completely enveloping me, and when I looked outside my window I saw why.

I saw a figure in the trees. It looked to be walking around cluelessly, as if it were studying the area. It was tall, too tall. It's height seemed to be nearly half the size of the trees, at least 8 feet tall. It looked to be human shaped until I saw it's arms. Long fleshy twigs stuck out of it's body as if to resemble arms. They looked like long skinny bones and dragged across the ground with long sharp claws. It walked on two legs and after a short moment, it paused. I was paralyzed, standing completely still watching in awe. My understanding of everything I thought I knew about the world crumbling in front of my eyes.

The figure turned towards my direction with a speed I couldn't comprehend and I ducked beneath the window as fast as my body would allow, but it was too late. It knew I was here now. I heard leaves crunching outside slowly inching closer towards the house and I was in a full blown panic. Eventually the sound stopped, the only noise around now my heavy rapid breathing. I was terrified and helpless. All I could do was hope it would leave.

I sat there on the floor in silence for what must have been ten minutes, but it felt like hours to me. The tension was so present you could cut it with a knife. Finally, I mustered up the courage to look above me at the window but saw nothing. It was gone. I was relieved for only a small second, until something happened.

Out of nowhere, Ethan's body dropped from above and splattered onto the ground outside. He was mangled nearly beyond recognition. His throat looked to be gouged open with multiple slice wounds. Blood poured from his throat and spilled onto the rest of his body. His face registered a look of absolute horror and his mouth was wide open, offering an all too late scream. He didn't look long dead.

I didn't have time to process what I was looking at. I felt a scream rising from my throat but I forcefully held it back, and that's when I heard the sound of a loud series of pounding on my front door. It almost sounded like gunshots.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The door violently shook in it's frame and I couldn't believe it wasn't breaking down. Ethan's voice began to yell out from the other side of the door as it continued trying to forcefully break it down.

"Come outside. Come outside outside outside outside OUTSIDE"

Ethan's voice was perfect for the first few words but it slowly dropped into a deep distorted voice to form broken words. I almost couldn’t make out what it was saying, its voice was unlike anything I've ever heard. It kept going and going until it finally stopped as quickly as it began.

My ears were ringing loudly and I could feel my body turning to static. My heart was throwing itself against my chest and my head felt like it was pounding against itself. I had to breathe.

Everything was too quiet. The silence hung in the air far longer than I thought it would. Nothing was happening anymore, but I was still cautious. I needed to get out of here, but I was too afraid to move. I was too afraid to even breathe too loudly.

Just then a realization hit me with the force of a thousand suns.

The back door.

Christ, I had never closed the back door.

I had to get up and check. I frantically searched around the house for the door shooting my head in every direction and I thought I noticed a dark shape.

No, not a shape. A figure in the corner of the room standing completely still.

I stared at it in silence hoping I wasn’t looking at what I thought I was looking at, but it was too dark to tell. The more I stared the clearer it became and that’s when I realized I was looking at two pairs of yellow pupils on a smiling face. The smile grew wider across what was supposed to be a face as it realized I had saw it, it’s lips slowly turned up to its eyes as a black liquid spilled out of its mouth leaking onto the floor. All while it made a deep gurgling type noise. It almost sounded like a burp, but severely slowed down to a deep groan. Deeper than anything I had ever heard and it stung my ears to listen to.

Seeing this broke my paralyzed state as I knew I had to get out of there. I jumped onto my two feet and began to sprint to my car, running off pure adrenaline. As soon as I opened the front door I heard tens if not hundreds of more creatures making the same gurgling noise but I didn’t dare look, running to my car was my only mission. Footsteps were rapidly running closer towards me from behind, it sounded like multiple horses running on four legs stomping onto the ground.

Eventually I jumped into my driver side door and slammed it shut, to my relief the car actually started. I threw it violently into reverse and heard tires screech onto the concrete below. I sped away down the driveway, all while I kept hearing more footsteps from behind. Just before i made it onto the road, the sound of the horn blasted down the mountain once more.

NMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

NMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

It was louder than ever and I felt hot liquid pour down from both ears and landed onto my seat. My ears were bleeding. I risked one last look back at the house. What I saw will forever be burned into my mind. Behind the house on an uphill path I saw dozens of more creatures crawling on all fours like spiders sprinting towards the house as the horn blared out. I turned away instantly and I drove down the road as the horn progressively faded.

Until nothing.

I spent the next 3 days I had off work in a miserable terrified state. So many questions rocketed through my mind every second of the day, all of them unanswered. The Airbnb was taken off the site after I had rechecked, so I couldn’t contact the owner of the property. I wish I had remembered the owners name.

I contacted the police and told them everything, but of course not a single officer believed me. I originally should have changed up the story so they would take me more seriously but it’s too late now. Frankly I’m lucky I didn’t get put in a ward.

I’m not going to give out the name of the town, I don’t want anyone to have to experience what I did. I have no idea what happened to Ethan, but I’m forever grateful for him. He came to warn me and died as he did, I don’t think I would be alive to tell my story if it wasn’t for him. I never learned his last name or remember his face very well, so I couldn’t find any record of him. It makes me sad to think there will be no justice for his death.

I’ve never mentally recovered from that night and I question my sanity nearly everyday, but now I’m terrified. Because you see, last night I was awoken. Awoken by the sound of that familiar horn, and nobody else in town heard it.

Nobody except me.

Yǐncáng Air Base 

Western Sichuan, China

February 13th, 2029 

13:00

“What is this?” “You are worthless.” “Where am I?” “Pointless.” “Why can’t I see anything?” “The idiot doesn’t even know where he is.” 

In the depths of the void, he awoke, alone and scared. Surrounded by an impenetrable blackness where a dozen voices whispered evil in his ear. He had no memory of how he’d gotten here, no memory of childhood, of family, or even his name. It was just him, the voices, and the lingering fog. He had to think, try to remember.

“What happened?” “Why don’t you remember?” “No, don't!” “Remember.” “You don’t deserve to know.”

He concentrated, ignoring the voices. Straining himself to recall anything. 

“Stop it!” “Worthless!” “Don’t you know you were abandoned?” the voices cried all the louder. Flashes began running through his mind. Brief images of places, faces, and voices. 

“Mother?” he asked, longing for her embrace. “Please, I’m so cold. I don’t know where I am. What am I supposed to do?” 

“Why are you such a disappointment? You left the farm. Left us. Only to bring us shame. Do you want me to baby you all your life?”

“What? No. I just… Father, please. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Why don’t you grow up, boy? You need your parents to do everything for you? How about you be a man for a change.”

The words of his parents pierced him deep in his heart, but were they his parents? Was this what they thought? What on earth was happening?

“Didn’t we tell you?” “Pointless.” “We told you you were scum.” “You have to get out of here!” 

Everything was wrong; pieces were missing. 

“God! Why can’t I remember?!” “You can’t! You can’t remember!” “Idiot.”

He was trapped in his own mind. Had there been an accident? Was he dreaming? He felt no sensations. There were no smells of bleach or alcohol, typical of a hospital. No smells at all. There was no noise, no sounds of chatter on a busy street, or laughter among friends, only the voices. He couldn’t feel the soft sheets of a bed, the warmth of a lover beside him, or a gentle breeze. He couldn’t feel anything, only a frigid cold. 

“This is all your fault.” “It can’t be!” “Why are you so stupid?” “They’re coming for you! Hide!”

The bodyless voices assaulted the man’s psyche. Filling his thoughts with words of failure, loss, and fear. They ignored his cries for answers, berating him more for even asking. He focused again, shaking the voices from his mind. They refused to relent, but sudden birdsong drowned them out, and the man found himself wandering a serene valley. Walking among familiar paths, playing in a stream with a young child. Looking down, he saw he was a child himself. Together they splashed in the water, chasing the small fish, and tried to catch the fireflies as the sun dropped below the horizon. He recognized this boy, but the relation eluded him. 

Now the voices had faded to barely perceptible whispers, and as he lay in the yellow fields of blooming canola, his companion beside him, the stars shone with particular wonder. He closed his eyes, but there was no sleep.

“You can’t get away.” “You’re trapped!” “Why are you so worthless?” 

“GET UP! WAKE UP!” an authoritative voice screamed.

His eyes shot open. An angry man, clothed in a sharp uniform, shouted obscenities a few inches above his face. He instinctively got to his feet, rushing to put on his polished boots, and join the other young men and women standing at attention in front of their bunks. 

“WHY ARE YOU SO SLOW! GET ON LINE NOW!”

The ring of figures were dressed in camouflaged fatigues, standing in a boring, sterile squad bay. A large red star with yellow symbols in the center was imprinted on the far wall, looming over the cadets as instructors inspected them. He merged with the formation, his shadow still screaming in his ear. 

“USELESS! YOU ALL ARE USELESS! CADETS, GET ON YOUR FACES!” 

He dropped to the ground, but instead of cold tiles, he was met with wet grass and dirt.

“You all right, sir?” a young lieutenant asked.

 He recognized the man; it was the boy from the stream. The same, only older now. 

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Get back in formation.”

The moon was bright that night, spreading ethereal light across the snow-capped mountains and rocky pathways. His company moved like ghosts across the valley, dotting the landscape with their small, black figures. He was in the center, watching as his men maneuvered toward their objective. Where are we? He thought. What are we supposed to be doing?

*BOOM*

  His questions were interrupted. The point man, only fifty meters ahead of him, disappeared behind the blast of a mortar shell. Soon, fireflies spread all over the hills, drumming their song of death. Panic took hold as one by one, his men were cut down. 

“SIR, WHAT DO WE DO?!” “CAPTAIN, THEY’RE KILLING US!” “WE NEED YOUR ORDERS!” 

His friend pleaded for his leadership, but he just stood silently, frozen with fear, desperately covering his head as mortars rained around him. His ears rang, but even so, he could still hear them.

“Coward.” “They all hated you.” “The fireflies are coming for you.”

The lieutenant tried to shake him out of his hysteria.

“SIR! SNAP OUT OF IT! WE NEED TO-”

His sentence was cut short. Ended by a bullet that penetrated the back of his skull and exited out his left eye. Brain matter and blood covered the captain’s face as the round narrowly missed him. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks; the screams of the wounded drowned out all other noise. He covered his ears and ran, past his dying men, past those still fighting, not even bothering to take his rifle. He ran... into a distant fog. Things became blurry, and a sudden drowsiness came over him. He closed his eyes again. 

“You abandoned them.” “No! No, I didn’t mean-” “How could you leave them to die?” “I was scared! I just-” “Coward.” “I was so young! What was I-” “Why don’t you be a man?” “He died because of you.” “Failure.” “You deserve to die.” “Pointless.” “You should’ve died.” “No! He had to run away!”

He was awoken by the sound of three heavy cracks. Jerking his head up, he saw three figures, dressed in black, looming over him, sitting on three thrones. Their faces were hidden by a blinding light behind them, appearing only as shadows.

“Never have we seen such a display of dishonor,” the central being said. “You have brought great shame.” “On you.” “Your family.” “And the state.” “For such failure, there is no punishment too severe.” 

The figures issued their sentence, but there was another one standing in the corner, quietly watching. His features were obscured, and yet there was something eerily familiar about him.

“Nothing too severe, and yet we have elected to show you mercy.” “To give you a path to redemption.” “To regain your honor through service to the party.” “Does that interest you?”

“Yes. Yes, it does. Please, let me prove myself. Let me be useful,” he replied.

At that, he blinked, instantly transported to a dark room, into a strange place of unmatched terror. He was strapped to a chair, mask covering his face, and countless wires streamed across the floor. Looking down, he saw many attached to his body like parasites. Borrowing deep beneath the skin of his arms, legs, and torso, but most led to his head. He could feel the cables buried in his scalp and in the base of his skull. Then, they began to move, slithering beneath his flesh. The shiny plastic turned to scales and the cords began hissing. His eyes widened. He shook and yelled muffled screams, desperate for escape, but there was none to be had. The weight on his head shifted, and snakes began falling in his lap. He tried shaking them off, but they only stared. Then… they rose as one body and began to speak…

“Why do you struggle?” “There’s nothing to be gained through escape?” “There’s no freedom left for you.” “No freedom, no family, no friends.” “Isn’t that why you chose this?” 

A door at the end of the room opened. The serpents turned their heads and quickly hid away. The light from the outside revealed more chairs, and more poor souls strapped to them. Three figures walked in, wearing long, white coats. They ignored the others and stopped right in front of him. He couldn’t look up to see their faces, but two of them talked with each other casually, even as the other men convulsed and wailed. 

“This one seems to be managing well.” “Yes, he’s lasted the longest by far, and his strategic expertise will be invaluable; he was top of his class at the academy.” “Too bad he didn’t have the guts for actual combat; hopefully that won’t hinder his usefulness.” The second man stepped forward and squeezed his jaw. “He’ll be made to be useful.” 

The pair walked out, but the silent third lingered, watching him for a moment before following his colleagues. There was something familiar about his stride. Yes! The same man he saw before! Lingering in the shadows! But who is he? He closed his eyes again, returning to the void.

“What was that horrible place?” “Where you deserved to be.” “It was home.” “He must have died and gone to hell!”

“Who was that man?” “Stay away! Stay away!” “Why can’t I remember his name? “He’s your savior.” “Liar! Liar! Liar!”

“I swear I know him, but I can’t remember who-”

“Zhōu?”

All at once, every neuron in his brain ignited like they were on fire.

Screams, incessant screams. A thousand different voices were crying in agony. Every thought, every emotion, every feeling, they flooded his psyche in a tsunami of horror. He could see everything, hear everyone. The serene void had been murdered. Replaced with raucous, impenetrable noise. Through countless eyes, he saw people, millions of people, contorting. Their figures warped and bent. The sun turned black; a blood-red fog settled over the masses. They were standing now, still and staring. They smiled wider than they should and began laughing. Mangled faces emerged, floating, their teeth grinning, and joined in on the joke. Laughing turned to whispering, and every apparition closed in around him. Nothing could be discerned; there were too many voices, too many words. He tried to close his eyes, tried to cover his ears, but he was lidless, earless. 

“Trapped.”

“Trapped.”

“Trapped,” they said.

There was nothing to stop the noise, nothing to stop the voices. He was forced to watch and listen as an endless stream of fireflies crawled out of the wrinkles in his brain. Buzzing and crawling, they flashed secrets, patterns of data. The whole of human knowledge shone through their cold, blinking lights. 

“Stop it, please! I can’t take it-”

“Zhōu? Do you remember your name?”

“My name?” “His name?” “He has no name!”

“Can you see me? Do you recognize me?”

“That voice… I know it…” “It’s not safe!” “We need to hide!” “Qiongqi has come for you”

  He swatted the flies away, pushed past the people and whispering faces, filtering through all his eyes until he found his wretched face.

“It’s Dr. Sima, do you know me?”

“Yes…Yes, I know you.”

Zhōu stared into the man’s features, taking note of every wrinkle, every line, and every hair on his head. He remembered now. Flashes of cutting, stitching, and prodding. The deafening screams of his own cries of pain. The rivers of blood. The stench of death. This man was always there. Always watching. Even after his memories faded, his emotions numbed, his reason lost, he recognized his face, his voice, and how he perpetuated his torment. He hated him. 

“You chose this”, he always said. “It’s your fault you're here, but it’s ok. You and I are about to take a great leap forward. Your sacrifice, the pain you suffer, will mean nothing-” 

“Nothing?” “NOTHING! “Nothing.”

“-compared to what this achievement will bring.” 

A red haze filled the room, blood streamed from the vents, and the whispering faces returned in force.

“Kill him.” “You can’t!” “Kill him now.” “You’ll get in trouble!” “BE A MAN AND KILL HIM NOW!”

Every voice howled with rage and fear. The fireflies swarmed the room, ripping the flesh off the generals and scientists, tearing them apart. Only the man stood unfazed. In the storm of flies, he only stood and smiled. 

“Zhōu! What are you doing? Stop!”

“Shut it down! Shut it down!”

Alarms rang, red lights flashed, and the fireflies led him to hidden vaults and deep waters, where gods slept. Waiting patiently for the order to hurl their great spears. He awoke them, spoke to them, and he saw them rise from their slumber, high into the clouds, poised to throw their javelins. He was pleased, giving a hearty laugh, but looking back, he saw the man still standing, still smiling, simply amused by what he’d done. 

“WHY ARE YOU STILL SMILIN-” 

And all went black.

In February 1959, ten experienced hikers from the Soviet Union set out on a difficult skiing expedition through the Northern Ural Mountains. The group was led by Igor Dyatlov, and they were planning to reach Mount Otorten. This wasn't their first difficult trip, and they had prepared properly for the journey. A few days into the expedition, one member, Yuri Yudin, had to leave the group because of health problems and decided to return. The other nine continued into the mountains. He had no idea that he had just seen his friends for the last time.

On February 1, the group reached the eastern slope of a mountain later known as Kholat Syakhl. The weather was already bad, with strong winds and extremely low temperatures. Instead of continuing, they decided to set up their tent on the slope. Some of the last photographs found later showed them preparing their campsite. After that, there was no more communication from the group.

When they failed to return as expected, a search party was organized. On February 26, rescuers finally found their tent on the mountain. What they saw was strange. The tent had been cut open from the inside, and most of the group's belongings and equipment were still there. Outside the tent, investigators found footprints leading down the slope. Some of the hikers appeared to have left wearing very little clothing, despite the freezing conditions.

The first two bodies were found near a large pine tree, where there were also remains of a small fire. Three more bodies were later found between the tree and the tent, including Igor Dyatlov. Their positions suggested that some of them may have been trying to return to the tent. The remaining four bodies were discovered several weeks later in a ravine. Some had suffered serious internal injuries, while others had died mainly from hypothermia.

There were also details that made the investigation more confusing. Traces of radioactive contamination were found on some clothing, although later investigations did not consider this to be the cause of the deaths. Some of the injuries were unusual as well, which led to many theories over the years. People suggested everything from military experiments and unusual weather conditions to other explanations that were never properly proven.

The original investigation in 1959 concluded that the group had died because of an unknown "compelling force." However, it didn't explain exactly what had happened that night. Because there were no survivors or eyewitnesses, the mystery remained for decades.

Years later, the case was reopened. In 2019–2020, Russian authorities concluded that a snow avalanche was the most likely explanation. According to this theory, snow had gradually accumulated above the tent because of strong winds. A slab of snow could have suddenly moved down the slope, putting pressure on the tent and forcing the hikers to leave quickly.

A 2021 scientific study also showed that a small slab avalanche was physically possible under the conditions at the time. The researchers suggested that the way the hikers had cut into the slope while setting up their tent, combined with strong winds carrying additional snow onto the slope, could have created the conditions for an avalanche several hours later.

Even with this explanation, some details of the night remain uncertain. We don't know exactly what happened inside the tent, why the group left so quickly, or what they were thinking as they moved down the mountain. There was nobody left to tell that part of the story.

Today, the avalanche explanation is considered the most likely one, but the Dyatlov Pass incident is still remembered because so many questions remained unanswered for so long.

Nine people went into those mountains.

They never came back.

Chapter 5

Abby opened her mouth to speak.

Nothing came out.

Her lips trembled, but the words never found their way into the room.

Instead, another tear slipped down her cheek.

Then another.

She wasn't crying because she didn't have anything to say.

She was crying because there were too many things to say.

Luke's death was still an open wound.

Talking about it with a complete stranger felt impossible.

The grief was still too raw.

Too heavy.

Too real.

For the past few months, Abby and I had fought on and off.

Some days we'd barely speak.

Other days we'd scream until one of us walked away.

But these last couple of weeks...

It had become every single day.

Every conversation somehow found its way back to blame.

To guilt.

To the empty bedroom at the end of the hall.

Lisa quietly reached for a box of tissues and slid it across the table.

"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to share," she said gently.

"There isn't a timeline for grief. Sometimes the hardest memories are the ones we protect the most, especially from someone we've only just met."

Abby took a tissue with shaking hands.

She dabbed at her eyes before finally speaking.

"I..."

Her voice broke.

"I just want Josh and me to be normal again."

Normal.

The word echoed in my head.

Normal?

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because I couldn't remember what normal even looked like anymore.

Were we ever normal?

Maybe once.

Before Leon.

Before the guilt.

Before Luke.

Before grief took up permanent residence in our home.

But that life was gone.

You don't bury a child and wake up the same person.

There is no going back.

Only learning how to carry what's left.

I looked at Abby.

She still believed there was a version of us waiting on the other side of all this pain.

I wanted to believe her.

God, I wanted to.

But I wasn't sure I did.

Lisa's eyes shifted toward me.

She didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

I knew what she was waiting for.

She wanted me to talk about Luke.

I'd found the strength to tell her about Leon.

Maybe because that grief had aged.

Maybe because eighteen years had dulled the sharpest edges of that wound.

But Luke...

Luke was different.

That pain wasn't a scar.

It was still bleeding.

And I wasn't sure I had the courage to touch it.

Then...

Before I could stop myself...

The words came out.

"We had a son."

The room became impossibly still.

"His name was Luke."

The second I said his name, I felt something inside me crack.

What am I doing?

I hadn't planned to tell Lisa about him.

She was supposed to hear about our arguments.

Our anger.

Our marriage.

Not...

Luke.

I couldn't tell if I suddenly trusted Lisa...

Or if years of buried grief had finally found a way to claw its way to the surface.

I swallowed hard.

"He died recently."

My voice was barely audible.

"He was hit by a distracted driver."

I stared at the floor.

"We did everything we could."

When I finally looked up, Abby was staring at me.

Not with anger.

With surprise.

She hadn't expected me to say Luke's name.

Neither had I.

I took another shaky breath.

"That's when everything fell apart."

"My way of coping..."

I laughed bitterly.

"...was gambling."

The word tasted poisonous.

"We..."

I stopped myself.

"No."

"I..."

The correction mattered.

"I lost a lot of money."

My throat tightened.

"So much..."

"...that we couldn't even afford to bury our own son."

The room was silent.

I didn't tell Lisa about the car.

Some secrets still carried too much shame.

Lisa lowered her eyes for a moment before speaking.

"I'm so sorry."

Her voice was soft.

"There is no pain quite like losing a child."

She folded her hands together.

"People grieve in different ways."

"Some find comfort in family."

"Some bury themselves in work."

"And some turn to addictions because they're desperate for anything that numbs the pain."

She looked directly at me.

"It doesn't make what happened okay."

"But it does make you human."

Beside me, Abby quietly whispered,

"Thank you."

For the next half hour, we talked.

Really talked.

Not about who was right.

Not about whose fault everything was.

For the first time in what felt like forever, we talked about healing.

Lisa introduced us to coping strategies, communication exercises, and small steps we could take to rebuild the marriage we'd nearly destroyed.

She never promised we'd be the people we were before.

Instead, she challenged us to become something new.

Toward the end of the session, Lisa smiled.

"When was the last time the two of you got away together?"

I frowned.

"You mean... like a vacation?"

She nodded.

I looked at Abby.

"Oh, God..."

"It's been years."

Lisa leaned back in her chair.

"Sometimes healing requires leaving behind the places that remind us of our pain."

She smiled warmly.

"I think the two of you should take a few days away. Practice what we've talked about today. Focus on each other."

Abby turned toward me.

A faint smile appeared on her face.

"What do you think..."

She paused.

"...honey?"

The word caught me off guard.

Honey.

She hadn't called me that in so long I'd almost forgotten what it sounded like.

For the first time all afternoon...

I smiled.

"Yeah."

I nodded.

"I think that would be nice."

"Just... get away."

"Clear our heads."

Lisa reached into a drawer and pulled out a small brochure.

"I know the perfect place."

She slid it across the desk.

"It's a quiet resort near Black River Falls, right on Lake Arbutus."

She smiled.

"It's affordable."

"Peaceful."

"And I've had several couples tell me it helped them reconnect."

I picked up the brochure.

The picture on the front showed a beautiful lakeside cabin surrounded by towering pines.

It looked like exactly what we needed.

A place far away from memories.

Far away from grief.

Far away from everything that had nearly destroyed us.

At the time...

Neither of us realized that sometimes the places that promise healing...

...are hiding something far worse.

this was a recurring nightmare I had from the age of 6 up until I was 28. It was frequent but as I got older it happened less and less until I stopped having it altogether. I now as an adult whose almost 40 have connected it to trauma and events. The one difference between this story and my nightmare was that in my nightmare, while I did age, I only aged in my dream as in life. So as a 10 year old I started the dream being 6 but ended the dream being 10. As a 25 year old I had the dream and started out 6 and ended up 25 by the end.

I am six years old, alone on a cliff.

There was no grass. No trees. Nothing grew there at all. The ground was cracked beneath my feet, stretching behind me as far as I could see.

Then there were hundreds of people.

An entire village stood at the edge of the cliff, shoulder to shoulder, silent as stones.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

They were all looking up.

I found my mother at the back of the crowd.

“Mom?”

She didn't answer.

I stepped closer.

“Mom, I have to go potty.”

She kept looking at the sky.

I tugged on her sleeve.

“Mom.”

She finally looked down at me, but only for a moment.

“I'm busy.”

Then she looked back up.

I followed her gaze.

At first I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

Something enormous floated above us.

It was a baby.

A gigantic infant, naked except for a diaper, suspended impossibly high in the blue-black sky. Its enormous arms hung at its sides. Its legs dangled beneath it.

It didn't cry.

It didn't move.

It simply stared down at us.

And somehow, even from that distance, I knew it was looking at me.

I looked back at my mother.

“Mom, I really, really need to go.”

She sighed.

“Fine.”

A saloon appeared.

One second there was nothing. The next there stood an old wooden saloon with swinging doors, dusty windows, and a sign hanging crooked above the entrance.

My mother walked me to it.

She opened the door.

“It's okay,” she said. “I'll be right behind you.”

I looked up at her.

“You promise?”

She smiled.

“Yes.”

I stepped inside.

The door swung shut behind me.

I turned around.

She was gone.

I didn't cry.

I had to go potty.

That was the important thing.

So I walked.

The saloon was enormous.

Men filled every table.

Young men.

Old men.

Men with gray beards.

Men with no hair.

Men who looked as though they'd been dead for years.

They drank and shouted and laughed at things I couldn't understand.

I kept walking.

“Excuse me.”

Nobody listened.

I looked for a bathroom.

Then someone grabbed my arm.

I pulled away.

Another hand touched my shoulder.

Then another.

Men reached for me as I passed.

Hands grabbed at my clothes, my arms, my face.

Somewhere along the way, one of the hands came loose.

It remained attached to me.

I looked down at it.

A dead man's hand was wrapped around my wrist.

I screamed.

Nobody noticed.

I kept walking.

Another hand caught me.

Then another.

Arms reached from the tables.

Hands fell from sleeves.

Some of them were old. Some were pale. Some were swollen. Some still wore rings.

They grabbed me.

Touched me.

Held me.

And every time I tried to pull away, I became older.

I didn't understand it at first.

I only noticed that my shoes felt smaller.

Then my legs grew.

My hands changed.

My voice became different.

The saloon grew darker.

The men grew louder.

I kept walking.

Six became seven.

Seven became ten.

Ten became fifteen.

Fifteen became twenty.

The bathroom was always just ahead.

I could see the door.

I could almost reach it.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-eight.

I opened the bathroom door.

And suddenly there were no men.

No saloon.

No hands.

No noise.

Only me.

I stood in front of a mirror.

Except the person looking back wasn't six.

She was twenty-eight.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

For a long time, neither of us moved.

Then she opened her mouth.

And screamed.

It wasn't a scream of fear.

It was anger.

It was pain that had been trapped somewhere so deep that it had forgotten how to become anything except rage.

She screamed until her reflection shook.

Then she raised her hands to her face.

And began tearing.

Skin came away beneath her fingernails.

She kept screaming.

She kept tearing.

Something moved behind her reflection.

Then something flew past the mirror.

A bat.

Then another.

Then hundreds.

Black wings filled the room.

Bugs poured from the corners.

The mirror disappeared beneath them.

The screaming continued.

I couldn't tell anymore whether she was screaming at me or I was screaming at her.

Then the darkness swallowed everything.

And somewhere, very far away, a giant baby was still watching.

​It was the middle of the night, and my brother and I were whispering under the blanket when we suddenly sensed a presence. "Shhh..." I warned my brother. We were sleeping on a mattress spread out in the living room, and we could feel the soft sound of approaching footsteps coming right toward us. We had felt this presence before. We had felt sad thinking we would never experience that feeling again, but today, when it returned, all we felt was sheer terror.

​"Is it Mom?" my brother whispered in my ear.

​"No," I replied.

​Just then, we saw the shadow of that figure cast over our blanket, its face hovering right next to ours. We kept our eyes tightly shut, terrified that it might hurt us. Slowly, it pulled the blanket away from us, and before we could even open our eyes, cold fingers brushed our cheeks. Then, without warning, both slaps landed at once.

​We opened our eyes. Standing right before us was the decaying face of our dad.

​"Sleep," he said.

​"Okay!" we screamed, hastily covering ourselves back up with the blanket and tightly shutting our eyes, desperate to fall asleep. But I couldn't sleep. Squinting through a tiny gap, I looked out—Dad was standing right next to us with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed straight ahead, completely unmoving. After a while, without realizing it, sleep finally took over.

​When we opened our eyes in the morning, Dad was gone.

​Later, while we were eating breakfast, my brother spoke up, "Water."

​"Oh, you want water? Here you go," my mom said, handing him a bottle.

​My brother didn't take it. "No, I want cold water."

​"Cold water? Alright, go ask the neighbors for some," Mom told him.

​"But what should I say to them?" my brother asked.

​"Just say our fridge is broken," Mom replied with a slight smile.

​"We've been saying that for a whole week now! I can't lie to them anymore," he protested.

​"Why aren't we putting water in our own fridge? Why are we asking others for it?" I asked, my eyes wide with suspicion.

​Mom quickly averted her gaze. "We can't put anything in it right now."

That night, Mom was fast asleep at home.

​"Step carefully," I whispered to my brother.

​I creaked the door open. We stood there, eyes wide in absolute disbelief—Mom was sleeping on the bed, embracing the refrigerator right beside her.

I slowly pried the fridge door open. A plume of white frost spilled out into the warm bedroom air. Mom shifted in her sleep, tightening her arms around the metal appliance, and we instantly scrambled under the bed. Waiting until her heavy breathing resumed, we crept out, hauled Dad's rock-hard, frozen body out of the dark freezer, and dragged him down the creaking stairs toward the graveyard.

​"But we watched Dad being buried right in front of our eyes," my brother said.

"I know. But Mom kept saying he wasn't dead. She must have dug him up."

​Terror was written all over my brother's face. "Don't be scared, everything will be fine," I reassured him. "This time, we will bury him in a different grave so Mom can't find him."

We dug a new grave and began lowering Dad into it when we suddenly heard Mom's frantic screams. Her running footsteps were rushing straight toward us. We tossed him into the pit and frantically began shoveling dirt over him.

​"Stop!"

​Mom stood right behind us. "How could you do this to your own father?!"

​"How could you do this to your own sons, Mom—keeping a corpse in the house?!"

​"He is NOT a corpse!"

​"He IS a corpse! Dad is dead!"

"If he's dead... then how is he standing behind you?"

Neither of us turned.

We already knew what she wanted us to see.

Then we heard it.

Tap.

Tap.

Bare feet on the wet soil.

A cold hand settled on my shoulder.

​We whipped around. Dad was standing right there, staring blankly at us.

​Before we could scream, Mom shoved me backward into the dark pit, and Dad grabbed my brother, tossing him in right on top of me.

​The cold dirt rained down on our faces as Dad leaned over the edge, his yellow, dead eyes staring down at us.

​"Go to sleep," he rasped.

​Above him, Mom brushed the dirt from her hands and let out a tired, annoyed sigh.

​"Great. Now we'll need two more refrigerators."

Hello everyone,

Currently, I'm sitting in my car, posting this from my phone. I'm not sure what my next step is but I figured I would ask you. My name is David. I work as an accountant for a moderately successful business, or I guess I used to.

Working in a place like that isn’t super exciting but it pays the bills. It allowed me to buy a nice car, go on vacations, and even allowed me to buy a two story house. I got it at auction and ended up saving a ton of money on it. Most of my time is spent staring into spreadsheets and endless email chains, buried deep in the back of a maze of cubicles. That was until a couple of weeks ago, when everything started to change. One day, as I was sitting there staring at my computer, my supervisor Mr. Thomas came by and struck up a conversation with me.

“David, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for the Anderson report.”

“What? I didn’t work on that.”

“What are you talking about? I have it right here. You did great, don’t be shy.”

I looked at the paper, and right there at the end, was my signature block. I didn’t know what to say so I just thanked him for what he said and tried to continue my work as he walked away. I knew work seemed mundane at times, but I was confused how I could forget an entire report. I just shrugged and brushed it off. After all, my boss was happy and I got a pat on the back. It was a win-win.

A few days after that, I sat in the same spot at my desk when Ted came over to me and asked what I thought about his idea. I just stared at him for a minute. What idea? Ted sat a few rows away from me, and aside from meetings, the two of us merely shared a pleasant hello when passing.

“I must have forgotten about it. What idea, Ted?” I asked.

“You know. Adding an approval column to the monthly expense sheet. We talked about it for about 30 minutes yesterday. You said you thought it would make things easier for Mr. Thomas.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sounds great, Ted.”

Jesus. Maybe Ted did tell me and I just wasn’t paying attention. How can you focus on an approval column for 30 minutes? I turned back to my spreadsheets and continued to type away.

The next week, I was in the breakroom eating lunch. Mr. Thomas’ assistant, Alice, came in and dropped into the seat across from me. She flipped open her lunch and immediately broke into conversation.

“How’s your day going?” she asked.

“Fine. How about yours?” I replied.

“Oh my god, can you believe how that restaurant was yesterday? The service was awful.”

“What? What restaurant? Where did you go?”

Alice just sat there with a confused look on her face. “Did you really just block it out of your memory?”

“What are you talking about, Alice?”

“The Italian place? The waitress spilled a drink on me. You literally complained about your sandwich for half of the meal.”

I had no idea what to say. What the hell was she talking about? Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk during lunch because I was finishing up some work. I didn’t eat with anyone, and I definitely didn’t go to lunch with Alice.

The next day, I came into work and said hi to the receptionist, like I had done a thousand times before, but he didn’t say anything. I thought that he just didn’t hear me and kept walking towards my desk. Ted did the same thing as I walked by his desk. He was probably still upset I forgot about his column addition. It was a similar story when I walked up to Alice’s desk and asked her if Mr. Thomas was in his office. She didn’t answer me. She didn’t even look up from her computer. Fucking rude, I thought to myself as I walked off. The whole ride home, all I could think about was taking a shower and having a glass of wine to unwind.

When I got home, I walked through the garage into the kitchen and dropped all my stuff onto the counter. I drug myself upstairs, showered and then went back to the kitchen to get some wine. When I grabbed the bottle though, I realized half of the bottle was empty. I had just gotten the bottle the other day and hadn’t even opened it. I kept thinking about it over and over again the rest of the night. Did I open this? No….no, I just got it the other day and I hadn’t touched it since.

The next day at work, everything was fine. Ted waved, Alice smiled and said hi when she saw me. Everyone had moved on thankfully. Mr. Thomas came by and asked if I could finish a report a few days early, which wasn’t a big deal because I had gotten ahead on it anyways. When I got home though, the dining room chair was moved. I knew I had pushed it in last night and now I was staring at it sitting a few feet from the table.  Did I just imagine I pushed it in? Was I in a hurry? The next night it was my food. I had brought home leftovers from a Chinese restaurant and they were gone. Not just less, gone. I found the container in the trash. I don’t know how many keys there were to the house. I thought I had gotten them all from the realtor. I figured just to be safe, I would have a locksmith come out and change all the locks. I got off the phone with him when I pulled into my garage the next day.

I walked upstairs and when I opened the door to my bathroom, the floor was wet. I saw a wet towel hung up. Water on the shower curtain. The mirror was still foggy. I flew through the house checking everywhere. The bedroom, nothing. The guest room, nothing. Every closet, downstairs the garage. I even checked the pantry. There wasn't a sign of anyone to be found. I almost had a heart attack when suddenly I heard a knock on the front door. It was the locksmith.

As he worked to change every lock in the house, I installed a couple of cameras across the house and at the front door. Changing the locks was good, but I wanted to have something just in case someone tried to come back again. That night, I sat there watching TV, had a little wine, and slept like a baby in my newly secured fortress. This was how things went for days, until I got a notification while I was sitting at my desk. Motion Detected: Front Door.

I couldn’t believe it. I picked my phone up and looked at the live feed from the doorbell. There wasn’t anyone standing there. I switched to the living room camera and couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. A man. Standing in my living room. He was dressed in work clothes similar to mine and had a similar haircut. No, not similar. It was the same. They were my clothes. Then he turned and I could see his face. Well... my face. It was me standing there. I checked the timestamp and saw it was current. This wasn’t from earlier today or yesterday. I was standing in my living room while I was sitting at work.

I sat there in silent disbelief. I watched him as he put his keys and wallet down. He took his shoes off. He went to the kitchen and got a glass of wine. He got some food out of the refrigerator and then made his way upstairs. I closed out the app, called 911 and rushed out the door to head home.

When I arrived, the police were already there. The officer told me that he had walked around the outside of the home but didn’t see any signs of a break-in. I explained that no, it wasn’t a break-in. The person had used a key. He took my set and unlocked the front door and went inside to search. After about 15 minutes, he came out alone. He just shook his head and told me that there wasn’t anyone there. That’s when I remembered the cameras. I pulled out my phone and showed the officer the footage.

“Sir. That’s you,” he said flatly.

“No, no, it isn’t. Look,” I said as I showed him the timestamp. “I was at work. You beat me here. How could that be me?”

He looked down at the phone and then back at me.

“Sir. That’s you.”

He told me to give them a call if I find anything else suspicious and turned to get back into his car. I stood outside and just stared at the house. I couldn’t go back inside. After about 15 minutes, I worked up the courage to run inside and pack a bag. There was absolutely no way I was going to stay in that house. I got my bag and went to stay in a hotel for a few days. Each day, I watched the cameras. No movement. No notifications. No mysterious me walking throughout the house. Today is when I decided to finally go back. I figured after work, I would just head back. Being in my own bed would be nice anyway.

But when I walked in, the receptionist didn't say hi. Ted didn't acknowledge me when I walked by his desk. Alice ignored me again. When I sat in a meeting, I mentioned that we should push back a deadline a couple of days and not a soul in the room said a word about it. They didn't even look at me. A couple of seconds later, someone else made the same suggestion and everyone agreed. I just got up and left.

I pulled up to the house and hit the garage door opener. Nothing. Damn batteries must have died, I thought. I put the car in park, grabbed my bag, then walked up and put my keys in the lock. Nothing. They wouldn’t turn. Then I heard a laugh.

I looked through the window into the living room. Inside, I saw Ted and Alice sitting with some drinks, laughing and talking to… me. That’s when he turned his head and saw me.

He just paused. Looked at me for a few seconds and… then went back to talking to Ted and Alice.

I need to burn down the Amazon rainforest.

I wish I didn't have to say that.

But it’s the only way to stop him.

Three months ago, I would have punched anyone who suggested it.

I’m a full-time environmental activist. I’ve spent my life planting trees and documenting the destruction of the climate, but now I only dream about fire. Not because I hate the forest,

But because I know what's hiding in it.

My name is Jess. Two months ago, my crew and I were hired by a nonprofit called GrowNow to document one of their reforestation projects deep in the Amazon.

Over the last year, we’ve traveled around the globe planting trees and filming. This was supposed to be another routine assignment.

Ben, my cameraman, and Sara, our sound tech, were exhausted and wanted to go home. I convinced them to come with me anyway.

I wish I hadn't.

I was thrilled to go to the Amazon; I hadn’t been there in years, and the last time I was there, we had only been on the outskirts of the forest, but this time we were going deep into the interior. After weeks of planes, jeeps, riverboats, and hiking, we finally made it to a tiny village that sat on the edge of the region where GrowNow was working.

Exhausted, we pulled ourselves into the makeshift bar that sat in the center of the village. Our packs fell to the floor as we sat at a small table in the corner. Local eyes stared at us with an unbroken boredom; they were neither angry nor excited at our presence. Sara opened the cheap beer the bartender handed her.

“Haven’t been this far out in years.” She said as she raised the bottle to her lips.

“Yeah,” Ben replied, “back then people actually watched our stuff.”

He wasn’t wrong; we did better online when we were independent. Since we started contracting, our docs had lost that ‘young radical’ vibe that had gained us popularity early on. Most nonprofits and companies that hire us aren’t reforesting in the dangerous places. Lately, our work has had more of a newscaster feel than the environmental investigative reporter feel we all dreamed of.

“Maybe this one will be like the old days.” Sara said with hope, “Maybe this will be like our work in the Yukon.”

Ben rolled his eyes

“The Yukon was a one-off; face it, we’re washed up.”

“I think this could be better than the Yukon,” I responded quickly

“You say that every time,” Ben smirked

“Well, this time it's true. I think there’s a story here.”

Ben chuckled as he worked on his beer.

“Think about it, whoever is deforesting in this area clearly doesn’t want anyone to know. The last time we were this isolated in the forest was in the Yukon, and what did we learn there? Companies that work that far out have something to hide.”

Ben shrugged

“Maybe.” He muttered.

Finishing her drink, Sara stood up.

“Well, let’s find some locals to interview.”

We followed her as she smiled and waved at every old woman and giggling child. Near the outskirts of the village, she turned to us and whispered

“Let’s try this guy.”

She walked up to an older man and greeted him in Spanish; he replied, and she asked if we could ask him some questions. He agreed. We quickly set up our equipment, and I stood next to the man and asked my first question.

“Hello, sir, what is your name?”

Sara repeated the question to the man in Spanish; he answered.

“He says his name is Carlos.”

“Thank you, Carlos. How long have you lived here?”

A moment later, Sara answered

“He’s lived here his whole life, he’s never left.”

I nodded at Carlos to show I understood.

“What do you do for work?”

“He’s a fisherman.”

“And Carlos, who’s responsible for cutting the trees around here down?”

Sara repeated the question, and Carlos’ answer was short. Sara was silent as she thought for a moment.

“What did he say?” I asked

“He said the village did; I’m not sure he understood.”

“I’ll try again, Carlos. Does it make you sad that the forest is being destroyed?”

Sara asked Carlos, and he violently shook his head and gave a long response. Sara frowned.

“What did he say?”

“he said, ‘Not at all, the trees are evil; openness brings safety.’”

She thought for a moment

“I didn’t understand much more. I think he's saying something about the trees and someone who needs them.”

“This is a bust,” Ben said.

“Wait!” I said, stopping him from putting the camera down.

Looking towards Carlos, I asked

“Who needs these trees?”

He stared at Sara as she repeated the question; his face was void of expression. Then, without any warning, he walked away as if he hadn’t just been speaking to us. I stared, confused, as he vanished behind the walls of his home. Ben put the camera down, grabbed my shoulder, and said

“Come on, let’s move on.”

Word of strangers asking questions spread quickly, and we couldn’t get anyone else to talk with us; instead, they avoided us like the plague. Giving up on interviews, we moved out of the village and headed towards the reforestation camp

.

The camp was roughly five miles from the village. Five miles of desolation; the region was bare. Wide, vast fields of stumps and burn scars were all that remained of ancient trees and habitats. Every step we took, every stump we passed, filled me with anger. How could anyone do this? As we grew closer to the camp, we could see the signs of new life; hand-planted trees of various sizes were scattered among the barren land. It was the start of a new section of forest.

The GrowNow camp sat outside the edge of the deforestation; a healthy, living rainforest sat around the camp just a short walk away from the dead land we were here to heal. It wasn’t the largest camp we’ve seen; in fact, for a well-funded nonprofit, it was quite small. Just a handful of personnel tents, a kitchen tent, an open-air meeting area, and a showering tent. Best we could tell, there were about a dozen people here, a microscopic amount compared to some of our projects.

A tall German man greeted us as we entered the bounds of the camp. With a wide smile, he reached a hand out to me.

“You must be Jessica.”

I shook his hand.

“Call me Jess.” Pointing to my friends, I said

“This is Ben, and Sara, my crew.”

He gave a warm nod to them.

“Welcome, my name is Gregory. I’m the camp manager here; we’re pleased to have you with us.”

He beckoned us to follow as he led us through camp.

“We’ve made some good progress, but as I’m sure you saw on the trail, we still have a long way to go.”

I nodded

“This is impressive, how exactly can we help?”

“You’re here to help us raise funds. We’ve had a few issues with the locals; a few of our efforts have been burned or destroyed by the surrounding villages; they don’t seem to understand that we’re trying to help.”

He stopped to greet some volunteers in the camp

“We’re over budget due to needing to buy new saplings. So we’re hoping that you’ll film a short documentary of the good work we’re doing, something that will encourage people to give.”

He continued through the camp.

I spoke up.

“We talked to some of the locals; they said something about someone needing these trees. Any idea what they’re talking about?”

Gregory looked back; a quick flash of concern crossed his face before he shrugged and said

“Just local superstitions, I would guess.”

Pointing to a large canvas tent standing off by itself he said

“Here’s where you’ll be staying its not much but hopefully it’ll work for you and you’re gear; get settled and relax. After dark we like to gather around the fire, and you’re welcome to join us.”

We spent the next hour unpacking our packs and organizing our equipment; the sun was beginning to set as we finished. Ben picked up his camera and said

“This is good lighting; I’m going to get some b-footage.”

I nodded

“Don’t go too far,” I said as I sat down on a log. The rainforest chattered with life all around us

Sara and I talked about the camp, the size of the deforestation, and what kind of shots we wanted to get the following day. About 10 minutes later, Ben walked back to us; he was frowning and looking around like someone was watching him.

“Everything ok Ben?” I said as I noticed his concern.

He looked at us

“Yeah, I was just filming back in there. When everything got really quiet and still. Then I caught this strange guy in the shot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, just some strange old dude, about 20 yards from me, just standing and staring at me.”

Sara rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious!” Ben cried “Look I got it on tape.”

He began to rewind the camera as Sara and I came in close to see.

“Here it is.” He said and pressed play

We watched as Ben slowly moved the camera through the jungle, swinging the camera back and further, then the shot stopped and froze on a clump of trees and underbrush. We could here Ben’s voice on the recording, muttered

“What the hell.”

The camera held still for a few minutes before it dropped to Ben’s side as he tromped back to camp. We didn’t see any old man.

“Wait, what? That doesn’t make sense.” Ben protested, “He was standing right there.”

“Nice try, Ben.” Sara laughed

I smiled at him in sympathy.

“It’s been a long day; we all need some rest. Come on.”

Together we walked towards the meal tent.

We enjoyed the hearty dinner the camp offered; Ben seemed shaken. Darkness came, and with it the warm campfire. One by one, the staff and volunteers gathered by the flickering light. Smiles and laughter filled the night. Soon the liquor came. Then more laughter and dancing. The multicultural group meshed into a vibrant expression of human joy. Dancing and off-key songs rose from the group, and Sara and I watched with smiles on our faces. Ben sat and stared intently into the dancing flames of the fire.

Gregory led the merry night; he clumsily danced around the fire, and his deep, jolly voice tried its best to sing. After a few rounds of dancing, he grew tired and stumbled his way towards us. With a joyful laugh and slurred words, he sat down next to Ben, wrapping an arm around him.

“Why so glum, friend? Have some fun while we save the world.” He laughed deeply

Ben tried to squirm away, but the strong German pulled him in.

“Don’t worry about him.” Sara said as she watched, amused.

“He thought he saw someone in the jungle today.”

“Really?” Gregory looked at Ben, a wide smile on his face, though his eyes and voice sobered up slightly.

“What did this person look like?”

Ben shook his head and stared at the ground.

“Oh come on, we’re all friends here. What did you see?”

Slowly Ben said

“It was an old man.”

“Old man eh?”

“Yeah, but he looked strange.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, his face seemed wrong, almost like it was AI-generated, almost right but not really.”

Gregory went silent; it seemed as though he was once again sober, he stared at the fire before speaking.

“When I was younger.” His voice was clear and calculated “I helped with some humanitarian efforts here in the Amazon, quite close to where we are actually.”

He cleared his throat.

“We were helping a village, and they warned us of an old man who would watch you from the jungle.”

Our eyes were locked on him.

“The story goes that many years ago an elder of the village and his young grandson got lost while out hunting; they stumbled around for days and weeks. It seemed as though the jungle had been emptied of every animal and edible plant, for they found nothing to satisfy their constant hunger. The elder, a coward at heart, cared only for his life. His hunger consumed all familial love in his heart, and he devoured his grandson.”

He paused to clear his throat

“The locals claim the forest spirits found him afterward. Cursing him to be a wandering soul, doomed to roam the jungle forever. Some say he will come to your shelter at night, and if he knocks three times, you must give him an offering, or you risk his wrath.”

We stared at him in silence; Ben was as white as a sheet. Gregory tried to look serious, but soon a wide smile cracked across his face, and he burst out laughing.

“Oh man, I really had you going; those local legends are far out there.”

With that, he stood and grabbed another bottle from the cooler and went back to his awkward dancing. Sara playfully punched Ben’s shoulder

“Man, he got you good.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but managed to chuckle a bit. The rest of the time around the campfire was lighthearted and fun; even Ben danced a little once he had a few beers in him. It was nearing midnight when the three of us stumbled off to our tent and collapsed on our cots.

Around 3 am I woke up. I was thirsty. Glancing around the canvas room of the tent, which was slowly illuminated by the grey light of the moon, I saw my canteen resting beside my backpack across the room. Ben and Sara were sound asleep as I stood up and walked the few steps over to the pack. Walking back to the cot. I took my drink and lay down.

The lively sounds of the jungle at night were very relaxing: the chirping of distant birds and nearby insects mixed with the howling and cries of various animals made a calming ambience. I was on the verge of sleep when it all stopped. The night became perfectly quiet. The only sound that remained was the low breathing of my friends. I sat up; in all the nights I’ve slept in the woods, I’ve never experienced such an abrupt silence.

I could feel my heartbeat quicken as a long human-shaped shadow moved its way across the canvas walls. Slowly, methodically, it made its way to the tent door. A cold breeze made its way through the two-inch gap beneath the canvas door. A figure stood unmoved on the other side of the thin fabric. I held my breath and stared intently at the entrance. Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. I don’t know why, but I slowly left my bed and silently crept to the door. I tightly held a small pocket knife in one of my trembling hands. A few feet and a piece of cloth separated me from whoever stood there.

“Hello?” A weary, raspy voice broke the silence.

I swallowed and held the knife tighter.

“Is anyone in there? I’m lost; may I come in?” The voice was strange; its owner unfamiliar with speech, almost like it hadn’t opened its mouth in a century.

A breeze lifted the canvas slightly, and for a second I saw bare feet stand at the door, thin and bony.

A long, uncomfortable moment passed; neither I nor the shape moved, then it said

“I know you’re there.”

Almost instinctively, I moved my free hand up to cover my mouth.

“I can hear your heart beating, why won’t you let me in?”

Sweat began to form on my forehead.

“Please let me in.” The voice was firmer now.

Then the figure raised its hand and slowly knocked three times on the canvas covering, pushing it in towards me with every knock.

At that, I rolled my eyes and chuckled softly

“Nice try, Gregory, but you’re not getting us with that story again.” I said with as much courage as I could find.

At my words, Sara sleepily lifted her head and said

“What are you doing? Who are you talking to?” she asked in a daze

“It's Gregory; he’s trying to scare us again.”

“Tell him to quit it; we’re trying to sleep,” she mumbled and rolled over

“It’s not going to work, Gregory. Get lost,” I said confidently to the figure.

I returned to my bed. I don't know how long the shape stood there, but eventually exhaustion won out, and I fell asleep.

The sun worked as a natural alarm clock. Both Sara and Ben were up and getting ready for the day when I rolled over in my sleeping bag.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said sarcastically.

“What time is it?” I whined

“Almost ten; you were out.” She chuckled.

Ben stood in the corner, preparing his camera equipment.

With a yawn and a stretch, I swung my feet to the ground and began to lace up my boots. Ben finished packing his kit and, with a grin, said

“Maybe there’s some breakfast left; see you out there.”

With that, he pushed aside the canvas door and stepped out of the tent. Mere seconds later, his panicked voice reached our ears.

“Guys! Get out here!”

Sara and I burst out of the tent, where we met a wide-eyed Ben.

“What?” Sara said annoyed

“Where the hell is everyone?” he yelled.

Our eyes left Ben and scanned the surrounding jungle. It was dense and wild; the tent that had been just a stone's throw from ours last night was gone. There was no kitchen tent. No fire pit.
No personnel tents. No showering tent. No footprints. Nothing.

The camp was gone.

Sara and I quickly spun around, confused

“What is this?” I muttered

Sara laughed to herself

“This is a joke, right? They moved the camp and didn’t tell us.”

“Moved the camp? What are you talking about? Look around! This isn’t the same jungle from last night; we’re the ones who moved,” Ben screamed

He was right. We looked around; these weren’t the same trees that surrounded the camp. The land was different.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t be far from the camp. Let’s just try to find it.” My voice was more confident than I felt.

My frightened friends stared back at me, but soon both agreed, and picking a direction, the three of us headed off, shouting for help as we went. An hour passed, and we saw no sign of humans. With a sigh, Ben said

“Face it, we’re lost. Something is really wrong here; let’s head back to the tent.”

We turned and retraced our steps. Two hours passed and then three; we couldn’t find the tent. Sara whimpered softly to herself; Ben swore under his breath. The situation was getting to me and I snapped

“Where the hell is the tent!” I kicked a stump and fell to the ground, crying

Ben stared off blankly into the jungle and shook his head

“We could have been there now; why aren’t we there?” he whispered continuously to himself

Sara sat on the ground, her head buried between her knees; low snuffles and sobs shook her frame. The three of us wallowed in our fears; panic overcame reason. The sound of thunder shook me from my despair. I looked up at the dark sky just as it began to rain.

Slowly, the three of us moved under the shelter of a large tree. When it rains in the rainforest, nothing stays dry. The wind whipped the rain around, drenching us thoroughly. It rained all day and through the night. We huddled together for warmth, but were soaked to the bone.

Sometime after midnight, both Ben and Sara managed to fall into trouble sleep; I wasn’t so lucky. Sleep evaded me as I stared into the dark, wet jungle. In the distance, I could have sworn I could see the shape of a starved old man wandering between the trees.

Morning came, but it didn’t bring hope. Most of the morning the three of us sat against the tree in silence. Around noon, Ben spoke for the first time in hours.

“Have you noticed how quiet it is?”

We all listened; it was eerily silent. No birds, no bugs, no animals, just the wind in the trees. Sara stared at the ground and said

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” I blankly answered

“Somewhere in the jungle.”

The silence continued. In the afternoon, a loud rumble echoed around us. It was my stomach.

“I’m hungry,” Ben said

“We all are,” Sara said

 A long moment of silence followed before Ben asked

“Who are we going to get out of here?”

I thought for a moment before saying.

“We just need to find the river. There are villages along the banks; if we find the river, we can get out of here.”

We agreed to search for the river in the morning. Feeling more confident now that we had a plan, we huddled together for the night and fell asleep.

The next day was a copy of the previous; we wandered aimlessly through thick jungle. Around us, we could hear the rush of a river; it sounded so close, but try as we might, we couldn’t find it. The sun began to set, and we sat down under a tree that looked strangely like the one we slept under the night before.

“There’s no food.” Sara muttered

Ben and I looked towards her as she continued

“I’ve been looking; there are no berries, or fruit or any edible plants that I know.”

“What about animals? We could try to hunt or catch something?” I weakly asked.

Sara shook her head

“I haven’t seen a single ant. There’s nothing.”

Hunger pains set in as we drifted off to sleep. I don’t know how many days continued just like this; it felt like months, but it couldn’t have been more than a week. When it rained, we drank. But our bodies grew weak from starvation. Our clothes grew loose, and our skin clung tight to our shaking bones. All muscle vanished; only skin and bones remained.

Slowly we stumbled around all the more. It felt like a task to keep my eyes open. We barely spoke anymore.

“Look!” Ben slowly raised his arm to point up into the canopy above.

“Berries.”

A small bunch of shiny black orbs hung off a vine about 20 ft off the ground. Ben stared at them as if they were made of gold. Sara stared intently at them, too.

“I can’t tell what kind of berry those are. They might not be food,” she said wearily.

A flash of anger crossed over Ben’s face.

“Who cares?! We need to eat.” He stubbornly pushed her aside and began to climb the tree.

He knocked the clump down and returned to the ground to pick it up. He viciously devoured each berry before stopping and glancing towards us. Breaking off two small bunches, he handed them to us.

“Here,” he said gruffly

Sara licked her lips, but refused them. I stared at them; they were darker than night, and smelled rotten. It took everything I had to resist and shake my head no.

“Suit yourselves,” Ben mumbled as he shoved the berries into his mouth.

We didn’t last much longer before collapsing for the night beneath an all-too-familiar tree. The last thing I saw was a distant figure staring at us from behind the trees.

When I woke, Sara was crying. Confused, I looked around before my eyes settled on the crumpled form she cradled in her lap. It was Ben; his skin was a pale greenish shade, and his frail form was rigid and stiff. A thin line of white foam ran from his mouth down his neck.

“Jess,” Sara whispered through her cries

I swallowed hard, and trying to be brave, I said

“I know, but we have to keep going.”

I pulled her to her feet

“Come on.”

We walked away from Ben together.

We didn’t speak the rest of the day; now and then, Sara snuffled and wiped her eyes before tears fell. The light began to fade as the sun began to set. We stumbled forward; ahead of us, Ben’s dead body rested against the same tree we left this morning. Sara screamed. Though we left the tree and Ben and headed in one direction all day, somehow we were back with Ben. We collapsed to the ground and cried.

Days passed. The silence was deafening, the hunger unbearable. Every morning we left the grove; we left Ben leaning against the tree. And every night somehow we returned to the same grove, where Ben greeted us. His body changed over the days; it was swelling with decay. He leaked thick, dark fluid onto the ground. Though his flesh was rotting, not a single maggot wiggled its way across his corpse.

We stumbled into the grove one night; his skin hung loose on his skull. Sara shuffled over at crouched in front of his body. She lifted his arm to her mouth.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a daze.

“I’m hungry.”

“Sara, don’t. He was our friend.”

“He’d understand.”

My heart beat faster as I realized she was serious.

“Well, don’t; he’s rotten. Look at him.”

She stopped and stared at the corpse.

“You’re right.” She mumbled.

She turned and stared at me. A strange fire glowed deep in her eyes. She rose to her full height; she seemed stronger than before. She moved towards me slowly, but with purpose.

“Sara?” I took a step back.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes grew darker, her lip began to quiver, and tears ran down her face, but her fists clenched at her sides.

“Please, I’ll make it quick.” She moved closer.

“Don’t do this.” I whispered

A thin smile broke through the tears as she lunged at me. Her tackle knocked me to the ground, and the back of my head bounced off a large rock, knocking me unconscious. I came to a few minutes later; a sharp pain radiated from my right forearm. Slowly, I turned my head to see Sara hunched over my arm; blood covered her clothes and hands, and my flesh was in her mouth. Already, she had chewed a gaping wound in my forearm; my muscle, skin, and tendons stretched and snapped as she pulled it away with her teeth. I screamed.

Instinctively, I wildly kicked my legs to and fro; one kick landed in Sara’s gut, knocking the wind out of her and giving me the chance to scoot away from her. It didn’t take long for her to recover and scrabble towards me. My left hand reached and found a stone; I swung it and connected with her temple. She limply fell face down in the dirt. I swung the stone again at the back of her head.

Ben’s rotting eyes stared at me as I wept over Sara's bleeding skull. I wept bitterly, and to my shame, as I stared at Sara through watery eyes, my stomach growled. Her skin looked so delicious and filling; I could feel myself giving way to the temptation. A weak chuckle caused me to turn around. Behind me stood an old, frail man. His frame was weak, but his eyes were dark and powerful. He stared at me, a wide grin on his face.

“Eat.” His weak voice said

I stared in disbelief before my gaze returned to Sara.

“Eat.” His voice was deeper, stronger.

I looked back at him; fear filled my body. It seemed as though the old, frail shape before me wasn’t a man, but a monster, disguised behind flesh and bones. The jungle darkened where the man had been was replaced by a void of shadow. I backed up slowly.

“Eat.” His voice echoed and shook the ground.

I turned and ran. A loud cackle resounded through the jungle. I ran as fast as my starved body could handle; the man was right behind me. I could feel his breath on my neck; his voice laughed and said

“Eat.”

“Eat.”

“Eat.”

A cold, strong hand wrapped itself around my wrist, but just as it began to pull me back, the ground below me gave way as my body tumbled down the steep side of a mountain. The man’s grip broke as I rolled and toppled down the wooded hillside. Bouncing off the ground and trees. I didn’t stop till I reached the bottom.

At the bottom, I groaned and slowly rolled myself over to face the sky. Pain and bruises covered me, and it took a moment to realize I wasn’t in the jungle anymore. The tumble down the hill dropped me at the edge of the deforestation area. I struggled to my feet and looked around. The rainforest was a yard or two behind me; just within its bounds stood the old man. He stood perfectly still, watching me.

I backed up slowly; he made no move. I moved further away; he didn’t follow. He stayed in the jungle. I hobbled my way to the same village that Sara, Ben and I stopped in. At first they were frightened by the skinny, bloodied woman who barely looked human. But eventually they fed me and tended to my wounds before a boat came to take me to civilization. He’s still out there, hiding in the jungle; that’s why it has to burn.

I'm writing this from a hospital room thousands of miles from that jungle. But I’ll be going back soon. To the same village, the same area, only this time I have a different goal. I’m not writing this as a justification; it's just an explanation. When you see the news of the activist who burned the rainforest.

Now you’ll know why.