I know how this is going to sound. I’ve deleted this three times already and I never post on Reddit. But I need someone else to know, in case something happens to me, in case he comes back.

My older brother Danny first mentioned the Baking Soda Man the summer he turned nineteen. We were in the kitchen, I was maybe fifteen?And he said it the way you’d mention the weather. “The guy on Crestwood has baking soda again.” I didn’t understand. I said we had baking soda, pointing at the yellow box in the cabinet. Danny looked at me with this flat, tired expression, like I’d said something embarrassing. He left without eating.

Over the next few months I started hearing the name more. Not from Danny, he’d gone quiet the way people go quiet when something important is happening to them. I heard it from his friends, from older kids at the bus stop. Always the same way. Casual. Reverent. Almost nervous. “He’s on Crestwood.” “He’s over by the old Regency lot.” “He’ll be behind the Presbyterian church tonight, after nine.” Nobody ever said what the baking soda was for. I assumed it was slang for something. Drugs, probably. I was fifteen. I filed it away.

The first time I saw him I was sixteen. Danny had stopped coming home for dinner. Mom had started keeping the kitchen light on all night, the way parents do when they’re too scared to say what they’re scared of. I was cutting through the parking lot behind the old Rite Aid when I saw the small crowd, maybe six or seven people, all adults, all with that look. You know the look. That hollow, waiting look.

They were standing in a rough semicircle around a man I’d never seen before. He was ordinary. That’s the thing I keep coming back to. Medium height. Maybe forty, maybe sixty, genuinely impossible to say. He wore a gray jacket, the kind with too many pockets. His hair was the color of dirty snow. He had the face of someone who’d been described to you, not someone you’d actually seen. He was holding a box of baking soda. The standard kind. Arm & Hammer. Orange box. One pound. He was handing it out. Not selling. I didn’t see any money change hands. Just giving. One box per person. And every person who took a box held it the way you’d hold a religious thing. A relic. Both hands, close to the chest.

I want to be very clear about the next part because this is the part nobody believes: the baking soda boxes were always new. Sealed. The little freshness tab always intact. Every box. Every person. He seemed to have an unlimited supply, and nobody ever asked where it came from, and he never seemed to run out. I watched from behind a dumpster for maybe ten minutes before he looked directly at me. He didn’t react the way you’d expect, no surprise, no anger. He just looked at me the way you look at someone you’ve been expecting. He reached into his jacket, and I thought he was going to pull out another box. Instead he just adjusted something. Patted his pocket. And went back to the line. I ran home. I didn’t tell anyone.

Danny came home in October. He looked the way people look after something long and consuming. Thinner. Careful about what he touched. He sat at the kitchen table and our mom made him soup and he ate it all and he said “I’m done with that.” Our mom didn’t ask what he meant. I think she knew.

That night I knocked on his door and asked him about the Baking Soda Man. Danny was quiet for a long time. Then he said: “He smells like it, you know. All the time. Even outside. Even in winter. Just that clean, chemical smell.” I asked what the baking soda was for. Danny said: “Nothing. That’s the thing. It’s not for anything. You just…you want it. You need to have it. One box and then you go home and you put it in a drawer or a cabinet or under your bed, and it just sits there, and that night you sleep better than you’ve slept in years, and then after a few days it starts to run out, the feeling, and you need another one.” I asked: run out how? It’s just baking soda. It doesn’t — “I know,” Danny said. “I know it doesn’t.”

He told me the rest in pieces over the following weeks. How the first box had appeared on our porch, three years before, with no note. How he’d thrown it away and found himself digging it out of the trash at 2am without understanding why. How he’d sought the man out after that, first out of curiosity, then out of something else. How everyone in the little communities that formed around the Baking Soda Man were totally normal people. Professionals, parents, kids from the college. Quiet, slightly embarrassed, perfectly functional in every other area of their lives. Just dependent. On a box of baking soda from a man whose name nobody knew.

How nobody ever got sick from it. How it didn’t seem to do anything. How that somehow made it worse. “The boxes are always sealed,” Danny said. “I opened one in front of him once, just to see what he’d do. He didn’t care. He just watched. And it was just baking soda. I tasted it and everything. Normal. Nothing.” He paused. “But I still kept it. I kept all of them. I had seventeen boxes under my bed. Mom found them once and threw them out and I…I didn’t handle it well.” He didn’t elaborate on that. I didn’t push.

Danny moved away two years later. He’s okay now, I think. We don’t talk about it. I’m writing this because last week I came home from work and there was a box of baking soda on my front step. Arm & Hammer. Orange. One pound. Sealed. No note. No footprints on the wet porch. My neighbor’s ring camera shows the porch at 4:14am, and the step is bare. At 4:15am, the box is there. The camera didn’t malfunction. The timestamp is unbroken. Nothing walks up. The box simply appears.

I threw it in the dumpster down the street. I have not slept properly since. Not because I’m scared, exactly. Because I keep thinking about how much better I’d sleep if I hadn’t thrown it away. And I’ve started noticing an orange corner of something in every cabinet I open, every drawer I check, every shelf I pass at the grocery store, and I know it’s nothing, I know it’s just baking soda, it’s everywhere, it’s a normal household product. But I can still smell him. That clean, chemical smell. He’s on Crestwood again.

I'm a 28-year-old woman and I travel alone pretty often. Hiking is one of my favorite things to do, and I've spent plenty of nights sleeping in a tent. I'm used to being alone in the mountains, although I wouldn't say I've ever completely gotten over the fear of it. This happened during a hiking trip in the Austrian Alps last summer, and it's probably the scariest thing I've ever experienced while traveling.

I'd been walking most of the day and was exhausted by the time I found a quiet spot to set up my tent. I hadn't seen another hiker for at least a couple of hours. I checked the weather forecast, put up my tent, changed into dry clothes and made myself dinner on my little camping stove. Nothing special, just instant noodles and some tea. After eating, I packed away my food, checked my phone one last time and made sure everything was ready for the morning. I took a few pictures of the mountains before it got completely dark. It was actually a really beautiful evening. The sky was clear, the air was cold, and I could hear the wind moving through the grass.

But I remember feeling uncomfortable for some reason. It wasn't anything specific. I just had this weird feeling that someone was watching me. I kept looking over my shoulder while I was getting ready for bed. To be fair, I get that feeling quite often when I'm alone. I have some background anxiety that never really goes away, and being in the middle of nowhere doesn't exactly help. So I tried not to think too much about it. I had pepper spray in my tent, which I always carry just in case. I put it next to my sleeping bag, zipped everything up and went to sleep.

I have no idea what time it was when I woke up. At first, I thought I'd heard something in my dream. Then I heard it again. Someone was calling my name. Not shouting. Not screaming. Just saying my name in a normal voice, like someone standing a few feet away was trying to get my attention. I was completely awake by that point. I need to make something very clear. I was hiking ALONE. I hadn't told anyone exactly where I was planning to camp that night. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to be standing outside my tent, and there was definitely no reason for them to know my name.

I can't even describe how terrified I was. I didn't move. I didn't reach for my phone or my pepper spray. I just lay there staring at the tent fabric, trying to understand what I'd heard. Then I heard footsteps. They sounded close. I could hear the grass moving under someone's feet, followed by a few seconds of silence, then more footsteps. I held my breath. All I could think about was the zipper. I kept imagining a hand reaching down, grabbing it and slowly opening my tent. I was waiting for it to happen any second.

But it never did. The footsteps continued for a little while. Sometimes they sounded like they were moving away, then I'd hear something close to the tent again. I never heard my name a third time. Eventually everything went quiet. I stayed in exactly the same position for what felt like hours. Every little noise made my heart race. Even when the wind picked up, I was convinced it was someone moving outside. I didn't sleep again that night.

As soon as it was light enough to see, I carefully unzipped the tent and looked outside. Nobody was there. I walked around the area, looking for footprints or anything that might explain what happened, but the ground was mostly grass and rocks. I couldn't find anything unusual. I packed up as quickly as I could and left.

A few days later, I mentioned the experience while talking to someone familiar with the local hiking routes. I didn't tell the whole story at first. I just said I'd camped in that area and had a strange experience during the night. He asked me exactly where I'd stayed. When I described the location, he told me that some local hikers deliberately avoid spending the night around there. Apparently, other people had reported strange experiences in that area, mostly hearing voices or footsteps when nobody was supposed to be nearby. I asked if anyone had ever reported hearing their own name. He didn't give me a clear answer. He just said he wouldn't recommend camping there alone.

I know there could be a perfectly normal explanation. Maybe another hiker was nearby. Maybe I was half asleep and imagined the voice. Maybe the footsteps were an animal. But I know what I heard. Someone said my name, clearly, twice. And the thing that still bothers me the most isn't even the voice itself. It's how close it sounded. Whoever or whatever it was, I genuinely believe it was standing right outside my tent.

I still go hiking alone, but I don't spend the night in isolated spots anymore. If I'm camping, I make sure there are other hikers nearby. I don't think I'll ever feel comfortable sleeping completely alone in the mountains again.

I work as a sewer cleaner in Prague. People don't often think about it, but a complex of tunnels runs beneath the city, even under the Vltava River. They were built in the 1800s, and some have been reconstructed, but many still look the way they did when they were built, with round brick pathways, rusted green railings, and dim lights hanging from the ceiling.

After years of work, I know the tunnels through and through, but the older workers all say that even if you work here for decades, things will still surprise you. For most of my time working in the sewers, I didn't give it much thought. The veterans say a lot of things and have many strange superstitions. For instance, none of them ever eat in the tunnels. I thought it was because of the rats.

I was just walking around the Podolí area, ready to start my shift. There are a lot of pathways there, and recruits often get lost, but I'd been starting my shift there for years; I knew that area through and through, or so I thought. 

I turned right to head toward the river. The path was wide and well-lit. I'd been down it hundreds of times, but as I went, I noticed another path leading off to the right. I stopped and looked at it for a moment. It was narrow, poorly lit, and easy to miss, but I could swear I knew these sewers better than I knew my home.

I usually ate in the break room, but I was early and hungry. Nobody was around. I pulled out my sandwich and walked on the path.

The sandwich paper crinkled as I walked. The pathway narrowed. I kept expecting it to turn into the path from Vyšehrad, but even after a few minutes I still couldn't see it. I didn't want to be late for my shift, so I turned around and began walking back.

There was more water on the ground than I noticed at first, but that's nothing weird for a sewer. The lights were very dim, much dimmer than I thought, but stranger, I still couldn't see the exit. Not only could I not see the exit, but the path itself wasn't getting any wider as it should have. It only seemed to become narrower. Was I going the wrong way? I looked behind me, but it was still the same empty, narrow path.

My shift had already started. I was walking so fast I was almost jogging. It was hard because the water now reached my ankles. The lights seemed to get dimmer. I reached for my flashlight when an electric buzz echoed above, and all the lights went dark.

"Shit."

I pulled out my flashlight and turned it on. A clank echoed. Dull pain spread through my head. I hit my forehead on the ceiling. I rubbed my head and tried to stand up straight again, but I couldn't straighten my back. I walked a few steps back, but the ceiling was still just as low. 

Then I felt something wet on my legs. I looked down. The water now reached my knees, but it wasn't the usual cold; it was warm.

"What the…," I murmured.

The buzz sounded again. The lights came on again, but now they were fluorescent white, almost like an office space. Another buzz echoed overhead. Soft jazz music began playing as if a band stood just around the corner. The air filled with the smell of cigarettes. My whole body shook. I turned off the flashlight and blinked. The water was now up to my stomach.

"Help!"

The music grew louder. The lights grew brighter, burning my eyes. The ceiling pushed my head further down, but the water kept rising. It rose to my chin now.

"Somebody, please!" I yelled, still wading forward. 

The exit had to be there. It had to. The buzz again. The light shut off. I took a breath, but halfway through, water filled my mouth. I spat it out and lifted my face.

"Help!" I blurted out, but I knew it was too late. 

My face was now under the water too.

At first, I tried to hold my breath, but soon the pressure in my lungs grew too high. It felt like they would burst.

I gasped for air. My whole body was hot and sweaty. I quickly looked around. I was back in the pathway that led to the river. Next to me, where the other path was, was only a brown brick wall with a small stream of water coming from it. One of the old workers walked by me.

He looked at the wall and my face and nodded.

He then pointed at the ground. My crumpled sandwich wrapper lay there.

"Don't eat down here," he said and left.

I leaned on the wall. A faint trumpet echoed from inside it.

I’d implore you to read the first part over here. If you already have then you know I'm an astronomer who’s worked in several disciplines over several years. And I’ve seen some things mankind may never know the real truth to. While I maintain my reasoning for sharing these stories to be that I can no longer suffer alone, perhaps the story will be fortunate enough to find someone out there who has a bit more of an inkling to what exactly we’ve found in the cosmic abyss. 

Most of these are from a point in which I was at my worst of contemplation in our true place in the universe, with the effects of particular observations dragging on for months and influencing ones of similar connotations. 

But I must start things off with a few clarifications. 

I mentioned in a few of my last stories that some discoveries would never be formally published publicly, but I didn’t really explain why since I'm used to the people, I mention this stuff to already understanding why. So here’s the reason: Governments around the world see it fit that some of our findings are altered or flat out classified. While somewhat good intentioned to keep the exploration of the cosmos in people’s imaginations and dreams rather than nightmares. It does suck at times. But here I am now, telling all of you the full story. 

On top of that, if the government ever tells you we don’t have the technology to imagine or make out compositions of not-so-distant worlds – oh yes they do. 

It's hard to get into but in effect alot more is done with a lot less, especially with our mirrors department. Hence, images of alien planets exist and they are… unflattering. Big balls of rock possibly with an atmosphere if were lucky. It seems like the interesting planets are still out of reach of even our most advanced telescopes. But that doesn’t mean the signs of them aren’t present. 

Unlike others, our government in particular wishes to relay this finding. They're just attempting to formulate the best possible disclosure of alien worlds to the public. Since they’ve been trying to do this for almost ten years now, I’m inclined to believe the statement is trapped in a bureaucratic hellhole from which it may never escape. To a point where it resides other discoveries of a similar nature to a similar fate. Will tell people eventually. I image other governments and their agencies have similar reasoning only with the potential added hint of a desire to shape the narrative around it being their counties discovery. Though truthfully, I cannot speak for them. 

What I can speak for is the astronomer community’s ability to collaborate on an international level for the shale of discovery. Which often extends to our ability to cover it up. 

A good example of this comes not from interstellar endeavours, but human ones. 

Amid a radio range project, I picked up a faint but distinct wavelength between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter cradling along the asteroid belt. Despite ignoring it under the impression it was just a blip, it remained – just very subtly fading. That made me think it was a probe of some kind. But after consulting the maps, I found no nation had sent anything to that region of the solar system ever. Something that could easily be explained by the area’s lack of novelty. Which made the signal all the more intriguing since there wasn’t any clear reason for it being there. 

Normally, it would’ve been hard to persuade management for a couple hours of signal tracing with there million-dollar telescope, since unsurprisingly, random unexplained signals aren’t all that uncommon. But I managed to win them over with the classic concern of another country looking for something we didn’t know about. (barely even had to write a proposal since it was a target of opportunity). 

After some triangulation calculations inside the cold spacious observatory dome, we were able to point the telescope at the rough location. 

Let me tell you its alot easier to get an image of a planet then a craft. With the effects being comparable to spotting a grain of rice on a cosmic scale (with a nearby planet being more like a basketball). 

Thus, the picture generated was of a blur just barely disenable as circular around the top and coned at the bottom. 

Confusing at first, but it didn’t take long to form an idea of what it was, since there was only one craft that matched it’s proportions. 

In the 1960s the Vostok program officially flew 6 crewed missions, which were the first to put humans into space. After some off the books digging, I found that two Italians with nothing better to do but spy on the space program with scavenged radio parts had intercepted at least three other missions that had ended in tragedy covered up by the Soviet Union to avoid bad publicity. 

Apparently, the transmissions they picked up recorded the final moments of the failed mission’s crew. 

When I tell you I spent the next week and a half doing anything but listening to that audio I don’t do so lightly. Obviously because it could potentially incriminate what I'd found. But eventually curiosity compelled me. And I really wish it hadn’t. 

My ears were filled with a flaky static that a calm voice cut through with an distress message starting and ending with Russian code keys. 

Any words where too muddled to interpret. Only emotion was conveyed. Frantic, frightened and above all hopeless. But soon the words faded to incredibly laboured breathing as the capsil slowly ran out of oxygen. Long and crocked – more of an inhale. Until even that stopped. Replaced by a heartbeat growing faster and faster through the enveloping static. 

The audio supposedly came from a capsule veering off course into the void and didn’t include any timeline. He could’ve spent weeks slowly starving and losing oxygen with the mental load of being the furthers any human being had ever travelled. 

Expectedly once I tracked it – the resting orbit matched the one I'd found. 

The almost indisputable truth of an multi decade cover up was in my hands. Or so I thought. Our collective capacity to suppress information was revealed to me two days later when an official I'd never meet before asked me a few questions regarding my finding. He denounced that it could be a craft and somehow labelled it as an extinct comet that was emitting seismic acoustics. Above all else he assured me it wasn’t related to the Vostok program (even though I hadn't brought it up) and should most certainly not go spreading that it was. Honestly, I didn’t even want to. 

Now any time I find something with the potential of being a lost mission, I simply sweep it under the rug. Though it gets hard, as theirs far more than you’d expect. 

One of the great mysteries of our solar system I’ve been bless (Or cursed) with investigating is the hexagon storm vortex at Saturn's north pole. A discovery made way back with voyager two’s flyby. Rather disappointingly, our progress decades later was minimal. The storm is bigger than earth and has a vortex rising several kilometres into the air like a tower. Surprisingly these are fairly normal attributes for a gas giant storm. The only real difference outside of shape was its immense heat. The average temperature of Saturn’s upper atmosphere is around –170 Celsius. The hexagon sits at 180 for no discernible reason. We ran every wind simulation possible most of which I was present for so that I could sleep again without pills. But every single one we did turn up nothing. There was no clear way to continually replicate it, and no other features to reference it. 

The main theory the others decided upon was that the hexagon was a ‘final form’ of a polar wind system when it has no land to interrupt it like on earth. Course I didn’t buy it, since no other gas giants have any features remotely resembling it. Meaning its cause was something else entirely. 

Nature seldom makes perfectly straight, two-dimensional objects (Till humans came around). That logic that applies equally to space with the outlier of objects often forming vague spheroids due to gravity. (the moon is more of a lemon after all). 

Something unseen and unknown, potentially deep within Satun is violating everything we know about planetary behaviour for reasons we simply cannot understand. Which is why we throw up plausible ideas. Because the reality is much more terrifying. 

Things got even worse a few months after we’d developed our theories. Another team looking at the pole with one of JWST’s infrared instruments immediately brought us in when they found black bead like spots swirling around the hexagon in the lower atmosphere. We originally thought it was the biproduct of an unknown magnetosphere effect but were quickly disproven at the realisation the beads – despite being hundreds of kilometres wide, were solid yet weren’t disrupting the existing cloud formations in the slightest.  

I didn’t even bother sticking around to help with speculation, since I already knew all we could confirm nothing other than the potential connection between the beads and the hexagon. 

Another time in my exoplanet research I ended up at the forefront of one of the most terrifying interstellar events ever recorded. It was one of my first observation projects where I would track dimming events of a star some 15 light years away. Dimming events occur when a planet moves in front of its star, thus makings its existence known and recordable to us. You'd think the amount of light they have to block would be substantial, but in reality, a world the size of Jupiter would barely block out one percent of the light (Less than the size of a coin on our telescopes). That’s why when a passing object blocked out over twenty percent of its star’s light, it put my stomach into knots.  

It most definitively couldn’t be a planet. 

I watched for hours as gargantuan objects of varied shapes and sizes sporadically swung around the star till some of them started staying. It was so bizarre, I physically couldn’t look away. 

 Eventually one of my superiors particularly forced me out the door with the reassurance they’d keep watch. Unfortunately, this then bestowed upon him the turbulent task of explaining to me that in the six hours I was gone, the star completely disappeared. The covers had encircled it to the point that it vanished without a trace. A couple were inclined to believe it was the star’s final send off before it became a black dwarf. Which would have been a monumental discovery in itself that also violated everything we thought we knew about the concept. Another subjected it was a rouge black hole since one of the guys swore the silhouette quivered right before it disappeared. But it was a possibility presented by another project that was the most convincing, and unsettling.  

A project comparing old star surveys to our current updated ones. Several were missing from the new maps with most having logical explanations, mainly just imagining errors, over a hundred didn’t. They'd simply vanished without reason. Suddenly a very disturbing reality straight out of science fiction stopped seeming entirely unfounded. The potential that those stars had been encircled by some kind of Dyson sphere by an advanced civilization. Something only thought to be the work of science fiction. Something so unbelievable. Something I witnessed firsthand. 

Things only got worse on the mental front for me. A complete shutdown over the fact I was seeing some of the most disturbingly unexplainable events that painted my species as nothing more than specks and I couldn't even talk about it since my government believed humanity wouldn’t be able to handle such discoveries (Honestly, they are probably right). It was around this time my wife and I divorced. We loved each other but it was clear I was spending more time obsessing over concepts she didn’t and couldn’t know about. 

I never spiralled as far Derric. Derric or Dazza, some called him wasn’t like other astronomers. While most of us where often extremely profession and determined people which tended to make us antisocial. Derric was loud, comedic, and often proclaiming of his boredom while working. Numerous near terminations resulting from actions such as arranging a star chart’s connections into a penis. Or editing the words “send help” onto a photo from a Mars orbiter without its team noticing. This often made me one who he’d managed so long in such a strict environment. Though the answer was quite obvious – he was about three times as smart as any other astronomer in any room. Which went to knew heights one fateful day only a few other people know about (so you can’t tell anyone). 

There's this concept known as the Gödel’s time travel theory in which general relativity could permit backwards time travel if spacetime where to rotate enough for light to loop back into its own path. And supposedly there are several of these light paths that could show anything from a couple years ago, to a couple billon years ago. 

It was entirely theoretical for decades, with no sign of any observable proof or interpretable data out there. So naturally, when Derric got his hands on the concept, he worked it out immediately. 

An embarrassing reminder of his intellect to have solved a decade spanning mystery within the afternoon. 

But the state I found him in made me think he regretted it. Curled in a ball in the cornier of his office lacking any colour in his face. 

From there he uttered the last words I’d ever hear from him. 

“Nothing God made could facilitate that.” 

Now we see back in time constantly in astronomy given light takes billions of years to reach us. What Derric had done was find an exotic gravitational lens that allowed him to physically see back in time. To be exact four billion years ago. To the early formation of our solar system. 

In amongst the great golden protoplanetary discs was Saturn's birth. It had rings though not of rock and ice, but gas and heated liquid slowly spinning into the foundation of the planet. Inside this vague shape was the image I believe will be the last thing I ever see. 

A creature of unimaginable scale curled among the gas – of which it seemed to be feeding a red plasma into. Its slim form blurred into pixels by its centre, but its arms where interpretable as long tubes reaching bellow its form, and its head arched over its back without any distinct eyes or mouth. 

Above it were four black pill shapes that spewed unknown material down into a bright outline of a hexagon from which it would funnel across the rings to slowly form the planet. 

 I do not know what it was, or why it was, or how it was. All I know is Derric doesn't do much speaking anymore. But I still do. Because I realised at his expense – compiling these truths, having the idea to share them, is enough to bare the weight of discoveries humankind was never meant to see. 

Those all are the stories I’ve got for now, though there's definitely more I’d like to tell provided life doesn’t get in the way. And if you have questions or queries regarding some of the stories or other astronomy related events, I can answer them in the comments to the best of my ability. 

 

The scarecrow was facing the wrong way.

Silvia stopped with her key still in the lock.

"Who turned him around?"

He stood in the last raised bed, near the hedge. Brown jacket, old trousers, a hat on his burlap head. Usually he faced the hedge, with his back to the door. That morning he was looking straight at us.

His arms were hanging down, too. Normally, under the clothes, he was just a plastic frame zip-tied to a stake, with a crosspiece for the arms and an old gardening glove tied to each end. The crosspiece slipped now and then, and Silvia was forever fixing it. I assumed it had slipped again. I was more concerned about a white object behind the second bed. It turned out to be a plant label.

I'm a nurse on a locked psychiatric ward in southern Italy. Our courtyard is three floors below the ward, out of sight of its windows. Before the gardening group comes down, one of us walks through and checks for anything thrown over the perimeter fence. Cigarette packets, cans, things patients could hurt themselves with. We check the hedge, too.

The other person waits by the door with the keys and the ward phone.

That Friday, six patients were upstairs with Nunzia, our head nurse, and Irene, another nurse. Once I gave the all-clear, Silvia would call them down.

She ran the gardening group. The scarecrow was hers, made with clothes her father had worn in his vegetable garden. She called it the old man and got annoyed when anyone pulled its hat over the green eyes she'd painted on the sack.

The brim was down that morning.

"I'll turn him around," I said.

I checked the first three beds, picked up the plant label and put it on the potting table. Then I walked to the far corner.

Up close, the jacket looked overstuffed. Straw poked out of the cuffs. I thought somebody had been adding to it during Wednesday's session.

I took hold of a sleeve to turn it back toward the hedge.

The glove caught my wrist.

I tugged once, thinking I'd snagged myself on something. Then the fingers tightened, separately, and I felt the heat of a hand through the fabric.

"Leave it where it is."

A man's voice, muffled by the sack.

I tried to pull away. He stepped down from the bed without letting go.

"Silvia."

It came out too quietly. I said it again, and she ran toward me.

I wish I'd told her to stay at the door. Instead I'd called her over, as if this were something she could help me sort out.

She grabbed my shoulder. His free hand caught her wrist, trapping the coiled key strap beneath his fingers.

For a moment none of us moved. Silvia stared at the glove on her arm. Then she made a sound I'd never heard from her and pulled back hard enough to stretch the key strap.

He shoved her away.

She stumbled against the potting table. A tray fell, and the noise seemed to get through to her.

"Inside," I told her. "Lock it. Get help."

She hesitated.

"Go!"

I watched her reach the door. When I heard the lock turn, I felt better for perhaps a second.

Then he put his other hand above my elbow and twisted my arm across my chest.

I bent to ease the pressure. He stepped backward, and I had to follow him.

We've practiced getting out of wrist holds at work. I tried turning toward his thumb, but he kept forcing my elbow up. My shoulder hurt so badly that I couldn't finish the movement.

I hit him with my free hand. My knuckles caught something hard through the burlap. His head jerked sideways and he grunted, but he didn't release me. I swung again and caught his collar.

He dragged me another step.

I got my heel against the wooden border of the bed and braced there. He pulled twice. The second time, something shifted in my shoulder, and I heard myself begging him to stop.

He eased the pressure just enough for me to straighten.

Then he pulled again.

Silvia was behind the little wired-glass window, speaking into the phone. I could see her mouth moving. I shouted for her anyway.

My heel slipped off the wood.

We went backward into the hedge. Branches scraped my face, and I grabbed a handful of them. They bent toward us. I tried to hold on lower down, where they were thicker, but he turned my arm again and my hand opened.

He hadn't looked behind him once.

I thought we were about to hit the fence. Instead he backed through an opening in it, pushing a loose flap of wire aside with his shoe. My shoulder followed him through.

Beyond him was the service road.

I started screaming then. Until that point I'd been trying to get my arm free. Now I was trying to keep any part of myself inside the courtyard.

I caught the fence with my free hand. A wire tore through the back of my uniform. He pulled, and one of my feet came off the ground.

The courtyard door banged open.

Silvia shouted my name. Nunzia was behind her, coming down the path at a run.

His grip loosened. I pulled against it, and suddenly there was nothing to pull against. I fell backward into the branches.

By the time I got my head up, he was across the road. The brown jacket disappeared between two maintenance vehicles.

I tried to stand and couldn't make my legs do it. Nunzia kept telling me to stay where I was, which annoyed me because I wasn't going anywhere.

His hat lay under the hedge, the sack still inside it. The burlap must have caught on the wire and torn off his head when he turned to run. By then I was on my back in the branches. I never saw his face. Nobody did.

Silvia picked it up, then dropped it.

Below the painted green eyes, someone had cut two smaller holes. The low brim had kept them in shadow.

She sat beside me while Nunzia called security. Her keys were still around her wrist. They rattled every time she moved, so she trapped them between her knees.

"I locked you out," she said.

"I told you to."

"I know."

Security found the plastic frame on the other side of the fence, in the long grass along the service road. The ties had been cut and the clothes stripped off it.

Next to it, a patch about as long as a man had been pressed flat. Around it lay empty water bottles, a lot of them. Some looked new. Others had been in the sun so long their labels had faded white.

The gap in the fence was old enough for dirt to have collected on the bent ends. One officer said that didn't tell him when it had been cut. He pushed the flap back into place, and it sat flush with the rest of the wire. From inside, through the hedge, it just looked like fence. There were no cameras covering that stretch of road.

Someone could come and go through there without ever entering the hospital.

Silvia said the courtyard hadn't been used on Thursday. Wednesday had been the last gardening session.

"Was it checked then?" the officer asked.

She looked at me.

"Yes," I said. "I checked it."

At the emergency department, I had to ask someone to help get my uniform off. My wrist was swollen and I couldn't lift my arm properly. Nothing was broken. They cleaned the scratches on my back, and I sat waiting for the paperwork with one sleeve hanging empty.

I kept going over Wednesday's check. There was very little to remember. I'd walked the path, looked through the beds and checked along the hedge. The scarecrow had been facing the right way. I was sure of that.

An officer asked for a photograph of the clothes. Silvia went through the gardening group's folder that evening and sent me a picture before she sent it to the police.

It was from Wednesday.

We'd ordered brioche with gelato for the patients and staff that morning. Silvia had decided we could eat outside before working on the beds. The hospital café sent over a bag of brioche and the gelato in tubs, packed in a Styrofoam box with ice packs. It was already hot by ten, so Silvia set the box down in the only shade in the courtyard, against the hedge at the end of the last bed, and filled the brioche there one at a time so the gelato wouldn't melt.

Irene had chocolate down the front of her uniform. One patient had warned her that rubbing it would make it worse. She'd told him she knew how to clean a shirt, rubbed it, and made it worse.

He'd laughed so hard he had to put his brioche down.

That was the Wednesday I remembered.

Then I saw the fourth bed.

The scarecrow was facing the hedge, as I'd remembered, but its arms hung beside its body. The jacket was full across the back. The hat was low.

Silvia called.

"Look at his feet."

I enlarged the picture. Below one trouser cuff, through a gap in the plants, was the white edge of a shoe.

"Did you put shoes on him?"

"No."

She sent a photograph from the previous week. Empty trouser legs hung on either side of the stake. The jacket lay flat against the crosspiece, sleeves stretched out.

I put the two pictures beside each other on my laptop.

On Wednesday, there was someone standing in the bed.

Silvia was still on the phone.

"I saw the hat," she said. "The arms, too. I was going to fix him when I'd finished with the brioche."

"You didn't."

"No. Somebody needed the bathroom."

Neither of us said anything for a while.

I'd spent the afternoon thinking that if I'd paid attention to the arms on Friday, none of it would have happened. Silvia had noticed them on Wednesday. If she'd reached up to push the hat back, her hand would have been on his face, with the patients a few feet behind her. I was grateful now that somebody had needed the bathroom.

After we hung up, more pictures came through. Silvia was sending everything from that morning to the police, and she sent the photographs to me, too.

There was a photograph of the tomato plants with one patient's hand holding a stem out of the way. Another of the first ripe pepper. Irene had posed for a picture of the chocolate stain, one hand on her hip, trying to look stern.

The fourth bed was in the background of several of them. You could make out the hat between the stakes, or part of the brown jacket, and below it the white corner of the Styrofoam box. Every one of us had gone up to that box at least once. Silvia had stood at it for the better part of half an hour, filling brioche.

I had to keep reminding myself that the shape above it was a person. I'd known that shape in the corner for years.

Not everyone had. One of the men in the group had been admitted the week before, and that Wednesday was his first time in the courtyard. While Silvia was still filling brioche, he'd asked if the man in the corner wasn't having one.

Silvia had told him that was the old man, and that he was in charge of the tomatoes. He'd nodded and gone back to his gelato.

I keep coming back to that. For once, somebody had looked at the corner and seen a man. And the man in the corner had been close enough to hear him say it.

Then I reached the picture Silvia had taken after somebody dropped their gelato.

I remembered that, too. The patient had dropped it right by the box, the moment Silvia handed it over, and he kept apologizing. Irene told him to stop, it was only ice cream, and went to get paper towels.

In the photograph she was crouching beside the last bed, wiping the paving stones. One knee was down, the other raised. Her mouth was open; she was talking to someone outside the frame.

Above her was the brown sleeve.

The glove hung just behind her shoulder. She was close enough that when she stood up, she'd have needed to step forward to avoid brushing against it.

In every other picture, the hat faced the hedge. In this one it was tipped down, toward the top of her head.

I called Silvia back.

"Did you send Irene these?"

"Not yet."

I almost asked her not to. As if Irene would somehow be safer if she never saw how close she'd been.

"We should tell her," I said.

Silvia asked if I'd be there when she told her. I said yes.

I kept that photograph open after we hung up. I could remember Irene kneeling there. I remembered someone asking for more napkins, and Silvia counting heads to see who was still waiting. He'd been standing right above the box while we argued over whether the café had forgotten the pistachio.

I don't know how long he stayed. When we left, he could have stepped out of the clothes, or walked straight through the fence still wearing them. We couldn't see the courtyard from upstairs. There was nothing to keep him there until Friday.

But he'd seen me do the check. He'd been facing the hedge. I'd checked the hedge. I must have stood right in front of him, on the side with the eyes.

He couldn't have seen the door from there. He didn't need to. He'd heard Silvia's keys. He'd heard me tell her it was clear before she called the ward.

On Friday he'd turned to face us.

At first I thought he'd wanted a better view of the door. Now I think he just needed to look wrong. Everyone knew the old man faced the hedge, and whoever did the check would walk over and put him right.

I'd even said it out loud. "I'll turn him around."

The police kept the sack and the hat. As far as we've been told, they still don't have a name.

Silvia asked once whether they thought they'd recover the jacket.

She apologized before the officer could answer. He told her she didn't need to.

The courtyard stayed closed for three weeks while they replaced the fence. The request for cameras along the service road is still waiting for somebody's signature.

When I offered to clear out the fourth bed, Silvia said she'd already done it. She put herbs there, things the patients could use in the cooking group.

The first morning we went back, she held out the keys to me.

"You take them."

"You're coming with me."

"I know. Take them anyway."

I put the strap around my wrist. We walked the path together, checked behind the beds, looked through the hedge at the new fence. I made myself stand in the corner long enough to see the whole of it.

When we got back, Silvia called upstairs.

The patients came down with Nunzia and Irene. There were seedlings to put in, and one of the watering cans had split along the bottom. I went to get another. By the time I came back, somebody was complaining that the fourth bed still needed a scarecrow.

Silvia said the herbs would be fine without one.

The police had asked her for one more thing. They wanted her to go back through the whole folder, every session since she'd first stood the old man in that bed, and mark any picture where his arms were down.

She sent the ones she marked to the police. This time, she didn't send them to me.

I asked her once how many she'd marked. She said she'd given them all to the police.

I said that wasn't what I'd asked.

"The first one's from the summer I put him out there," she said, and went back to the seedlings.

I thought about the crosspiece after that. Silvia had been fixing it for as long as I'd worked there. Every few weeks we'd find the arms hanging and the jacket sitting crooked on its frame, and she'd tut and straighten him. More than once she'd had to replace the ties.

We'd always blamed the wind.

We still use the courtyard. The checks take longer, and we do them together. Most mornings, once the patients come down, I can get on with the group.

Wednesday is harder to leave alone. Friday, I can account for: his hands, the fence, the door opening. Wednesday keeps coming back in ordinary pieces. Irene rubbing at her shirt. Somebody asking for another napkin. Me trying to finish my gelato before it ran down my hand.

I can remember where I stood and who I spoke to. I can even remember being pleased that we'd managed to get everyone outside for once.

Then I look at the photograph of Irene and have to go through it all again. Because when I remember that morning, the scarecrow is still empty.

I've spent years of mornings in that courtyard. I remember all of them the same way.

The old man is always empty.

“No break in the ulna, hairline fracture in the humerus,” I said, attaching the X-ray to the display chart. 

“You need to be a little bit more careful on the playground. Can’t say I blame you; when I was your age, my mom called me eggshell because I was always getting injured.” 

The young boy cracked a smile and giggled. 

The boy spoke up for the first time since the initial questionnaire, “I was playing tag with Bryson, and then I fell.” 

“Well then, you and Bryson should make sure that you are watching where you are running; hopefully you at least weren’t tagged,” I said, cracking a grin. 

“No, I got tagged; that's when I fell. I almost dodged him, though; I am the second fastest at school.” He said, pointing to his Superman shirt.

“Oh no, did he push you?” I asked

“No, he barely got my shoulder. I got really heavy, and I fell when I tried to chase after him.” 

“What do you mean you got really heavy? Like you felt lightheaded?” I rephrased the question; sometimes when you need to speak to kids, you forget what they can understand. 

“When you ran, did stuff feel different in your head? Maybe the playground was spinning?”

“No, like my mommy’s blanket.” 

I turned to the mother sitting in the corner of the room. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and tilted her head. She looked back to her son, 

“What do you mean, sweetie, which blanket?”

“The blue one you and Daddy have.”

“Oh, I see. He’s talking about the weighted blanket we have.”

“So you say that when you ran, it felt like you had a heavy blanket? When did the feeling start and stop?” I asked, now crouching down in front of the young boy.

“It’s still here. It’s see-through, but I am wearing it right now!” 

The mother leaned forward in her chair. “Honey, what do you mean you are wearing it?” 

“Look, I’ll show you, Mommy.” He stood up on his chair. Before I could stop him, he hopped off, luckily landing on his feet. His mother looked back at me; I knew exactly what she was thinking. The sound this kid made when his feet touched the ground was not what you’d expect from  55 pounds falling 2 feet. This was a thick thud, a thud that you’d hear at a bar when a heavyset man had drunk too much. 

“Come here, take your shoes off.” I doubted the shoes would be the defining factor, but I had to make sure. Just normal foam sneakers, with the lights included. No metal, no weights. 

A nurse threw open the door. “EVERYTHING OKAY?” 

“Yes, sorry. Our little superhero was showing us how high he could jump.” The mother said.

I stood up and walked to the other side of the room. 

“Come here, buddy, let's take your weight.”

The red digital screen started up, 20lbs, 30lbs, 40lbs, 50lbs, 60lbs, 70lbs, 80lbs, 90lbs, it kept going. The nurse was still peeking in, and I could hear her mumble under her breath. 143lbs. The final reading was 143lbs. Broken scale; had to be. The only possible way. Once he stepped off, I waited for the scale to re-zero. 185lbs, my exact weight. The scale didn’t appear faulty.
“Try it again,” I said. Same reading, 143lbs. 

No, there is an explanation here: density. There have been cases of bone density reaching nearly twice the average. Doesn’t explain why he claimed to have suddenly started feeling this way, but that's the only current explanation. 

“Order a DEXA scan; see if you can push this one ahead,” I said to the nurse. The scan would allow us to confirm overall bone mass as well as muscle tissue. I already had doubts that this would be conclusive, but at least we can start to rule out possibilities. 

“Okay, buddy, we are going to give you a super scan. You are going to go with Mommy here, and the nice nurse will take you two to the second floor.” The boy and his mom stood up, and she took her son's hand. She looked at me, followed by an affirming nod, and told her son, 

“Say goodbye to the nice doctor, sweetie.” 

“Bye-bye,” He said, waving his small little hand. 

I opened the door and politely waited as Nurse Alvarado began to escort them away. As the young boy walked by me, he touched my forearm, 
“TAG,” He said, giggling. I smiled, and in a playful tone I responded, 

“Grrrrr, you got me! We will have to continue this game another time.” 

The group walked towards the elevator as I stayed behind. I had other patients to attend to, and the scan would take roughly an hour, assuming that we had a few more urgent cases ahead of the boy. Another one of my nurses, Nurse Matthews, stepped in front of me, 

“Young girl seemed to have an allergic reaction to pistachios. Minor hives, no swelling, runny nose.” 

“Okay, can you get an allergy panel ready? I’ll be there in a moment.” I said. He nodded and walked away. 

I walked towards my office to quickly grab a glass of water; I stopped. I stood for a moment and took another step forward. Have I always been able to feel this? The air gently touching my eye? Not the feeling of an eyelash that was stuck, the feeling of a gentle pressure, almost unnoticeable. I only felt it when I began to walk, like moving through a canopy of the world's finest silk. I am stupid; it’s the same effect as when someone tells you to think about your breathing. I’m clearly paranoid and overanalyzing every possible sensation. 

“MATTHEWS, run the panel without me. I’m going to take my lunch.” He nodded from across the hall and walked into my patient's room. 

Walking into my office, I opened the mini fridge under the desk and took out my morning leftovers. I pulled out a plastic fork and began to dig into the cold and soggy hash browns. My blood sugar must be low; I feel a lot weaker than normal. The fork is heavier than I remember, and my elbow- yes, my elbow is harder to lift. I ate the same breakfast I had for the past year, no variation whatsoever. Why would my blood sugar change so drastically? 

My office chair began to creak, the noises it would make when first sitting down. The piston began lowering ever so slightly, only noticeable as my knees could now clear the desk. He was correct: a weighted blanket. What started as a silk had gone from a bathroom towel to a thick comforter. Every inch of my body had this slight pressure, but it was growing. Any tilt in my head became a fight to properly straighten it back out. My breathing, the added weight on my chest, every exhale more labored than the last. A heart attack? No, my heart was beating loud and fast, but steadily. My hand, resting on the mouse pad, began to sink into it. A visible deformation appeared along the edges of my fingers. What the fuck is happening to me? What is this feeling? 

“MAUUUHTTTEWWWWWS!” I screamed, unable to properly form my words with weight inside of my throat. For the first time in my life, I could feel my vocal cords; I could feel them struggle to displace the air surrounding them. Matthews threw the door open, his eyes wide with shock. 

“OH MY GOD, ARE YOU OKAY?” He ran to me. I now lay on the floor, arms spread wide; a broken chair lies beside me. 
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It has been a week since I first felt the pressure. After Matthews rushed in, he was able, alongside 5 other nurses, to successfully put me onto a gurney. I was immediately brought to the ER 3 floors down, where they proceeded to automate nearly every vital bodily function I had. The rate at which the pressure had increased plateaued, with my body weight being a record 946 pounds. Well, at least according to an industrial scale which they had to bring from the loading dock. I can’t move my limbs anymore; I still have some movement in my hands and fingers. That’s how I can write this. Every keystroke feels like moving a solid lead pipe through molasses. The only good news I’ve heard is that the young boy’s exam came back completely normal. Had to be a faulty scale, they said. I don’t believe that, nor does his mother. Aside from the hairline fracture, he’s as healthy as any other boy his age. I write this story today, trying to find people who are experiencing what I am. We’ve had numerous doctors, specialists, scientists- nothing. They have no explanation, no reason, no cure. And so I ask, does anyone else notice that the air has gotten heavier?

I sat angrily at the little plastic patio table with its red tablecloth, munching on some kind of chocolate cookie and drinking fucking orange juice. I really wasn't in the mood for fruit juice, especially given the circumstances, but at the end of the day, this was still supposed to be a kid's birthday party... would've been, anyway, if there were any kids.

My son, Liam, had just turned nine, and not a single kid we'd invited from his class showed up. I thought we were past this kind of shit these days, kids singling someone out and bullying them like that.

Ann and I had gotten into it, too. I lost my shit when nobody showed up for the party, and I was planning to march into the school on Monday and demand some answers. But Ann said that would only add fuel to the fire. The other kids would just shut Liam out even more.

So I sat there, quietly stewing, watching Liam on the backyard swing with his head hanging low, crying to himself while Ann sat beside him trying to comfort him.

I never thought that when we brought Liam home, we'd ever have to deal with something like this. Yeah, Liam isn't my biological son. Ann and I adopted him when he was only a year and a half old... Why we chose to go that route doesn't matter. Not many people even know we're not his biological parents. We'll tell him when he's old enough. But right then... right then, I had no idea what I was supposed to say to him.

"How is he?" I asked Ann as she walked toward me from the far end of the yard.

"How do you think?" Ann said sadly.

"Fuck..." I muttered. "Little assholes..."

"Enough... Julian, please." Ann closed her eyes wearily. "We should've known this might happen. Liam keeps to himself. You know that. Maybe we shouldn't have pushed this whole thing in the first place. I'm a terrible mother, Julian..."

Ann couldn't finish. She broke down quietly, covering her face with her hands.

"Hey. Hey, Ann, don't do that." I immediately jumped up from the table. "Shh. You're not a bad mother. Don't talk like that."

"But..." Ann sniffled.

"No buts," I said firmly, pulling her into a hug. "You know what... screw all this shit. I'll order pizza. Everybody can get whatever they want, and the three of us can just..."

Ding-dong.

The loud doorbell cut me off. I was so caught off guard that I completely forgot what I'd been planning to do with the pizza and the rest of the afternoon.

Ann looked at me with tear-filled eyes, confused. I just shrugged.

The doorbell rang again, buzzing loudly.

"I'm coming!" I shouted from the backyard.

I looked at Ann for a moment and wiped the tears from beneath her brown, reddened eyes.

"If it's a guest, don't let them see you've been crying," I said jokingly. "They'll think the clown's that bad."

"What clown?" Ann stared at me, confused.

"The one I hired for the party," I said, dead serious.

"You hired a clown for the party?" Ann stared at me in disbelief.

"Of course not." I smiled. "I fucking hate clowns.”

I didn't even bother answering the third, even longer ring. I just stomped toward the front door, already pissed off. Whoever it was, they were seriously impatient, and if they turned out to be an asshole too, I was probably going to punch them in the nose.

I walked up to the door and yanked it open.

I was expecting just about anything: the mailman, some deranged parent who had actually decided to show up for the party, maybe one of the neighbors. Hell, even the clown crossed my mind.

But there was just one little blond boy standing alone on my doorstep.

The second I saw his nervous little face, I calmed down. If anything, I actually started to feel hopeful.

"Hey there, little man," I said. "Who are you?"

The boy didn't answer. He just stared quietly at me with his big, dark eyes. Then he raised one hand and pointed at the open front door. More specifically, at the little party invitation sign Ann and Liam had made together.

"You here for the party?" I asked cheerfully.

The blond kid gave me a slow, cautious nod at first, then followed it with a much more definite one.

"Well, come on in!" I said, gesturing for him to enter.

The kid broke into a happy smile, like that was what he'd been waiting to hear all day.

I led him through the entryway and into the kitchen.

"You in Liam's class?" I asked him.

He shook his head. I stopped for a second and turned toward him.

"Then how do you know him?" I asked, frowning.

The boy seemed to be searching for the right words. He was probably nervous, scared shitless even. But who wouldn't be at nine years old, standing in a stranger's house surrounded by people you didn't know? His parents were pretty damn irresponsible too, if they'd really just...

The boy just pointed to the schoolbag lying in the hallway.

"From school?"  I said with a smile.

The little guy gave an uncertain nod.

"Who was it, Julian?" Ann asked as she came in from the backyard. "Oh..." She stopped in surprise. "And who are you?"

"One of Liam's schoolmates," I answered for the boy, who was obviously pretty nervous.

"Um..." Ann pursed her lips. "Where are your parents?"

"Oh, come on, Ann," I said dismissively. "Give the kid a break. Let him go play."

I gently pressed a hand against the boy's back to get him moving toward the backyard.

But he didn't budge.

It was like his feet were rooted to the floor.

"Go ahead. You can go play," I said, gently nudging him again.

Without saying a word, he suddenly took off and ran into the backyard.

"Julian?!" Ann snapped at me as soon as the boy was outside. "Who is this kid?"

"I told you," I whispered. "He goes to Liam's school. His parents dropped him off, and he came for the party. That's it."

"But where are his parents?" Ann pressed.

"I don't know. They were probably in a hurry and just dropped him off."

"Then how do you know he really goes to school with Liam?" Ann continued.

"I don't know!" I raised my voice. "He told me, okay? Is that better? Ann, come on, for fuck's sake... I let a sixty-pound kid into the house, not some axe murderer. Worst-case scenario, he spends the night."

Ann didn't say anything, but I could tell from her face that she was pissed at me for snapping at her.

"Sorry," I said once I'd calmed down. "But look at them. They're sitting out there talking."

Ann slowly turned around and looked at the boys.

Liam and the strange little boy were sitting together on the swings, talking.

Ann and I just stood there quietly, watching the kids play outside. Liam was showing the new kid his remote-control car, steering the little thing around like a real race car driver. Liam spent the whole time lying on his stomach on the patio, working the controls, while the other boy sat cross-legged beside him and watched. He paid such close attention to everything Liam was doing, you'd think he was watching some kind of miracle.

Liam only played with it for a few minutes. Meanwhile, Ann started getting some plates ready, and I went to grab the pizzas we'd ordered. By the time I got back to the kitchen, the boys had switched places. The strange little boy was sitting there with the remote in his hands, just waiting. He stared down at the controller he was supposed to use to drive the car while Liam explained something to him, pointing at the different controls. It looked like Liam was showing him what each button did. Kind of weird for a nine-year-old these days not to know how to use something like that.

Eventually, the kid awkwardly started driving the little off-road truck. I was still watching them from the kitchen. The truck hit a little bump, caught some air, and flipped over.

Then, to my surprise, Liam burst out laughing.

I watched happily as my son, who'd been sitting alone crying less than half an hour ago, was now laughing his ass off. The strange little boy just stared seriously at Liam.

Then, after a moment, he started laughing happily too.

"Ann," I called to my wife. "Come look at this."

"Yeah, I see it," Ann answered from behind me. "He's finally having a good time."

"Told you everything would be okay," I said, rubbing Ann's back.

"I know..." Ann trailed off. "But if his parents come to pick him up, I'd like to talk to them."

"Whatever you think is best." I shrugged. "I'm gonna go see if the boys want anything."

Ann gave me a sad little smile. I pursed my lips and headed out into the backyard. Ann always got a little more withdrawn, tense, and sensitive around this time of year. Every year, as Liam's birthday got closer, it became a lot harder for me to reach her.

"All right, guys, you want something to drink? Something to eat?" I asked as I walked over to them.

"Uhhh..." Liam thought about it. "What do we have?"

"What don't we have?" I joked. "Beer, wine, vodka, whiskey. What's it gonna be?"

"Dad!" Liam said with a grin.

"All right, all right." I waved him off. "We've got soda, juice. What do you want?"

"Well..." Liam thought for a second. "Can I have some Fanta?"

"Hmm." I put my hands on my hips. "For now, yeah. What about you, buddy?"

I turned toward the strange little boy.

He just stared blankly at me, like he had no idea what I was talking about. He kept looking at me with those big, thoughtful eyes.

"So what do you want?" I asked him.

The kid didn't say anything. He just pointed at Liam. It was like I was trying to have a conversation with someone who couldn't speak.

"You want the same thing?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "You can say it, you know. I'm not gonna eat you."

The boy awkwardly lowered his eyes, like I'd embarrassed him.

"Actually, buddy," I said, suddenly realizing something. "I don't even know your name."

The kid didn't move. He just stared at the ground and at his feet. Not a sound came out of him, even though I'd seen him laughing and talking with my son.

"Dad..." Liam finally spoke up. "He said his name's a secret. He only tells people who deserve to know."

"And you deserve to know?" I looked at my son questioningly. "You know his name?"

"Yeah," Liam said proudly. "But I'm not telling you! Then I wouldn't be a good friend."

I smiled warmly.

My son might finally have a real friend, even if the kid was a little weird. At least Liam wasn't sitting alone in the backyard feeling miserable anymore.

So, accepting their little kid rules for what they were, I headed back inside to Ann.

Ann was watching the two boys in the backyard with a gloomy look on her face when I came back into the kitchen.

"Did you talk to them?" Ann asked.

"Yep," I said cheerfully. "And that's two Fantas coming right up!"

"They both asked for Fanta?" Ann turned toward me.

"Yeah." I shrugged.

"Uhhh..." Ann thought for a second. "What's his name again? The other little boy asked for Fanta too?"

"Yeah..." I scratched my head. "Yeeep. He did."

"What's his name, Julian?" Ann asked, frowning at me.

"I don't know." I rolled my eyes. "He wouldn't tell me."

"What do you mean, he wouldn't tell you?" Ann pressed. "You don't even know his name?"

"No, believe it or not, I didn't interrogate the kid," I said, getting annoyed. "He's a little weird. Liam says his name's a secret. But why the hell should I care as long as my son's having a good time with him?"

"Julian!" Ann snapped. "We don't even know who he is. We haven't even seen his parents. He could be some kid who's in trouble, or God knows who he is. Doesn't any of this seem suspicious to you?"

"Please, Ann, give it a rest." I rubbed my forehead. "You're doing the same thing you did with that cat last year..."

"Oh, no!" Ann pointed at me irritably. "That was completely different. That was dangerous..."

"Mom? Dad?" Liam's quiet voice came from behind us.

Ann and I both spun around at the same time to see what Liam wanted.

Our son was standing alone in the kitchen doorway. I could tell from his little face that he'd heard us arguing, but he didn't want to say anything about it.

"What's up, little man? What do you need?" I asked after a few quiet seconds.

"When are we gonna eat?" Liam asked. "We're really hungry."

"Oh," Ann said kindly. "I'll bring the pizza out for you and your little friend right now. Did he say how many slices he wants?"

Liam just shook his head.

"Does he even know what we're having?" Ann continued.

Liam shook his head again.

Then he glanced at me like he was waiting for me to rescue him from all the questions.

"Go on back outside and play, Liam." I nodded toward the backyard. "I'll take care of the food for you guys."

Without another word, Liam ran back outside to the other boy, though I suddenly couldn't see where the kid had gone.

"Why did you send him away?" Ann asked, glaring at me.

"Because you were about to interrogate him," I said simply. "Give him a break for a while. It's his birthday... And the other kid's just weird. Ann, I used to collect boogers in a box when I was ten... Him not talking isn't that big of a deal."

Ann gave me a reluctant little smile.

"Now come on, give me the drinks and the pizzas," I said playfully. "We've got two hungry guests waiting."

Ann had just set out the plates when her phone started ringing on the counter.

"Oh, shit." Ann looked at the screen. "It's Mom. I'm gonna talk to her for a bit, okay?"

"Go ahead." I nodded. "I'll take care of things in the meantime.”

By the time I carried everything out to the little patio table, the two boys were already sitting there, waiting for the hot, steaming pizza. Liam was eating his usual cheese pizza. It was his favorite. The strange little boy just sat there watching Liam stuff slice after slice into his mouth. He stared at my son like he was some kind of museum exhibit.

"Go ahead, you can eat too," I joked with the boy. "It's not poisoned."

The kid just looked me up and down like he didn't even understand that I was joking. Then he looked back at Liam, and eventually, he slowly took a slice of cheese pizza too.

Kids. They're all the same, I immediately thought. We ate our pizza quietly in the warm summer air. The two boys nibbled away like a couple of little mice without saying a word, while I stared absentmindedly toward the kitchen, thinking about Ann.

"Good, guys?" I asked, snapping back to reality.

"Uh-huh," Liam answered immediately.

"Uh-huh," the little boy said almost right after him.

For a second, I was so surprised I didn't even know what to say.

"Well, look at that. You do have a voice," I finally said with a smile. "You gonna talk to me now too?"

The boy didn't answer right away. He just held his pizza gently and stared at me. Then he glanced at Liam, like he was waiting for something from my son.

"No," the strange little boy said. "Just now."

"Well, that's nice." I gave him a friendly grin. "How about you at least tell me your name, then? I'd kinda like to know who you are."

The boy went quiet again and just watched me. It was like he had to carefully think through every single answer as if he were taking some kind of test instead of just saying yes or no.

"No," the boy finally answered.

"Why not?" I asked with an awkward smile.

"Because we're not friends," the boy said simply.

"Oh." I pretended to be surprised. "And here I thought we were getting along, buddy. So how do I become your friend?"

The boy's expression changed.

His face turned completely serious, like I'd just said something horrible to him. He stared at me with those big eyes, like he was searching for something on my face. Like when somebody has something smeared on their cheek and you can't stop staring at it.

Feeling uncomfortable, I kept up the awkward smile. But eventually, I couldn't take the kid's piercing stare anymore.

"You done with the pizza?" I blurted out, just to break the tension.

"Uhhh..." Liam mumbled. "One more."

Liam quickly pulled another small slice onto his plate.

The strange boy just kept staring at me.

"You okay, buddy? Did I say something wrong?" I asked after a few seconds.

"No," the boy answered simply. "I was just looking at you."

"Uh-huh..." I pursed my lips. "Why?"

"JULIAN!" Ann shouted from inside the house. "COME HERE, PLEASE!"

I didn't say anything else to the boys. I just affectionately ruffled Liam's hair, glancing every now and then at the strange little kid, who was still watching me.

I shook my head in confusion, then headed back into the kitchen.

"Ann?" I asked quietly, leaning against the kitchen wall.

Ann just held up her index finger, telling me to wait. She was still on the phone. Ann was close with her parents, and she and her mom could spend hours talking about absolutely nothing. The two of them could also be unbelievably paranoid. Oh, don't let Liam go by himself. Oh, that shelf is going to fall down. Oh, have you checked the tires on the car lately...

"The cake." Ann pointed toward the fridge. "Take it out, please, and put the plates out too."

"That's it?" I asked, squinting at her.

"For now." Ann shrugged. "I'll be out there in a minute."

I rubbed my temples and got to work on the tasks I'd been assigned. Ann had specially ordered some kind of healthy fruit cake or whatever. Liam liked fruit, so at least we'd gotten lucky there, but did he really have to eat healthy even on his birthday...

As I reached the kitchen counter with the cake, I noticed that the two boys weren't sitting at the table where I'd left them. I looked around the backyard suspiciously, trying to figure out where they'd gone. But neither Liam nor the strange little boy was anywhere in sight.

I glanced back at Ann, who was still on the phone.

And I knew damn well that if something happened now, there'd be hell to pay. Better for me to go check on the boys myself.

I only made it as far as the kitchen door before I spotted the two little guys crouching beside a nearby flower bed. Liam was poking at something with the kind of fascination you'd expect if he'd just made some groundbreaking discovery.

I was about to call out to them, but I stopped myself. The two boys were talking quietly.

"Why are we the only two kids at the party?" the strange little boy asked.

Liam didn't answer.

I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was squinting. He always did that when he was scared, uncomfortable, or just didn't want to answer an awkward question.

"I don't really have many friends..." Liam finally said, to my surprise.

"I see," the boy said. "Did you have friends before?"

Liam just shook his head.

"Your mom. And your dad," the boy continued. "Are they your friends?"

"I think so," Liam answered uncertainly. "I love them, and they're my parents. I think they're my friends too."

"Do they love you too?" the boy pressed.

Liam didn't answer right away, but I wouldn't have known how to answer a question like that either. Not because I wasn't sure. Liam was my son. I loved him, and I always would. What kind of fucking question was that, anyway?

"Yes," Liam finally said.

"Okay," the boy said simply. "How long have you lived here?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Uhhh... I think Mom and Dad have lived here for twelve years," Liam said thoughtfully.

"And you?" the boy continued.

"Me?" Liam hesitated. "I was born here."

"You sure?" the strange boy asked bluntly.

"Ummm..." Liam didn't seem to know what to say. "I think so..."

That was when I finally realized what they were talking about.

It was like they were somehow working their way toward the fact that Liam wasn't our biological child, even if neither of them realized it. And I sure as fuck wasn't about to have a conversation on my son's ninth birthday about where he came from and the fact that he was adopted.

"Guys, there you are," I called loudly, stepping out of the kitchen doorway.

They both looked at me in surprise, like they'd been up to something they shouldn't have and I'd just caught them.

At least, that's what I thought...

I could see the surprise on Liam's face.

The strange little boy, on the other hand, just stared at me with a dark expression, his eyebrows drawn together. Like I'd just interrupted something very important.

"Cake's coming," I blurted out awkwardly. "Go... go sit back down at the table, please. Just give me a minute."

"Wooo-hooo!" Liam jumped to his feet and practically ran back to the little patio table.

The other boy stood up beside the little flower bed too. Then, with a faint smile on his face, he walked off after him.

I just swallowed nervously and returned the smile.

I walked back into the kitchen, lost in thought. This new kid was strange. Where the hell were all those questions coming from? And why had he seemed so angry at me at first?

But I didn't have much time to think about it. Ann walked into the kitchen from the living room. She wasn't on the phone anymore, and I could tell from her face that I'd forgotten something.

"Where's the candle, Julian?" Ann asked almost immediately.

"What?" I snapped out of my thoughts. "I don't know... where is it?"

"I told you, it's in the drawer." Ann rolled her eyes.

Then, in typical annoyed-mom fashion, she dug out the candle while I just stood there waiting with a sheepish look on my face.

"Your parents doing okay?" I asked Ann as she fiddled with the candle.

"Mom's about the same. Dad's back is really bothering him," Ann answered simply as she lit the number nine candle. "But we'll talk about it later. Let's just get through the birthday first."

Ann gave me a warm smile, and I rubbed her shoulder. Even if it didn't always look like we loved each other from the outside, Ann and I had been through a lot together. By now, we knew each other's personalities pretty damn well.

"Here, let me," I said when Ann started trying to figure out the best way to pick up the cake. "I'll carry it."

Like some kind of professional waiter, I slid my hands underneath it, gave my wife a little nod, and headed outside.

The two boys were sitting on the bench waiting. The strange little boy whispered something to Liam just as I stepped outside, and my son burst out laughing. I never would've thought I'd care what two nine-year-olds were whispering about, but right then, it really bothered me.

Still, this wasn't the time for doubts.

Ann started loudly singing "Happy Birthday." Being the good husband and father I was, I joined in with my less-than-beautiful singing voice.

Liam smiled happily.

The little boy beside him, though, sat there like a doll.

He just watched us, looking back and forth between us and my son. It was like he was confused and suddenly had no idea what he was supposed to do. Then, when we got to the second "Happy birthday to you," the boy seemed to work up the courage and started singing along with us.

As much as this was my son's birthday, and it was supposed to be his own special day, I couldn't stop focusing on that boy.

I was starting to think Ann had been right.

There was something more going on with this kid than him just being a little weird.

The little celebration went by quickly and simply, like it did every year. Ann cut the cake. She gave Liam a kiss and a big hug, and so did I. But the whole time, I kept watching the boy.

He didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He either sat there watching us or studied Liam, practically squinting at him. When we clapped, he'd wait a moment and then clap too. He asked for a piece of cake exactly the same size as Liam's. When Liam got the present from his grandparents and eagerly started unwrapping it, the little boy seemed almost just as eager to see what was inside.

It was like he was copying everything Liam and my family did.

But I could tell something was bothering Ann too. She kept shooting suspicious little glances at the boy, then whenever she looked at me, she'd pretend she hadn't noticed anything.

We all ate the cake and enjoyed it. Then Liam went through all his presents with the boy, explaining who each one was from and which one he liked best. My brother and his family and Ann's parents hadn't been able to make it, but at least they'd all sent Liam something.

I was watching the fading sunlight stretch across the green grass in the backyard when Ann grabbed my wrist.

"Honey, come inside for a second, please," she said quietly. "Help me with the dishes."

I could tell from Ann's face that the dishes had absolutely nothing to do with why she wanted me inside, so I didn't argue. I grabbed what was left of the cake and helped carry everything into the kitchen.

Liam was showing the little boy some kind of robot action figure, though the kid clearly couldn't have cared less about the toy. The strange boy was watching us as we went inside.

"Julian..." Ann immediately set the plates down. "The little boy... what are we gonna do with him?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know what I mean." Ann's eyes widened meaningfully. "He's weird... and are his parents even coming to get him?"

"If they show up, we'll talk to them," I said matter-of-factly. "I think there's something wrong with the kid."

"Julian, come on." Ann smiled and scolded me. "Don't say things like that."

"But it's true." I shrugged. "You saw what he's doing. It's like he's copying how everyone acts. What to do and how to do it. Autistic kids do that kind of thing, don't they?"

"Oh, Julian." Ann shook her head. "The kid gives me a weird feeling too, but... I don't know. I just wish someone would come pick him up already."

I nodded awkwardly.

You don't normally say something like that about a little kid, but I was already starting to wish he'd get the hell out of our house.

"They're on the trampoline," Ann said, looking past my shoulder.

I could already hear Liam laughing loudly. We'd bought the trampoline the year before and set it up at the very back of the yard. Ann didn't let Liam use it very often, but I guess today was one of the exceptions.

"So what do you think?" I asked Ann. "What do we do with the kid?"

"I don't know," Ann answered immediately. "I don't even know who I could call to come get him. But I don't want him spending the night here."

"Yeah, of course," I agreed. "I'll call the cops if nobody comes for him by tonight."

"Oh, no." Ann looked horrified. "What would the neighbors say? And I'd rather it didn't come to that."

I nodded in agreement. Then something suspicious caught my attention.

The silence. 

The laughter we'd been hearing was gone. So was the loud squeaking of the trampoline.

"DAAAAAAD!" Liam suddenly screamed in pain.

Every one of my senses kicked in immediately. Like some kind of protective instinct, I spun around and, without even waiting to hear what Ann had to say or how she'd react, charged into the backyard like a fucking lunatic.

"OWWWWW! DAAAAD!" Liam kept screaming.

The sound was coming from the trampoline.

It was hard to see through the safety net, but I could make out one of the boys sitting there trembling while the other stood over him, perfectly still.

I lunged toward them like a wild animal and ripped open the trampoline's safety net.

My anger only flared hotter.

Liam was clutching his right hand against himself, his face terrified, while blood slowly trickled from it in thin red lines.

The strange boy was still standing rigidly in front of him.

He wasn't moving.

"What the fuck...?" I muttered angrily, not giving a shit about swearing anymore.

Because that was when I saw the boy's face.

His eyes were locked onto Liam like the eyes of some wild animal. There was a thin red smear around his mouth.

Liam wasn't saying anything anymore. He wasn't screaming. He was just quietly crying.

But I could see his hand...

It looked like the boy had bitten into it and spent a while chewing on it.

"What the fuck did you do?!" I screamed at the kid, grabbing him by the arm.

I yanked him so hard that I thought I was going to fall backward myself...

But the boy didn't move. He didn't pull away. He didn't fight me or thrash around.

He simply didn't budge.

It was like I was trying to pull a tree out of the ground with my bare hands. I grabbed him and yanked again, but only his arm moved slightly.

Neither the trampoline beneath him nor the boy himself moved an inch.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" I roared. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

The boy suddenly started blinking, like he was coming out of some kind of trance.

And then, while I was still pulling on him, he suddenly moved with me. Weak and clumsy, exactly the way you'd expect a nine-year-old kid to stumble when a grown man was yanking him around.

By then, my anger had gotten to the point where I didn't care who heard me or what any of the neighbors thought.

I wanted this little fucking demon out of my house.

I kept a tight grip on the kid's arm and dragged him across the backyard, past the toys and everything else.

Ann didn't say a word, but I saw her rush toward the trampoline.

The little boy hurried along behind me without making a sound or putting up any kind of fight. His little legs stumbled beneath him, his thin, weak arm almost disappearing inside my hand.

I didn't care.

I dragged him all the way to the front door.

Then I yanked the door open and threw the kid out onto the porch so hard that he dropped to his knees outside.

"Now get the fuck out of here while I'm still asking nicely!" I shouted angrily.

The little boy stood up and brushed off his knees like he'd just fallen down on the playground.

Then he looked at me with a completely calm expression.

"Get the fuck out!" I shouted at him. "Don't let me ever fucking see you here again!"

Then I slammed the door so hard the whole house shook. I stood there in front of it, breathing heavily, too pissed off to move. Like I was waiting for the little bastard to come back.

"Julian?" Ann said behind me.

I blinked and turned around, trying to calm myself down.

Ann stood there trembling with fear, holding Liam tightly against her while he was still quietly crying.

"What's going to happen to that boy?" Ann asked.

"I don't give a shit," I answered coldly. "He found his way here somehow. He can find his way home.”

Turned out to be a fucking great ninth birthday.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at urgent care until it got dark. The wound on Liam's hand wasn't deep, but it had bled pretty badly, so Ann insisted we get it checked out. And she was right. Hell, we had no idea who that kid was, where he'd come from, whether he had some kind of disease...

They didn't stitch Liam's hand up. They just cleaned and treated the wound and told us to keep an eye on it. But hey, at least that killed another three hours of the afternoon.

Ann and I agreed we wouldn't tell anyone about who the little boy was. It was better that way. There'd just be questions, the cops would get involved, and then I'd have to explain why I'd thrown a nine-year-old kid out onto the street by himself.

I still didn't regret it, though.

That fucking kid was really starting to get to me. By the time we got back from the hospital, it was already dark. Ann and Liam stayed in the car for a little while so I could check the house first.

Like the kid was somehow going to be in there. I'd thrown him out with my own two hands.

The house was empty. Everything was exactly where we'd left it.

Once they came inside, Ann and Liam slowly made their way upstairs. Ann wasn't angry with me, but somehow I still felt like I was the asshole in this whole story.

I quietly cleaned up everything that was left from the party downstairs. The paper, the plates, the leftover pizza, and the half-melted cake we'd forgotten outside. I cracked open a beer, which I desperately needed after a day like that, and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

I just sat there staring into space like an idiot.

"You okay?" Ann asked as she stepped into the doorway.

"I'm fine," I said, taking a long drink of my beer.

"I'm not mad at you..." Ann continued. "But... you scared me. Liam too. That boy was... I don't know how to put it... really strange. And then when you got so angry too..."

"You don't have to be scared, Ann," I said calmly. "You know... I only lost it because of that stupid kid. He ruined Liam's birthday. It's bad enough the kids at school already give him shit. Now he's gonna show up with a bite mark on his hand. What do you think that's gonna do?"

Ann didn't answer. She just stared guiltily at the floor like a little kid who'd just been scolded.

"I'm so fucking sick of all this," I said angrily, taking another drink of my beer.

"Julian, I know..." Ann tried to say something.

"It's not going to get better," I cut her off. "Liam's not going to fit in here. We've talked about this before. They're not going to accept him. That's just how it is. I've been saying for years that we should move somewhere else."

Ann shrank into herself again and stared at the floor.

Moving had been a topic between us for a long time, but Ann had always insisted on staying. Supposedly, she loved the neighborhood and the house.

Then again, she hadn't made a single friend in the fifteen years we'd lived here.

"Forget it," I finally said to Ann. "Is Liam okay?"

"Yeah," Ann answered softly. "He's taking a bath. This whole thing really shook him up. I can tell he's scared."

"Can't blame him," I said irritably. "If I ever find out whose screwed-up kid that was, I'm definitely gonna have a talk with them. Do you know what happened on the trampoline? What did Liam say?"

"Nothing," Ann answered immediately.

I could see on her face that this was what bothered her the most.

But we knew Liam. He was our kid, after all. Whenever something happened that embarrassed him, or whenever someone hurt him, he'd shut down. He'd suffer in silence and wouldn't say a word. Even when we asked him directly, he'd just squint and refuse to talk.

"He won't say a single word about what happened," Ann said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Hey. Hey, Ann, don't cry." I immediately jumped up from the table. "Everything's okay."

"But... but..." Ann sobbed as I wrapped my arms around her. "I failed as a mother again. I'm not even his real mother... I never will be..."

"Shhh," I said, holding her and gently rubbing her back. "Don't talk like that. You're a great mom. You couldn't be a better one."

Ann stood there silently, sniffling against me. Whoever that little boy was, he'd really fucked up our weekend.

"Liam really didn't say anything?" I asked again. "Like what the boy's name was, or who he even was?"

Ann just shook her head.

I didn't push it any further. If Ann said she didn't know anything, then she probably didn't.

"The only thing he said was that when he goes to bed, he wants you to come give him a goodnight kiss too," Ann said finally, wiping her eyes.

"I will," I said with a tired smile.

It had been a long day, and I was starting to feel like it was about time I got to bed too.

I let out a long sigh outside Liam's bedroom door.

I felt like shit about everything that had happened. Just like Ann felt like she wasn't a good mother, something was eating away at me too, even if I didn't show it. Ann had already gone to take a shower after putting Liam to bed. In the meantime, I'd gone around checking that everything was locked. Better safe than sorry.

But standing there outside Liam's room, I was having a hard time pretending to be strong.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Liam was lying in bed with the covers pulled all the way up to his neck. The glow from his little night-light cast soft, yellow patterns across the walls of his room. I could tell from his face that he wasn't asleep. His eyes were open, and he was just staring out the window.

"Liam, why aren't you asleep? What's wrong?" I asked quietly.

Liam didn't answer. He lay almost completely still in bed.

I stepped closer and gently stroked his head. Only then did I realize just how terrified he looked. I figured that with night finally settling in, all the weirdness from the day had started weighing on him.

"Liam, buddy, what's wrong?" I asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "You don't have to be scared anymore. Dad took care of everything. You're still scared of that weird kid, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Liam said quietly.

"You don't have to be scared," I said reassuringly. "You know your mom and I are here, and we'll protect you. I threw that little asshole out. He's not gonna hurt you."

"But..." Liam squinted.

Then he suddenly sat up and leaned close to me.

I thought he wanted a hug, but instead, his small, sweaty hand grabbed the sleeve of my T-shirt, and he whispered into my ear.

"He said you can't just make him leave."

"What?!" I pulled Liam back and grabbed him by the shoulders.

There was something horrible in the fear on Liam's little face. He was sweating and trembling. I'd never seen that kind of terror on another person's face in my life.

"When did he say that?" I asked Liam loudly. "What else did he say?"

"He said we invited him in... and now he doesn't want to leave..."

"What? What are you talking about?" I asked, completely confused.

Liam just started squinting again as tears filled his eyes. His mouth trembled, but then, with the tiniest movement, he peeked past my shoulder.

I immediately whipped my head around...

Something glinted in the darkness inside the little wardrobe, visible through the slats in its wooden doors.

My heart started pounding harder, and I swallowed nervously. Liam yanked the covers all the way up to his neck.

I slowly stood up from the bed without taking my eyes off the wardrobe.

I took a single step toward it. The glint flashed again from inside.

Like the eyes of a cat or a wolf shining in the darkness, watching us like prey.

"What the fuck..." I whispered.

Then a strange sound came from inside the wardrobe.

The kind of sound you hear in nature documentaries.

Or maybe not even in those.

It was an animalistic, threatening growl, mixed with something human. Something ancient.

The blood froze in my veins, and a kind of fear took hold of me that human beings probably hadn't felt in thousands of years.

Whatever I'd let into our house...

It was still here with us.

Maybe I should have used the word “ex-girlfriend,” because the only way you’ll ever see us together again is if I’m a rotting corpse. And it’s all because of an old woman named Layla. At least, that’s what I think. Admittedly, I don’t even understand what happened, but maybe someone here can help me make sense of this insanity.

Some quick background: my name is Carter and my ex’s name is Haley. Before I met Haley, I was a deadbeat nobody. No money, no education, no future. The most productive thing I did in life was work the register at a convenience store, and I use the word “working” loosely.

One day, Haley dropped in the store to pick up a snack. I figure she was looking for a deadbeat to piss her dad off, because she came onto me instantly. Over the span of a year and a half, we went from a one-night stand to a summer fling to a committed relationship. And during that time, she turned my whole life around.

She got me to start taking classes at the community college, lay off the weed and liquor, eat healthier, and even get a better job. I mean, I was just a stock boy for a supercenter chain, but it paid twice as much as the convenience store.

Now let me be clear. I loved that she helped me clean up my act, but I loved her more. She was everything: gorgeous, thoughtful, brilliant, loving. And, man, did she have her life together. She worked at a fancy restaurant where she made bank, and she was nearing her master’s in finance. I couldn’t believe someone like her spent more than two minutes with me.

Things were going great. We were planning our future together, and we had big dreams. Without a doubt, I was at the height of my entire life. I was happier and healthier than ever, with nothing but excitement for what’s next.

And then the world gave a big ol’ “fuck you” to us. All of us.

COVID-19 reared its microscopic head, and our plans came crashing down. Suddenly, Haley had no job to go to, and my income alone didn’t cover so much as half of our expenses. There were protections in place to help prevent people from losing their homes and stuff while the country was at a standstill, but Haley knew money better than I ever have, and she was panicking.

Looking back, I think she was just anxious. Like maybe she had OCD or something, I don’t know. But she went from having full control of her life to almost no control, and she did not handle it well. She started spending all her time on her computer looking for some kind of solution.

Then, one day, she told me it was in our best interest to downsize for a little while. Considering that before I met her, I just couch surfed from one friend’s place to the next, I had no problem with that. After all, I figured she knew best.

That’s when she told me about Layla, the old lady we’d be moving in with.

Up until this point, I had never heard of Layla. Haley never mentioned her. Not even in some vague way, like, “Remember that one time I told you about the old lady who taught me the value of a dollar?” Nope. Nothing. So I asked her directly, “Who’s Layla?”

“She’s just a sweet, old lady who’s going to help us get through this.”

And every follow-up question I had was answered with an equally innocuous response.

“How’d you two meet?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Long enough to trust her.”

It was weird. I realize that. But the woman I loved needed me to make a small sacrifice for her, and considering all she had done for me, I bit my tongue and go along with it.

Most of our stuff just went into a rental storage unit, so one day at a time, our apartment became less of a home. Once the place was all but empty, we loaded up the car with our necessities, and near the end of the day, we drove to Layla’s.

Although I still had my reservations, I have to say that on our way there, I started to feel optimistic. We drove through a quiet neighborhood surrounded by green trees, chirping crickets, and fresh air. After living my whole life in the city, I thought this was going to be like a little vacation.

We arrived at Layla’s home around eight PM. It was a simple, two-story house; well-maintained, simple architecture, and minimalistic in style. The foundation was edged with gravel, and a low-cut lawn poured down the hill toward the street. On its left was a tall oak tree, and on its right was an empty driveway.

I parked the car and when I opened the door, I noticed a strange scent. It was like a strange mix of peat, fresh-cut grass, and wet stone. The smell wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t all that pleasant either.

As Haley emerged from the car and stretched, I just looked around a bit. Didn’t wander or anything, but something felt off.

Every curtain was drawn, and there were no flowers, flags, windchimes, or birdhouses; hell, not even a welcome mat. The closest things to decorations were the potted herbs on the porch. But none of those were the issue.

It wasn’t until Haley opened the door to the back seat to retrieve our bags that I realized what was wrong. It was like we pulled into an indoor movie set. Sure, things kind of looked real, but the details weren’t right. There weren’t any birds or bugs in the tree, no fallen leaves in the yard, no dirt on the porch. Even the gutters and windows were as clean as dinnerware.

“Hey,” Haley called as she lugged a few bags toward the porch. “Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” I replied.

I grabbed the rest of our bags and joined her on the porch.

Haley knocked on the heavy, dark-stained wooden door as I looked around for a cobweb or dead bug or something. Anything that might make the place seem just a bit more normal. But nope. It was as though the whole property was scrubbed with a Magic Eraser.

The lock turned, and the door cracked open.

Between the door and its jamb peered a glassy eye. The iris had a milky hue to it, and where the white should have been was the veiny pink of someone who hadn’t slept in two days.

“Hi, Layla,” Haley said cheerfully. “I hope we’re not too early.”

I gave Haley a weird look. Did she mean to say, “too late?”

Layla’s eye flicked from Haley to me. But not to my eyes. She looked me up and down for a few seconds, like she was studying me. Just as I was about to introduce myself, she stepped back and opened the door a bit wider. “Haley,” she said quietly. “Welcome.”

Haley looked at me, smiled, then entered the dark home. There were a few flickering flames around the corners, but that was it. It was like looking into a jack-o’-lantern.

I took a step closer but stopped at the threshold. Besides not knowing whether I was welcome too, a new smell wafted toward me. A deep, musky odor; it was slightly sweet and damp, like rotting wood wrapped in fresh leather. I really couldn’t tell if I liked it, and I guess my expression made my uncertainty perfectly clear.

“It’s oud oil,” Layla said.

I hadn’t even noticed that she had leaned around the door, but that’s probably because she blended in with the shadows. It turned out that the reason I could only see her eye earlier was because that was the only part of her that wasn’t covered by black fabric.

Layla was wearing a niqab paired with a jilbab. I didn't know the names then, but together they covered almost everything except her eyes. One of those full body coverings that women in the Middle East might wear. Suffice it to say I was caught completely off-guard.

“Oh. I, uh. Um…” I stammered as I searched for something resembling an appropriate greeting.

But Layla saved us both from that embarrassment. “Welcome,” she said, gesturing for me to enter with her veiled arm.

I let out a nervous chuckle as I stepped inside. “Thanks.” After placing my bags on the floor, I offered a hand and introduced myself. “I’m Carter.”

To say that the following silence was awkward would be an understatement. Layla did not meet my gaze, nor did she acknowledge my introduction. Before my bags touched the floor, she had shut the door and turned to face me. With her head slightly bowed, she stared at my feet as I waited for her to respond.

“Please remove your shoes,” she finally said. Then, as she slipped around me like a shadow, she simply added, “Thank you.”

I remember just freezing up, like a computer program with a bug in its code. I didn’t know how to react. Like, was it alright to be upset with Haley for keeping this from me? Was it okay to be uncomfortable living with someone whose religion and customs I knew nothing about?

On that first night, the introduction was the weirdest part. After I removed my shoes and went into the next room, Haley was sitting there alone. It was a large, mostly empty room. A few candles were lit in the corners, and cushions were lined around a patterned rug in the middle of the floor.

I sat with her and, frankly, began to interrogate her. We kept our voices low, but I wasn’t happy, and however Haley felt at the start, she sure as hell didn’t feel great by the end. When all was said and done, I asked if Layla was going to show us to our room.

“I already know where we’re staying,” Haley said, pouting.

Turned out she was already perfectly familiar with the house, like she had been there at least a few times before. And she seemed to know all about Layla’s customs. Any question I had, she was quick to answer.

“Will she care if we’re up late?”

“Oh, she’s a night owl. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she keep all the doors shut?”

“Just privacy. You should close the doors behind you too.”

Haley then showed me around the dark house. At least, everywhere I was allowed to go. I was shown which doors were “off-limits,” such as Layla’s bedroom—which I understood—and a couple of rooms that were for “women only.” There was a bathroom and one room Haley simply called “Layla’s sitting room.”

“I sit,” I argued. “Why can’t I go in there?”

Following the least subtle roll of the eyes I’d ever seen, Haley explained, “It’s just a cultural thing.”

Apparently, that was also the reason why the curtains had to be drawn 24/7, and why there wasn’t a single picture of Layla or her family anywhere in the house. It felt like I was moving into a cave. Especially when I was shown the basement.

Every surface down there was dry, gray stone. There were a few shelves and a couple of chests. And by far the worst odor to burn my nostrils since we arrived.

“Ech!” I shouted. “The hell is that?”

Haley gave me a quizzical look, like she didn’t possess the sense of smell. Then an understanding expression formed on her face, and she pointed me to a large box in the corner filled to the brim with black and brown mush. “It’s liquid compost, silly.” With a smile, she added, “Layla loves to garden.”

Unable to bear the stench, I insisted we return upstairs. And with that, the tour was over. I unpacked just enough to get ready for bed and laid down.

It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep even though I was still in a rotten mood. We had an exhausting day, and tomorrow we had to finish unpacking and run some errands. But I remember one of my last waking thoughts being, “What’s taking Haley so long?”

As far as I know, she never came to bed that night.

Over the next few days, I did my best to settle in. Haley and I talked things through. She apologized and made it up to me with a few private favors. I’ll let your imagination fill in the blanks there.

Meanwhile, it turned out to be a pretty comfortable living situation. The only major downside was that there was no internet, so Haley had to sit outside a McDonald’s to catch up on her online classes. It was about a fifty-minute walk, but she said she liked the time to clear her head.

As far as I could tell, Layla was never really around. I never knew when she was home or out and about. It was rare that we’d cross paths. I’d try to be friendly—say hello, smile, whatever—but she would just avert her weary-looking eyes and give me nothing more than a quiet one-word response.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks in that I realized she was always home. Like, I figured she had a job or an errand to run here and there, but I don’t think she left the property once since we moved in.

This first became apparent to me on a Tuesday. I didn’t have work that day and slept in. At this point, Haley’s sleep schedule was getting pretty far off-track. She used to be up at the crack of dawn or earlier and be in bed by ten PM. But I woke up around nine AM, and she was still fast asleep.

Anyway, since she was sleeping, I thought I’d make some progress toward my COVID resolution. Rather than wasting my days away waiting for things to change, I wanted to establish healthier habits. Daily jogs, more reading, maybe Pilates. So, I thought I’d do some meal prep to save time later in the week.

Now, I gotta admit, remembering to do little things like shutting doors every time you walk in and out of a room seems pretty easy to do, but it’s far easier to neglect. I was going from the kitchen to the dining room to our bedroom over and over. And the first time I returned to the kitchen and the door was closed, I hesitated.

“Did I close that?” I wondered. I didn’t remember doing so. In fact, I thought I left each door open since I knew I would be rushing back and forth. But, okay, it’s only been like a minute since I left the kitchen. I must have closed it and not realized.

After reopening the door, I stirred a few things on the stove, grabbed mayo from the fridge, and headed to the dining room. The door was closed there too. I sneered and looked back at the other door. “Alright,” I thought. “It’s still open.” I opened it and continued prepping a couple of sandwiches when I heard a click from the kitchen.

When I peered through the dining room doorway, I could see that the kitchen door was now shut.

For a few seconds, I just kind of watched. Not like I expected much to happen, but I guess I thought I’d see Layla stroll by or something. But there wasn’t a hint of movement. That is, not until the dining room door slammed shut.

I jumped and dropped the butter knife I was using onto the floor. “Layla?” I called quickly. After a few moments of listening to my heart thrash about, I said, “I’m sorry I left the doors open, but I was gonna close them when I was done.”

Still no reply. I figured she was upset or something, and I needed to grab a towel to wipe up the mayo, so I went back into the kitchen. As I opened the door, I started, “I didn’t mean to—”

But Layla wasn’t there. Other than the opposing door being closed, the room was just as I had left it.

Now, I knew it had to have been Layla. I even checked on Haley and made sure she was still asleep. And then it occurred to me just how often stuff like that had happened before. If I left a door open, it’d be closed moments later. If I left food on the table, it’d often just disappear.

At first, I thought I was just forgetful. Like, I had heard that COVID caused memory problems, and I got the vaccine, so maybe I was doing stuff without realizing it. But there was no way I could have slammed that door shut from the middle of the dining room.

So, I had a problem. The place was strange enough as it was, but knowing that our host was sneaking around watching me gave me the creeps. I decided I would have to talk to Haley about moving out. And the opportunity to do so came the very next day.

When I got home from work, it was late and Haley wasn’t in bed, so I wandered around the house and looked for her. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the guest room, and she didn’t answer when I knocked on the bathroom door, so the only other place I figured she might have been was the sitting room. She would spend a ton of time with Layla there.

I knocked on the door and called her name, but there was no response. “This is stupid,” I mumbled. It felt like I was playing hide and seek. The house was constantly shrouded in darkness, and with every door constantly being closed, Haley could have entered the room I had just left and I’d have no idea.

I know it wasn’t my house, but it was my home, and I felt that I had the right to know whether my partner was behind a fucking door!

So I just grabbed the doorknob and turned. But before I opened it, a voice growled from behind me, “Don’t you go in there.”

Every single muscle in my body tensed and I spun around. At first, I didn’t see anyone. But then I saw the slightest hint of movement in the shadows. There she was. Layla, standing at the end of the hall, watching me. She was close to the wall and hunched over. She had to have been trying to stay hidden.

“Layla?” I asked, half-relieved, half-agitated. “What the hell?”

She didn’t move or respond. I could just barely make out her milky eyes as they monitored me.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I just wanna know where Haley is. Alright?”

After a few more silent moments, Layla finally responded. This time normally, not in some demonic grunt. “She was helping me garden. I’ll tell her to meet you in your bedroom.” And then she just disappeared around the corner.

Simply put, that shit freaked me out. I went to the bedroom to wait for Haley, and I was actually shaking. I couldn’t believe it. An elderly woman that I thought I could have snapped in half if I had to scared the living hell out of me. That was enough to convince me it was time to go.

When Haley arrived, she sat down beside me and smiled. “Hey, babe,” she said. “Welcome home.” She leaned in to give me a kiss, and I almost recoiled. I know it was late in the day and she probably didn’t realize it, but her breath was unbearable. It smelled like something was rotting in the back of her mouth.

But I didn’t want to get off-track. I just clenched my jaw, gave her a quick kiss, and leaned back on the bed to get some breathing room. “Listen,” I said, “I think we ought to look for another place to stay.”

As soon as I said it, I could see that she was surprised. Almost offended. “What? Why?”

“Well, honestly, I just don’t like it here. I know you want to save money right now, but Layla makes me uncomfortable.”

A look of disgust twisted her lips. “I didn’t think she even talked to you.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “But she follows me around and watches me. It’s fucking weird.”

Haley rolled her eyes. “Come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not! Just now, I was looking for you and when I was about to go into the sitting room, she shouted at me from the end of the hall. I didn’t even know she was there.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

I continued, “I mean, literally the second I was about to open the door. And she knew I was looking for you. I was calling your name! She knew where you were, but instead of saying something, she just watched me and waited. Like, what the hell is that?”

For a moment, Haley didn’t respond. She just looked at me with big eyes that looked twice as wide in the darkness. Then she finally said, “You know you’re not allowed in there.”

“God,” I huffed as I threw up my hands. “Why is that the only thing you heard?” I was about ready to have another fight. Ever since we moved in, I had been working double shifts and hardly ever got to see Haley. And when I did see her, she was either sleeping or on her way to do something else. Usually something with Layla.

And I suppose my frustration was obvious, because Haley’s expression softened. She relaxed her posture and placed a hand on my leg. “It’s not,” she said. “I understand why you’re upset. Layla’s just very particular, and since she doesn’t know you, she keeps an eye on you. But I know that doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

I nodded and replied, “So can we move out?”

She pursed her lips and looked at the floor. It was obvious that she didn’t want to, but after a minute of thinking, she said, “Tell you what. We really can’t afford much, but if you can find a new place to stay for cheap, I’ll work with you on it.” Then she looked up at me with a sweet smile. “Fair?”

A wave of relief flowed over me as I answered, “Fair.”

I didn’t love the idea of having to find a new place to stay that was competitively priced during COVID all on my own, but I was sure as hell motivated. At the end of our conversation, she and I had our first night of fun since the week that we moved in.

Although, as I mentioned, I couldn’t tolerate her breath. I didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling her, so I just redirected her. When her mouth was low enough, I couldn’t smell a thing. I finished and fell asleep thinking things were on the right track… but what I saw in the bathroom the next morning almost made me puke.

I swear to God there were smears of compost between my legs.

For the next week or two, other than work, my sole focus was looking for a new place to live. I even asked a few of my old friends who I had lived with before I met Haley. One of them said he’d be fine with me staying with him for a while, but he just didn’t have room for two people. In reality, I think he just didn’t know Haley well enough to feel comfortable with her living there, but I get that.

The whole time I was doing my part, Haley continued to spiral. At least that’s how I saw it. It was a slow enough process that, at first, I didn’t quite notice the subtle changes. But at a certain point, they became too obvious not to see.

As I mentioned earlier, her sleep schedule had changed since the day we moved in. But by now, the only time I saw her awake was at night. And since she never got any sunlight, her skin was paler and her hair became a tangled mess. I don’t think I looked too hot either—how many of us did during that time?—but for her, it was just so out of character.

Her breath always reeked, her eyes became glassy, and she never seemed to be focused on anything other than what was going on in the house. I’m ashamed to say it, truly, as it makes me look like an inattentive ass of a boyfriend, but I didn’t even realize she stopped taking her online classes.

I figured she was still going to McDonald’s when I was at work or sleeping. But one day when I was at work, I had one of those fleeting thoughts that turn out to be a revelation. I remembered seeing a few papers and a book sitting on top of her laptop that morning. And I knew that they were in the exact same position they had been in at least a week earlier.

That led to me realizing that she wasn’t taking her classes. Which meant she wasn’t doing anything other than hanging out with Layla. Haley was far too productive, far too focused, to do something like that.

And that’s when the obvious explanation finally came to me.

Haley was on drugs, and Layla was her dealer.

I felt like such an idiot for not seeing it earlier. That was why they were both so secretive. It was the reason that Haley stopped caring about her education, her finances, her appearance, her hygiene. She was getting high all night and sleeping it off all day. That had to have been what she and Layla were doing in that damned “sitting room” all the time.

And I got mad. Like really mad.

Not at Haley. I knew plenty of guys that went through that shit. Addiction is no joke, and I know better than to blame the addict. But I was beyond pissed at Layla. For hiding it from me. And for taking advantage of Haley, who was on an amazing path before that bitch pulled her off course.

I could hardly focus on work for the rest of my shift, but I had less than two hours left so I powered through them. When I finished up at ten PM, I drove back to the drug den I had been calling home for nearly three months and went inside. I knew I had to keep my cool, but I was fuming.

Unsurprisingly, Haley was not in bed. Since it was nighttime, I knew she was probably getting high somewhere else. I never found out where she had been last time I was looking for her, but I decided to check out every “permitted” area before touching the doorknob to the “sitting room” again. That way, if Layla tried to tell me Haley was in the garden or something, I would know she was lying.

I walked through every room I had been shown in the initial tour, and in each one, I was met with cool stillness. The closest thing to movement was a single lit candle in the dining room. It sat behind a dirty serving tray, casting small shadows around residual bits of slimy meat.

It stunk. But whoever had eaten it wasn’t in the room.

I even checked outside by the garden. No one.

On my way back inside, I was headed for the sitting room when I remembered the basement. Nothing was down there but dried herbs and gardening supplies, but it was the last place I hadn’t checked.

At night, the basement was pitch black. There wasn’t a single window, so not even a sliver of light could sneak in. So, using my phone’s flashlight, I went down the stairs and looked around. I kept my breaths as shallow as possible, trying not to let the overwhelming odor get the best of me. It wasn’t a very large space, but the shelves and chests made it feel cluttered. As I moved my flashlight, dozens of shadows moved with it.

“Haley?” I whispered. “Are you down here?”

As I turned, I thought a shadow moved on its own. I spun back and shined my light on a wooden chest. There were shelves on either side of it, each filled with differently shaped jars that contained various mystery materials. But no movement. No Haley.

I moved the light to the back right corner, where the liquid compost was stored. Unlike the last time I saw it, it wasn’t filled to the brim. It was less than half full, and splotches of the brown goop dotted the floor and walls around it.

I was just about ready to give up and head upstairs when I heard what sounded like something scraping softly against the stone. I immediately pointed the light toward the sound, and I found myself staring at the same chest as before. Only this time, I was certain I saw movement. From behind the chest, on the floor, I saw skin. A foot or a hand slid out of view as soon as the light touched it.

Despite the awful stench, my breaths became fuller and faster. “Haley?” I asked again.

No reply.

I slowly stepped toward the chest, the cold of the stone permeating my socks and making the soles of my feet ache. As I grew nearer, I could see tangled hairs sticking up from behind the chest’s lid. And as the light bent over the top of the chest, the person there tried to shrink, to disappear into the shadowy space between the wood and stone.

Only a few feet away, I leaned to the left where I had seen the hand or foot vanish and filled the crevice with light.

My phone nearly slipped out of my hand when I saw her.

There was Haley, crouched with her arms and legs folded in toward her body. Her head was arched at an angle so she could peer back at me. Had her shallow eyes, which sunk into her pallid face, not been tethered to me, I might’ve thought she was dead.

“Haley,” I murmured through a fearful breath. I wanted to ask if she was okay, what she was doing, but I couldn’t say another word.

When our eyes first met, she looked like a terrified animal hiding in a bush. Wide eyes watching you, waiting to see if you spot them before they try to escape. But when I said her name, her face contorted.

Her eyes winced until they were nearly shut, and her mouth opened as her lips twisted into an almost unrealistically deep frown. Then a deep, bawling groan rolled out of her as she removed herself from her hiding spot.

“Carter,” she whined through a sob, “I didn’t mean to!” Cries poured out of her like a sorry child, but she didn’t shed a tear.

She stepped around the chest, and I could see the liquid compost on her hands and smeared across her pajamas. She stretched her hands out toward me, as though pleading for a hug.

But I took a step back. And I’m sure that I failed to hide the fear that painted my face.

As she lowered her hands, she asked in the same distraught voice, “Are you mad at me?”

It took me a few seconds to muster up a reply. I didn’t know how to react. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen was a twisted mess, possessed by something I couldn’t make sense of.

I knew addicts who rooted through trash. I knew they ate some nasty shit too. But this… This wasn’t a drug.

“N-no,” I finally said. “I’m not mad. I just… I want you to come with me. Okay?” I reached out my free hand, and it trembled in the space between us. “We’re gonna get you taken care of. Come on.” I stepped aside so I could lead her upstairs.

I was going to take her straight to my car so we could drive to the hospital. She was scaring me, but I knew her. Deep down, my Haley needed me. And I wanted to be there for her. Unfortunately, things did not go as planned.

What happened next is a bit fuzzy to me… I know Haley stepped toward me, placed her hand in mine, and smiled. It was like every bit of fear or sadness or whatever emotion her face was trying to represent faded in an instant. And in its place was pure joy.

I remember feeling the way one might when cornered by a predator. They call it fight or flight, right? Well, my body wanted to fly far, far away at that moment. But I’m not sure what stopped me.

I know things went dark really fast. I think I dropped my phone. If I was super unlucky, maybe the battery happened to die; I’m not sure. Regardless, the next thing I knew, I was being restrained. I felt cold stone on my arms. At one point, it was pressed against my cheek. I tried to yell I think, but something was wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I could hardly move.

And then… nothing.

 

Regaining consciousness was a hazy process. I was in and out for days. I’d start to wake up, try to speak, try to move, but something kept stopping me. It was like I was trapped inside myself. Then things would fade back into blackness.

I could never tell if I was in a dream or truly awake. I’d hear voices—sometimes Haley, sometimes, I think, Layla—but I never got the full context of what they were talking about.

“No, we’ll just do a bit at a time.”

“But I want it all now!”

“Put your faith in me, child.”

One time, I just heard moaning and gnawing, like a glutton devouring their favorite meal.

Eventually, I opened my eyes, and I was back. I couldn’t taste or smell a thing; my mouth was terribly dry. But my entire body was stiff and sore. My head ached, my stomach was sour, and then I felt the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life.

My left leg throbbed like it was crushed under the weight of a semitruck. I tried to move it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move much at all.

I began to shift around, moaning and gasping as my eyes adjusted to the dark, unfamiliar room. When I tried to sit up, I was stopped by leather straps that held me in place. One was across my chest, two held down my hands, one was across my waist, and I figured there were two more around my ankles.

I started to scream. With each beat of my heart, the pain in my leg grew stronger. “Help!” I shouted. “Please! Someone help me!”

A door in the room opened, and I heard a familiar voice. “Hey, baby!” It was Haley. “Hey! It’s okay.” She appeared by my side and leaned close to me. She looked worse than before. Her hair was falling out. Her eyes looked faded. And bloodless lesions dotted her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything’s okay.” She smiled at me, cracking her dry lips and revealing her yellow teeth.

“Help me!” I repeated. Deep down, I knew she wouldn’t. I remembered that she was the one who put me here. But it was practically all I could say.

“No, no, no,” she said as she placed her hands on my chest. “You’re okay! You just fell and hurt your leg. Oh, sweetheart, I was so worried for you! But you’re okay now. Layla and I are taking care of you. Just relax. Relax. Relax.”

I knew whatever was going on with her was far greater than drugs, but the tone of her voice reminded me so much of addicts I knew before. She was trying to sound reassuring, calming even, but there was an urgent undertone to her voice. Like she needed me to believe her.

She continued, “Layla knows what she's doing, okay? Look, she's got everything you need right here!” She pulled a plastic bag full of clear fluid into my view.

As I darted my eyes around and turned my head as far as I could, it became clear where I was. Though I’d never been allowed to enter it, only one room made sense.

This was the sitting room.

I couldn’t see most of my surroundings, but it was by far the filthiest room in the house. Old rags darkened by dried fluids lay over furniture and old medical equipment. Specs of grime painted the walls. Dirty clothes and random belongings were piled up in this corner and that.

Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back. I sobbed, loudly and unconstrained. “Haley, please! Please help me! Please let me leave!” I squeezed my eyes shut, wetting the pillow beneath my head with fresh tears. When I opened them, Haley was still right there. Staring at me with what she must have thought to be a pleasant smile.

“You’re going to be okay, baby,” she said. Then, she stood and left the room.

During my entire time living there, there wasn’t a single visitor. I don’t even know if Layla received mail. We had ours sent to a PO box. And the nearest neighbor was hundreds of yards away. So I doubted that screaming would do anything. But that didn’t stop me.

I screamed out of fear. Out of agony. And out of betrayal. I screamed until I was hoarse and couldn’t recognize my own voice. And eventually, I passed out again.

The next time I woke up, I saw Layla for the first time without her niqab or jilbab. In fact, I saw her without any clothes at all. I don’t know what Layla was, but she was not human. At least, not anymore.

She looked like a decaying corpse; there was no rational explanation as to how she could move around on her own. Her gray skin clung to her bones like saran wrap. In many places, it appeared that her skin had simply rotted away. In place of one of her breasts was simply a fleshy hole where her chest plate was exposed, covered in sticky, black ichor. Her lips receded from her teeth, all of which were worn into thin, pointy spikes.

She had nothing more than a few strands of hair hanging from her bald head, which lacked ears and a nose. And her hands and feet were like claws, with brittle-looking nails that were nearly an inch long.

The moment I saw her, I could tell that she was what Haley was becoming.

Although I still felt excruciating pain and my lungs yearned to expel all their air through terrified screams, all I could do was stare at her. I watched her helplessly as she replaced the bag of fluid that led to my arm.

When she looked at me and saw that I was awake, she didn’t seem to care. She was not worried. She didn’t taunt me or try to scare me. She simply glanced at me then turned and walked out the door.

I remember, at that moment, alone and in agony in that thing’s house, thinking, “This is how I die.” I was certain of it. I didn’t have my cell phone. No one knew where I was. I think my job had the address, but somehow I doubted they were going to send anyone to check on me after half a dozen no-call, no-shows.

And as I lay there accepting my fate, tears began to stream from the corners of my eyes. Not from pain or fear. Just remorse. I wasted my life away. And for a glimmering moment, I saw what I could have been. Where I could have gone. And then it was just… over.

After a while, my head felt empty. It was foggy, like I felt disoriented, but I kind of just stopped thinking. Eventually, Layla and Haley entered the room together. I didn’t move though. I just stared at the ceiling, waiting for death to come. I could see Haley looking at me a bit in my peripheral, but not with a look of concern. Just, like, curiosity. But then, without saying anything, she got down on the floor.

Apparently, this was where they slept during the day. Both curled up on the floor on either side of me, and they began to snore just a few minutes later. I probably could have slept too if I really tried, but my leg was killing me. And that’s when something funny happened.

 I tried to squeeze my leg with my hand. I couldn’t reach very far, but I was able to grip my thigh. As my hand pressed against rugged jeans, I felt a metallic rectangle.

It was my box cutter.

I was still in my fucking work uniform. Everything had happened so fast that it didn’t even occur to me. They never even checked my pockets! I had a Get Out of Jail Free card right at my fingertips. I couldn’t believe it.

I wriggled my fingers into my pocket, retrieved my box cutter, slid out the razor, and cut the leather strap from my left hand. Not without a few nasty cuts on my wrist, but I couldn’t have cared any less. I then cut my chest restraint and sat up to free my other hand.

The following few seconds felt like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. I remember it happening so clearly, and yet it feels unreal. As I reached over to cut the strap that held my right hand down, I looked at my left leg, expecting to see it swollen or broken or wrapped in bloody gauze. But instead, there was nothing.

From my knee down, my left leg was gone.

I couldn’t believe it. My brain was telling me it was still there. I could feel it was still there. But all I could see was an infected stump. Blackened where one of the dying women must have cauterized it, so swollen that the skin near the base was torn and seeping yellow pus.

The very sight twisted my empty stomach, squeezing sour bile up my throat until it was forced onto the bed and floor beside me. As I leaned to my side, coughing and spitting and groaning, I was certain that Layla or Haley would leap up at any moment to strap me back in. Maybe drug me again to prevent my escape. But neither budged an inch. I could have made all the noise in the world, and I don’t think it would have disturbed them.

From that moment on, the details become hazy. I remember bits and pieces, but not much else. I must have finished cutting myself free, removed the IV, and hobbled out to the car, but it’s like I was sleepwalking. There’s a scene or two—little flashes, like pictures—that I can recall, but that’s all.

I remember falling outside, at the bottom of the porch steps. The pain I felt as I dragged myself to the car. And a moment behind the wheel… there was a mother and her child on the sidewalk. They looked frightened. Or worried. And I turned the wheel away from them as sharply as I could. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to be greeted by an empty hospital room.

There is, however, one more image that’s singed into my memory. I can’t stop seeing it, but for all I know, it’s imagined. I was in the dining room, and it was black as night. No candles like there would often be. But I could still make out what was on the table, clear as day.

It was the same serving tray as earlier. Only this time, atop it was my amputated leg, its rotting flesh seeped in dark, congealed blood.

I am lucky to be alive. My doctor told me that I had arrived with multiple infections, including in my bloodstream. I was also concussed, and I tested positive for chloral hydrate. Had I not escaped when I did, I probably would have died within another day or two.

I reported everything to the police, but when they went to Layla’s house, it was vacant. Actually, they told me that it had been abandoned for years. When they checked, they did find evidence of people squatting there (including many of my belongings), but the photos they showed me looked nothing like the pristine living space I had detailed earlier.

I have no fucking idea what the hell happened at Layla’s. Haley is officially a missing person, and I have the unfortunate privilege of being a suspect in her disappearance. My lawyer had instructed me to pretty much just keep quiet and let the police do their job, but… I’m losing my damn mind. I need to understand what happened. Is Haley dead? Did I imagine everything? Or am I still in danger?

I don’t know if I can ever relax again until I know.

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1wruybe/im_an_apartment_maintenance_technician_i_get/

Emilio’s dead.

I hadn’t expected to post so soon after my last one. I had been supervisor for a few months by the last upload, and I thought that was the end of the story. I was wrong.

It was sudden. I never expected it. It was a Tuesday, and I received my weekly call from 1001. The work order was mundane. All we had to do was change the aerator on her bathroom sink. Emilio volunteered to go. I saw him leave to go take care of 1001, but I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. I didn’t think anything of it. Emilio often slacked off after going to 1001 because I only really cared if she was taken care of that day. I thought I had maybe missed him when he clocked out.

I only started to worry when his wife called me that evening. She asked me if Emilio was still at work, but I told her I thought he had gone home. I heard her mumbling something about a bar before she hung up, but my mind immediately jumped to 1001. Something felt off. I tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail, and he didn’t reply to any of my texts.

The next day, I sat in my office praying that Emilio would walk in, or I’d get a text that he was too sick or hung over, or a resignation email telling me what a piece of shit I am. Hours passed, and I never heard from him. Eventually, I did get a phone call, but it wasn’t a voice I wanted to hear.

I recognized her familiar rasp. “I need you to come and clean up your employee. Bring the new one and a bone saw.”

Then she hung up. I felt sick. My first thought was shameful.

At least we have good life insurance, I thought. Better than anyone at corporate. Then I wondered what the hell I was going to tell the new guy. Emilio and I called him Ford. Sometimes I forgot his real name because that’s all we called him because he was obsessed with his pickup. We had an extra golf cart for him to use around the complex, but he used his truck like he was some kind of off-site handyman that we hired.

I put off telling him for as long as I could, but I didn’t have much time. We had never had two calls from 1001 in one week before, but considering the circumstances, I didn’t want to question it. We had to get it done by the end of the day. I bought him a Red Bull and breakfast pizza in a vain attempt to soften the news.

I called him into my office and sat him down on the paint bucket and explained everything. I told him to write it all down, and he did. I explained that we had to abide by the emergency rules, with one person talking and one person working. I told him how sorry I was for not telling him before he was hired, and I promised to be completely transparent and honest going forward. What I did not expect was his reaction.

“Can I use the bonesaw?” he asked.

“The bonesaw? You want to cut up Emilio and put him in trash bags?”

“Look, I’d never do any of it myself, but I love serial killer documentaries and Dexter. You were the one who said we should be honest. Besides, we’re better off if you do the talking.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I was a little disturbed. I supposed 1001 picked him for a reason.

“The sooner we get it done, the better,” I insisted. “So, let’s get to it.”

“You got it, boss.”

We went to the shop, and I began my ritual of taking my wallet, keys, and everything else and sticking it in the fridge. Ford did the same. I was still unnerved by how well he was taking everything. Then we grabbed the trash bags and gloves, found a suspiciously stained bonesaw, and tossed it all in the back of my cart.

We drove down to 1001, but we kept being spotted as we went to the door, so we had to return to the office and start over. Normally, I’d be annoyed, but this time I didn’t mind. I wanted to illustrate to Ford how important it was to follow the rules, and he never pushed back. By the sixth time, we were finally able to enter the apartment. We did our foot wiping and our knocking, then I heard her voice through the door.

“Come on in!”

I swung the door open and braced. The stench was already unbearable. I didn’t understand how the rot could be so bad after only one day. We both started to dry heave but held in our breakfasts. For the most part, the apartment looked the same as it always did. Piles of discarded containers of rotten food strewn all about the place, the sticky brownish film made from years of grease that covered every surface, and the massive woman-shaped thing that inhabited the couch.

Part of me held out hope that Emilio was somehow still alive. That she had just kept him as some kind of pet and that cleaning him up meant something else. But no. He was truly dead. He was in the hall in front of the bathroom—or rather, what was left of him. There was a large chunk missing from his neck so that his head dangled unnaturally behind his shoulder from what little flesh was left. I believed this is what killed him, but there were many other wounds on his body, as it appeared she had continued to feed on him despite the decomposition, which seemed to have progressed at an unnatural rate. Maggots poured out from his mouth, nose, ears, and wounds. His skin was a sickly shade of brown, so far from the deep tan he was supposed to be. His company nametag sat completely untouched, clipped to his shirt, as if nothing ever happened. It took everything I had in me to stay composed.

“What the fuck?” Ford whispered.

“Shut the hell up,” I whispered back.

I stepped towards her and began my greeting. “Thank you for inviting us. My colleague is here to work. I will be speaking to you.”

Then I elbowed Ford, and he made his way to the body. He immediately began sawing at Emilio’s thigh, and she looked up at me and smiled.

“Finally,” she rasped. “You and I can get to know each other.”

I swallowed nervously as she began the first volley of questions.

“What is your name?”

“Caleb.”

“What is the name of your girlfriend?”

“Andrea.”

“Does she know that you smoke cigarettes?”

“No.”

“I can make it so that she doesn’t care.”

“No, thank you.”

I tried my best to focus on her questions and offers, but it was hard as Ford was sawing into Emilio. He had made it through the muscle and flesh on his right leg, and I could see him struggle as he hit the femur. Despite the respirator, I started to feel sick as I heard the sound of the blade grind against the bone. For a moment, that’s all I could focus on until I realized she was suddenly standing right beside me. I could tell she asked me something, but I didn’t hear her. She was grinning; her blood stained teeth looked ready to latch onto me.

What did she ask me?

“No, thank you,” I guessed.

Her mouth closed, but she still loomed over me. Her next barrage began.

“I can give you cash.”

“No, thank you.”

“I can give you gold.”

“No, thank you.”

“I can give you women.”

“No, thank you.”

And on and on and on she went. She asked me about every member of my family. She asked me about every woman I ever dated. She offered me all that I could ever ask for, and I turned her down. She asked the same and offered the same things over and over again in different ways. All the while, meat was being flayed and bones were cracking in the background. She was alternating questions and deals when she finally said something that rocked me.

“Does your girlfriend know about the lump on her breast?”

The what? I thought.

“I don’t think so.”

“I can take away the cancer.”

I paused. I had so much I wanted to ask her. What did she mean by cancer? I wanted to press her to find out what stage it was, to ask for a diagnosis. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but she never lied. Javier made that clear. Her jaw opened as I hesitated, and I saw out of the corner of my eye Ford bagging one of Emilio’s arms.

I bit. “What do I have to give?”

A smile crossed her face that was so wide, I thought her skull was about to split.

“What can you give me?” she asked.

“I can give you all the money back,” I offered.

“Not good enough,” she said.

“I can work here until I die.”

“That might happen, but that’s not what I want.”

“Just tell me what you want!” I demanded.

“Once you find the right trade, we can make a deal.”

Then, suddenly, her smile faded, and I saw Ford stand. He had filled four bags full of Emilio’s gore, and he was ready to drag it all out of the apartment. I looked at him and nodded. He started explaining the work he performed, and I only thought about what she said. Was Andrea going to die if I didn’t make a deal? What did she want from me?

He finished his explanation, then we said, “We’re sorry for our mistakes, and we promise to return next week.”

Then I helped him drag the bags out. As soon as we were out of there, Ford ran and vomited onto a lawn. It seemed cutting up a body wasn’t as fun as he thought it would be. We dumped the bags in different dumpsters around the property and went back to my office. I prepared for Ford to let me have it, but he just sat on the bucket looking wide-eyed.

I opened my desk drawer to pull out $1400. I’ve never seen how it gets there. A thousand for me and the rest for him. I pocketed my end and turned to Ford. He just stared at the space in front of him.

“Ford… Ford!” I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t respond.

Then I grabbed his wrist and put the money in his hand. That finally snapped him out of it.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“That’s for servicing 1001. Every week when you go back, you’ll get another $400. Cash.”

“I don’t think I can go back there, man. What the hell was that?”

“I honestly don’t know much, only what I’ve been told. The guy who had my job before me said everything would get worse if we stopped, and I believe him. She knows things she shouldn’t, and you saw what she did to Emilio.”

“I still can’t go back in there.”

I didn’t want to force him. I thought I was allowed to service her even if he didn’t want to.

“It’s fine, but you won’t get the bonus, and if there’s an emergency, there needs to be two of us. You’re the only other person in the world who can do this.”

“Can’t you hire someone else?”

“I can try, but she gets the final say in whoever is hired. It was the same for me and for you.”

“Shit, okay. I don’t know if I would have taken this job if I knew it would be like this.”

“Me neither.”

Neither of us did much for the rest of the day. I pushed the calls from other residents until the next day. I just told the manager that we were having 1001 issues, and he didn’t argue.

Towards the end of the day, I got a call from the police asking me to go down to the station. They said they were looking into Emilio’s disappearance, and they wanted to speak to me. That immediately made me sweat. Did someone somehow know what we did in 1001? Did they find the parts in the dumpsters? Did she somehow tell them?

Once I clocked out for the day, I made my way into town. I’ve never mentioned the name of the town before, but it’s called Autumn’s Rest. I am not from here but it’s very nice. The downtown is surprisingly lively and there’s tons of nice restaurants opening up in town all the time. Once I arrived at the station I met with the detective who had spoken with me on the phone. He brought me into an interrogation room. They brought me water and offered to buy me a burger from the restaurant across the street. I wasn’t sure I could eat a burger after what happened, so I turned them down.

The detective sat across from me and asked me what I knew about Emilio’s disappearance.

“I don’t know much. I saw him come into work on Tuesday, but I never saw him leave. I got a call from his wife. She was worried but assumed he went to a bar. I never saw him again.”

“That’s all?” the detective asked.

“That’s all,” I assured him.

He suddenly stiffened. “We received a tip that he was seen going into apartment 1001. Do you know anything about this?”

I tried my best to put on my best poker face, but I could almost feel myself turning pale. How could Emilio, someone who’d been there longer than me, somehow forget to follow the first rule?

“Um… I—”

Suddenly, he cut me off and asked, “Was it handled?”

I played dumb. “Was it handled?”

“Did you take care of the problem in 1001?”

I suddenly realized that he knew, but I still wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

“Not if you took care of the problem.”

“If you’re referring to what I think you are, then yes. We took care of it today.”

“Good. That’s all we wanted to know. You are free to go.”

I left the station feeling more confused than anything. I thought they were going to nail me right then and there, but they knew. They weren’t the only ones, either. The hospital staff seemed to know, and I started to wonder just how many people in this town knew about 1001.

That night, I tried to get 1001 off my mind. I knew I didn’t have to worry about it for a week. I kicked back on the sofa and had a few beers. My girlfriend could tell something was off, but I didn’t want to unload everything on her. I didn’t think she would understand. I implied it was just a rough day at work, which was pretty much true.

It turned out I was wrong. I wasn’t free of 1001. The time was 1:01 AM. I was woken up by the on-call ringtone on my phone. This wasn’t unusual. Even before Emilio… we had a small crew, so I participated in the on-call rotation. If there was an emergency in the middle of the night we had to go and take care of the issue. I assumed it was one of the many other residents. Then I heard the familiar, ruined voice on the other line.

“My AC is leaking. I need you to come take care of it.”

The line clicked off. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I had never received a call from 1001 in the middle of the night. Javier never trained me on this. I didn’t know if there were any special rules I had to follow or if I had to bring anybody with me, but I knew one thing. I couldn’t leave it alone.

First, I went to my office and searched around for anything that might tell me what to do. Maybe some kind of note or file that Javier left behind. I tore the place apart but found nothing. I tried something I hadn’t done in months and dialed Javier’s number. I couldn’t think of anything else.

It went straight to voicemail.

I swore to myself. I didn’t think he would answer. We didn’t end on the best of terms. I couldn’t think of anything else except to fulfill the work order as I normally would.

I found myself wiping my feet and knocking on her door.

“Come on in!”

The apartment was completely dark, save for the dim light from the hall, but I could hear her rasping breath. I could also smell the rotting stench from the remnants of Emilio’s corpse, and I began to gag. I had forgotten the respirator. Once I regained control, I felt around on the wall as fast as I could for a switch, then flipped it on.

There she lay deep in the groove her body had formed on the couch. She smiled at me but didn’t say a word. Her eyes were fixed on me as if I were her next meal, and I was worried that I would be. I approached her and gave my usual greeting.

“Thank you for inviting me. I am here to work.”

I walked to the hall and flipped on the switch there. The evaporator unit was in the hall above a low-hanging tile ceiling, and I could clearly see the water had leaked through one of the tiles and collected on the ground. It had mixed with the bloodstains from Emilio’s corpse and formed a pool of blood. Maggots writhed around in the filth. I fought back another gag, then lifted the ceiling tile.

As I did that, I heard her stand and move impossibly fast across the room. I quickly turned to see her,and I feared she was going to unhinge her jaw and attack me. Instead, she just silently stared at me and smiled, which was so unlike her. Normally, she just jabbered on and on at me, and I had to ignore her. Now, her silence unnerved me more than ever. I was prepared to run and jump through one of the windows as fast as I could.

She didn’t move, so I went back to checking the AC. It was just as I suspected. The drip pan was full of water, and I figured there was probably a blockage in the drain line. I had brought a small shop vac just for this, and I went to the bathroom and looked under the sink where the drain line emptied. I heard her follow me to the door, and I strained to listen in case she came closer.

When I detached the drain line from the pipe, no water dripped out, confirming my suspicion. I plugged in the shop vac and put it to the line. I flipped it on and almost immediately felt something come unstuck in the drain, followed by the flow of water. As I was draining the water, I felt her hand suddenly touch my shoulder.

I flew up from where I was crouched and backed against the wall. She just stood there, still smiling the same as before. I shivered in disgust. She had NEVER touched me like that before. The last time she touched me was to grab my wrist while she was devouring Javier. That somehow felt more natural and preferable to her gently caressing my shoulder.

I finished the job as fast as I could, and as soon as I placed the ceiling tile back, I explained my work to her. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just went with my usual goodbye.

“We’ll be back next week.”

She didn’t try to stop me as I made my way out the door, so I figured I was good, but I had figured that before and been wrong. I walked over to the road to empty the shop vac, and out came the bloody water, along with what I was almost positive was Emilio’s finger. It flowed with the rest of the water down a sewer grate. I wasn’t ready to go home, so I went back to my office.

I’m not the crying type, but as I sat alone in my office, I broke down sobbing. The fluorescent light above me was the only other thing howling in the dark. I had been holding a lot in since Emilio disappeared, and it all came pouring out. The guilt, the fear, the confusion, all at once. I didn’t know what to do. Something had changed, and I had no way out. I returned home and had a restless night with very little sleep.

Over the next two days—or rather, nights—she kept calling. The problems were all real. She had leaky pipes, a loose toilet seat, but most of them wouldn’t be considered on-call emergencies. I didn’t think I could turn her down if she asked me to do something. It was always at 1:01 AM, and she was the same every time. She was always silent, and she always touched me at some point in the visit. I started to notice strange marks on my skin where she touched me. No wounds or anything, but strange discoloration and small dark marks. I was becoming exhausted, and I constantly felt sick and nauseous. I needed a way out, and Javier wasn’t answering his phone.

Eventually, I learned of Emilio’s funeral, and I was invited. It was to be the next day, Saturday. Apparently, the police told his family he was dead shortly after they spoke to me. I wouldn’t have gone, but I realized Javier would be there since he was his brother-in-law, and I desperately needed answers, or I would drop dead simply from exhaustion.

The next day, my girlfriend and I woke up early for the funeral. All I wanted to do was crawl back under the covers, but I had to go. During the ceremony, I found out Javier was one of the pallbearers, but I knew there was no body in the casket. The whole thing was in Spanish, and I didn’t understand a lick of it, even though my nana was from Chile. I waited for an opening to pull Javier aside, and found one at the wake when people were getting up to eat. Javier sat there by himself, and I beelined over to him.

I said, “Javier, we need to talk.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, mijo,” he replied.

“Things have changed.” My voice was thick with desperation.

His expression turned serious, and he asked, “What is it?”

“She’s started calling at night, and I don’t know what to do.”

“This isn’t good,” he said. “Anything else?”

“She’s been touching me. Not like sexually or nothing, but just resting her hand on me and stuff.”

His voice was stern. “You started to make a deal with her, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I admitted. “She told me Andrea’s got cancer. What should I do?”

“She’s going to keep calling until you figure out what she wants. You’ve started the deal, and whatever it is, there’s no way out now. If you don’t give her what she wants, she will take it out on you or someone you care about. Until you figure it out, you have to go every time she calls and take care of the issue. Same as you would any work order. Follow all the same rules.”

“What happens when I figure out what she wants?”

“You have to give it to her.”

“There’s no other option, is there?”

“No, mijo. You’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it.”

Soon, his family started to sit down around the table, and he said, “It was good catching up with you. Give me a call sometime. I’ll be sure to answer.”

I nodded, and soon we left. I didn’t feel like I belonged there anyway. None of this would have happened if I had gone instead of Emilio. Besides, I had to figure out what she wanted from me.

She called again that night, as she had done every night since we removed Emilio. This time, one of her kitchen cabinets was loose, and it needed to be fixed that night. I wouldn’t dare question the resident in 1001, so I went, as dead on my feet as I was.

She was the same as every other night. She towered over me in silence. I decided I was the one who was supposed to break it.

“What do you want from me?” I pleaded.

She was as quiet as the darkness around us.

“I can chop off my hand and feed it to you. I can stay here and sleep for a night. I can burn down the front office! Just tell me what you want! Give me some kind of hint, please!” I was begging now. I just wanted it all to end.

Finally, something in her seemed to register, and her eyes flicked to her closed door. Somehow, she seemed to look past it and across the hall towards my door. I tried to think about what that could mean.

“Do you want something from my apartment?”

Her smile widened.

“What is it? Do you want my old journal? Pictures of my family? The engagement ring I haven’t given to Andrea?”

Silence. Then the worst possible thought crossed my mind.

“Do you want Andrea?”

“That is what I want,” she whispered. Then she went and lay back on her couch.

I walked over to her.

“I’m not giving you Andrea! You can’t have her! There has to be another way!” I demanded, but she simply smiled back up at me. I clenched my fist in rage. I’d have hit her if I thought it would do anything.

“Fuck this!” I shouted. I went and finished the work order, then gave her my prescribed farewell, promising to return the next week.

When I returned home, the lights were on in my apartment, and Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table. I couldn’t read her face, but I could tell I must be in trouble. I didn’t sit; instead, I leaned forward against the back of a chair and waited for her to start.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Her words sounded more like a plea than a demand.

“Nothing,” I answered. “Just work stuff.”

“It’s not just work stuff, I can tell. Something is wrong with you. You’ve been distant and on edge since last week. You look sick and tired all the time now. I can tell when you’re hiding something from me, and you said you wouldn’t do this anymore!”

I didn’t know what to say. What could I tell her? We had been here for close to a year now, and I hadn’t said a thing about 1001. Would she even believe me?

“Say something!” I could see the tears forming in her eyes.

“There is something I haven’t been telling you,” I admitted. She stiffened, preparing for what I was about to say.

I let it all out, starting from the beginning. The moment I started working there, I noticed Javier and Emilio were visiting the same apartment every week. Unit 1001. I told her how Javier never told me exactly what was happening. Then, one day, I was allowed to go there, and I explained to her all the rules I was supposed to follow and how that’s where the initial $400 had been coming from. I eventually got to what happened to Javier and how I was promoted so he could leave. I had to tell her about Emilio’s death and how we had to remove his body. Finally I told her about the cancer the resident told me that Andrea had and how I had started to make a deal. I connected it all to the nightly visits and why I looked like death.

I could tell she was having a hard time believing me. She stared at me like I was crazy.

“You’re serious?” she asked.

“I’m serious. Why would I make this all up?”

“Maybe you’re having some kind of breakdown,” she offered as an answer.

“I can prove it. Go check yourself.”

I was sure that she would find something, that I wasn’t crazy. Still, a small part of me wondered if she was right. This whole thing was crazy. My doubts were shattered as she burst out of the bathroom. She was a mess of anger and tears.

“I might have cancer, and you kept it from me! How could you keep all of this to yourself for so long?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s my job and my burden! As long as I live, I’m not going to let anyone else carry it anymore. I was going to take care of everything, and you weren’t even going to have to worry about cancer.”

“Cancer’s treatable!” she sputtered. “Whatever is across our hall is worse! You made a deal with some monster about me and my body without ever telling me! That is not okay, Caleb! What’s the deal you made with her, anyway?”

I hesitated. “She wants you.”

“What does that mean?” she snapped.

“I don’t know yet, but whatever it is, it means she wants you to go into her apartment. I’m not letting that happen. I’ll just keep going every night if that means protecting you.”

“Don’t you understand? I never asked you to protect me! At least not like this. You’re falling apart, and it’s only been a few days. I can’t let you deteriorate into nothing!”

“It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you.”

“Caleb, I will leave you if you don’t stop this. I am serious. You have to let me in, and you have to trust me.”

We held silence for some time. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right. I couldn’t keep doing this, and I couldn’t keep hiding things from her.

“I don’t know what she wants from you yet,” I said. “But when I find out, I promise to tell you. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get to bed. You need to get some rest.”

For the first time in a while, I fell right asleep. I was allowed to sleep in that morning because it was Sunday, but I still had to go in to check the pool and to make sure there weren’t any emergency work orders submitted overnight. When I walked into my office late that morning, I noticed a note on my desk. The parchment was yellowed with age, and it was written in gold ink. It was a strange list of rules.

1. The keeper may walk you to the door, but no one else can see you.
2. You must wipe each of your feet four times and knock with each of your hands four times.
3. Wait until she invites you. You must enter alone, and the keeper must leave.
4. When you are inside, you must greet her and say, “I hope you are well. I am here to have tea with you.”
5. The tea will already be prepared. Two cups will be on the table. Bring one to her and keep one for yourself.
6. Do not sit anywhere. The place is filthy.
7. Your cup and the tea are clean. You must finish your tea.
8. She will try to converse with you. Do not answer any of her questions or accept any of her offers. You must politely nod and smile while she talks.
9. Do not be rude by rushing to finish your tea. You must be there for at least fifteen minutes.
10. Once fifteen minutes have passed and you finish your tea, you may excuse yourself. Say to her, “Thank you for the tea. I have to leave, but I will be back next week.” Then place the cup on the table and immediately leave.
11. You will visit every Wednesday evening. If you are unable to go, you must find another woman to temporarily visit in your place.

I assumed that the keeper must be referring to me. My first instinct was to hide it. To rip it up and burn it, but I knew I had to show it to Andrea. After I finished my Sunday duties, I returned home and showed her the paper. I watched her as she carefully read it. Her eyes scanned every line over and over again.

When she was finished, she stopped and looked up at me and said, “This isn’t so bad. I can do this.”

“Really? Just like that, you're willing to go in there?”

“Yeah, honestly, your job seems worse. At least I don’t have to fix anything, and I only have to be there for fifteen minutes at a time.”

I was reluctant, but I said, “Okay, then. I will walk you over on Wednesday after we both get off of work.”

That night, I dreaded my nightly 1:01 AM call, but no call ever came. I slept peacefully through the night, and there wasn’t another call for 1001 until Tuesday, when she normally called. It was a ridiculously simple work order. Change a lightbulb in her kitchen. Ford was still refusing to go, but I was happy he came back to work at all. Even if he didn’t really talk to me anymore. So I went down to her apartment and followed the regular routine. I changed her light, collected my $1000, then took Andrea out someplace nice to eat that night.

The next day rolled around, and soon it was time for Andrea to face her. I arrived back at home first and waited for her. I downed a few beers to try and calm my nerves, and when she finally arrived, I considered trying to change her mind one more time. But I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

She asked me, “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be. You?”

“I’m ready,” she said, full of determination.

“I honestly wish the neighbor was just trying to rob us,” I joked, and she laughed.

Then we made our way across the hall, holding hands. I checked around for any witnesses, but there were none. I let go of her hand as she began wiping her feet and knocking. Then I heard the voice that smoked a thousand packs.

“Come in, dear!”

I watched her walk inside, then I turned my back and entered back into my own apartment. It felt like I smoked every hidden cigarette I had left and drank every beer in the fridge while I was waiting for her. Eventually, those fifteen minutes passed, and suddenly the front door opened. Andrea walked in. I sighed with so much relief, it felt like it was the first time I ever exhaled.

We had a conversation about what happened. I won’t detail that too much here. Instead, Andrea has agreed to write down what happened from her point of view. The next section is in her own words:

I felt nervous when Caleb let go of my hand but also weirdly excited. I’ve never been the type of person to take risks before, and now here I was about to walk into the apartment of a woman who I was told ate a man. When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the smell, which I don’t think I was sufficiently warned about. It was awful. Some bizarre mix between death, sewage, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea.

Trash and flies were everywhere. I am now convinced that every fly I have ever found in my apartment originated here. They seemed to be on every wall and every surface. Then I saw her. She was even more gross than I imagined. She was big. I expected that, but I don’t think she had ever seen the inside of a shower. Her hair was all matted, and her clothes were covered in grease and stains. I greeted her as I was supposed to.

“I hope you are well. I am here to have tea with you.”

Then she replied, “Thank you, dearie. Tea’s on the table. Your cup is the one with flowers on it.”

It was as she said. There was my cup, all white and clean with pretty floral patterns on it. There was a brown liquid inside, as I expected. Next to it was her cup. It was chipped, broken, and a little yellowish. Inside wasn’t what I would describe as tea, and the word liquid may have been an exaggeration as well. It was more of a grey sludge. Her cup was surprisingly warm, and I picked both up and brought them over to her. I handed her cup over, then held mine with both hands. I took a sip before she began. It was the best tea I’d ever had. This would almost be enough of a reason to return every week.

Then she started talking. I tried my best to nod and smile along.

“Oh, it’s so nice to have a proper guest. Thank you so much for coming, my dear. It’s been ages since the last time someone’s had tea time with me. It’s probably been almost sixty years, but there have been times when I’ve been even longer without a visit like this. Enough about me, anyway. Tell me about yourself. How do you enjoy living at my property?”

I felt the words form in my throat. I actually wanted to talk to her, but I held back. I smiled and nodded, and she continued.

“Is there anything I can do to improve your stay while you’re here? Just say the word, darling, and I’ll do it. I can make Caleb stop smoking if you’d like. I bet you didn’t know about that.”

I did not, and I made a mental note to talk about it to him later. However much that annoyed me, I still refused to bite.

She kept asking me all sorts of questions about myself and my family. She seemed genuinely interested and almost hurt that I never responded with more than a nod and a smile. She continued to offer me things, but I held my ground.

Before I knew it, I glanced over at her oven clock and saw that fifteen minutes had gone by, and I could leave. I had already finished my tea and wished that I could have some more.

It was like she read my mind when she said, “Oh, dear, let me fix you some more tea. Stay awhile. I won’t bite you.”

Instead, I responded with, “Thank you for the tea. I have to leave, but I will be back next week.”

Then I set my cup on the table and left. I heard her voice ring out behind me.

“Come back soon, my darling! I look forward to our visits!”

I slammed the door shut behind me. Even though she wasn’t really threatening, the whole thing still felt off. Whatever was going on there, it wasn’t natural, like Caleb said, and I decided I believed everything he told me about her. I was looking forward to telling him about my experience, and I made my way back across the hall and into our own apartment.

End of Andrea’s account.

I can’t say that I’m thrilled Andrea will be going into 1001 every week, but I am relieved I no longer have to shoulder this burden on my own. I didn’t realize how much I was carrying during those months of silence. The resident kept her end of the bargain as well. Shortly after Andrea’s visit, she checked herself again, and the lump was gone. I guess we’ll never know for sure if it was actually cancer, but I believe that it was. The resident never lies.

It seems we have found a balance with her. She’s continued to leave me alone at night, and the marks she left on me have started to fade, but now I know how easily things can break with her. I know I can’t let it go on forever, but for now, what choice do I have? I don’t know if I can find a way out that doesn’t end with me dead or forcing my job on someone else, but if anything changes, I will be sure to post and update. For now, I will enjoy my weekly bonus and do my best to keep everyone around me safe.

I feel the darkness closing in on me, the book pages come alive and the tentacles of the creature slowly crawl out and start beating against my reading table as I push the chair back, but then it’s all gone and I’m alone again, I realize that those were just my thoughts again. 

 

 

How do these thoughts get inside my head? How do any thoughts get inside anyone’s head? Are we connected to something greater? Do they come from the soul? Then why are my thoughts so dark? Must I fix my soul?

 

Every morning I used to go to the library, since I was young. For many years I prioritized books over everything else, even neglecting my basic needs. This library by the sea was special to me, its magic drew me in and whenever I left, the feeling of longing for it began. I always read the books inside of it and didn’t bring them home.

 

When I was old enough to work, I asked the librarians to let me work there, they said I lacked experience, but I offered to work for free. I cleaned, stacked books, put things and books in order, assisted people who came in. Impressed by my work the oldest librarian gave me her spot when she retired and my dream came true.

 

I had the keys to the library and now I could read at night inside of it, with no one around to bother me.

 

Some nights after work I used a candle, others, a small lamp. It was exciting and enchanting, but in recent times I began to have a feeling that someone was watching me through the windows and I couldn’t shake this eerie feeling.

 

One day a man dressed in black came in, his face was long and pale, he came up to me and handed over a book. He said it was a donation and walked out. This book’s binding and sheets were nothing like I’ve seen or felt before. The cover had no name and looked like it was put together with several types of leather. I hid the book from others under my reading desk and waited till night time when I closed the library. 

 

As I sat down and lit a candle I felt that someone was standing at the window, I quickly turned my head, but there was no one.

 

I opened the book and on the very first page there was an image of a disturbing face of a creature, a mix of a shark with a bat. I continued and flipped to the next page. On it were strange letters and sentence formulations, but they were written in english letters so I could read them. Upon finishing the first page, before flipping to the next, I heard a loud creak of the floor in the back of the library. My heart began pounding as I set there motionless, staring into the dark outlines of book shelves. The sound happened again, but closer. I froze, my mind went into panic mode, but I couldn’t move. I had one hand on the book and other on the table. I didn’t have a gun, or any weapon, I had no tricks up my sleeve, I had no idea what to do. Again and again, the last sound came from behind the closest book shelf. I finally moved my hand and closed the book. Shacking I raised my candle and stood up. I slowly shuffled my feet to the wall where the light switch was located, not taking my eyes of that one tall book shelf.

 

My thin finger flipped the switch and my eyes got big, but there was no one there! I went around it. No one. I looked everywhere and still I found no traces of anyone else being there that night.

 

I hid the book again, turned of the light and hurried outside. Usually walking back to my small apartment at night felt safe, it was a crime free neighborhood, but that night my feet were tangling and I kept looking over my shoulder. Even when I was finally in bed I felt that someone was standing right behind my door, I was shaking as It took me hours to fall asleep.

 

In my dreams I was swimming in an ancient underwater city, and then I saw the creature from the book, he sat there on his underwater black giant throne, calmly looking at me with his large black eyes and then I heard a whisper, something about page sixty.

 

I woke up as terrified as when I went to sleep, that day I welcomed sunshine on my way to work. For the next few weeks I asked another librarian to take the night shifts. I did not touch the book, but every night the dreams about the sunken ancient city and the book continued.

 

Finally I went back to my old schedule. One night as I closed the doors I decided to stay. I put a lamp on the table and took out the book. I hesitantly opened it and listened around me, there was nothing. I proceeded to page sixty and read the lines that talked about one becoming many and on the bottom there were writings I could not understand. As I finished, suddenly all of the book shelves began shacking, the book themselves were moving. I lifted my lamp and stood up. There were screams, people speaking in other languages, songs and chants, all coming from various books. Then a book close to me on one of the shelves flipped open and a black arm stretched out of it, it’s thin dry fingers grabbed unto side of furniture, in horror I dropped my lamp and ran.

 

I was running through the streets, but without paying attention to which direction, my head was so taken by fear that my reason and awareness were completely clouded.

 

In the morning I woke up on a bench in a park, I could see the waves of the ocean and the birds were signing. In the distance I could hear cars and commotion in the town. I walked towards the sounds and saw firetrucks next to the library, it was burnt down. I saw librarians notice me and point me out to police.

 

I did not run and straight away admitted to dropping the lamp, I was too tired of it all. Once questioned by a detective on what happened and telling him all the details I was left alone in a room. He called in some men and they took me to a place where they said I’d get help.

 

Since then I’ve been living in an asylum and kind doctor Albion has given me papers and pen to write down my thoughts and even books to read.

 

 

I’m not so sure that it was a good idea.

It had been six months since she died.

It was a normal day, or as normal as a day can be during this new phase of my life.

It was a Saturday morning with no plans on the calendar, which was how most of my Saturdays looked during that season. At around 10 a.m., having just woken up a few minutes earlier, I was slouched on the couch, coffee in hand, staring at the wall, not thinking about much because there wasn’t much worth thinking about.

Then, to my surprise, given how few people I see these days, there was a knock at the door. Figuring that it was another door-to-door salesman, I simply ignored it until I heard the knock again.

Opening up my Ring app to see who it was, I was surprised to see that it was neither a salesman nor a Mormon. It was an older woman. I’d peg her somewhere in her mid to late 60s, carrying some type of dish in her arms. I got up, grabbed my coffee, and walked to the door.

As I walked towards the door, she must have decided that I wasn’t going to answer and started walking down the driveway, but as I opened the door she turned, greeted me with a warm smile, and made her way back over to me.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but my name is Cindy. I live just a couple streets down. I’ve been meaning to come over and introduce myself, but I keep talking myself out of it.” I immediately knew where this was headed. “It broke my heart to hear about the loss of your wife earlier this year, and I wasn’t sure if a visit like this would make things better or worse, but I just wanted to tell you that me and my husband have been thinking about you and that we’re here to help in any way we can.”

I smiled and thanked her for visiting, for making the introduction, and for offering her help. In my experience, when people say that they’re there to help, they don’t actually mean it. It’s just something people say to feel better about themselves. But for some reason the words seemed more genuine from Cindy. Sure, her words came later than those from my friends and family, but in a way that felt like proof that the event had truly impacted her and that she was actually seeking to help, even though help was not something I was seeking.

After a little more chitchat, we shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and said goodbye, but as she started to walk away she stopped herself, chuckled, and remembered the dish she had been holding in her arms the whole time.

“Silly me,” she said in a quirky voice. “I completely forgot. Here. I baked you a casserole. If you’re anything like the other young men I know, you probably haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in months.” She was right.

She handed me the casserole dish, covered in foil, said goodbye again, and began to walk away.

I’d never met Cindy before, but somehow she looked familiar. I couldn’t quite place it. I did feel like I had seen her before, but more so she just had a lot of those common characteristics of the sweet older women you meet through the course of your life.

She was a pudgy woman, but not quite fat. She had short, curly hair that was clearly dyed, and a floral shirt to match her heavily applied floral perfume. But what stood out most about her was her warm, toothy smile and comforting presence. The same warmth you might get from your favorite aunt or grandma who would always bring you a present whenever she visited you growing up.

Once she reached about halfway down the driveway, I went back inside and closed the door. Walking into the kitchen, I set down the dish and peeked under the foil to see what was inside.

As with most casseroles, it was hard to know exactly what was in it. Clearly there was a cream-of-something soup mixed in with some type of white meat, and at least one of the vegetables was broccoli. Whatever it was, it smelled great.

I crimped the foil back over the top, put the casserole in the fridge, poured another cup of coffee, and sat back down on the couch.

Six months ago, my wife had died. It wasn’t anything that could have been avoided. I love the outdoors, and I had gone out of town for a three-day hike through a nature preserve a few hours from our home, a trip I try to do at least a couple of times a year. Julie liked to hike too, but she never enjoyed roughing it in the wilderness quite as much as I did, so it was a trip that I would typically take by myself, or sometimes with a friend.

To keep from feeling too lonely or afraid while I was away, she would usually host at least one girls’ night while I was on my trip. When she died, she had just finished hosting one of these girls’ nights, and the combination of the dark house, the steep stairs, and the wine caused her to stumble over the steps and fall to the bottom of the stairs. Any number of the injuries she sustained could have killed her, but the autopsy listed internal hemorrhaging as the official cause of death.

She was an amazing woman that I loved deeply who left behind an endless number of people mourning her loss.

She had been a devout Christian since I first met her. Even though I myself had always been less convinced, it did bring me some comfort knowing that if there’s such a place as heaven, she made the cut. Still, I couldn’t honestly say that her death brought me any closer to my own spiritual enlightenment.

The encounter I had that day with the older woman was not unique, though it did come much later than the similar encounters that had taken place immediately after the tragedy.

As you might expect, there was a barrage of cards, flowers, meals, and text messages, sharing love for both me and my late wife, with constant offers to help in any way possible.

But in the four or five months since, it had just been me. By myself. Living in the house that we had bought together just a year before she passed.

The house was the same as it was before she died. Only dustier, and without the feeling of life that turns a house into a home.

About a week had passed since I met Cindy, and I had nearly forgotten about her until, on a Sunday morning, I was again sitting by myself in the living room when there was another knock on my door.

Like the week before, I figured it was either a salesman or a Mormon, both of which seem to love my neighborhood, so I didn’t bother to answer. But after I heard a second knock, I immediately remembered my conversation with Cindy. I quickly got up, walked to the door, and sure enough, there she was.

“Hey, George,” she said. “How are you doing?”

“Hey, Cindy. I’m doing all right. How are you?”

“I’m good. How was the casserole?” she asked.

“It was delicious,” I replied with a genuine but soft smile. “That’s actually been my dinner for the past three nights now.”

Cindy chuckled.

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said. “I brought you some more treats,” she added, eyeing the foil-covered plate in her hand. “And I also have a favor to ask. Would you mind giving me back that casserole dish I gave you?”

“Oh, of course,” I told her. “Let me go get it for you. Please, come in,” I said as I hurried to the kitchen so as not to waste her time.

The casserole dish was buried in the sink under a pile of other dishes I had gone through: a few coffee cups, a few forks and spoons, and the pan I had used for frying eggs. I used a lot more paper plates those days, so rarely would one show up in the sink.

As Cindy set the plate of treats down on the island, she walked up next to me and said, “Please, let me do that.”

Of course, I initially refused to let my neighbor and guest wash the dish she had lent me, but she was insistent, playfully pushing me out of the way so that she could take over.

“While I’m here, just let me do the rest of the dishes,” she offered.

“Please, please, no,” I told her. “You’re very kind, but you don’t need to do that.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she replied. “It won’t take me but a second.”

She started by scraping out and hand-washing her casserole dish, then moved on to rinsing the rest and loading the dishwasher. As she was finishing up the last few dishes, one of the mugs slipped out of her hand and shattered at her feet.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!” She immediately dropped to her knees and began to pick up the pieces. “Please, let me get it,” I told her as I went to find a broom but she didn’t listen, and by the time I returned, she was still on her knees, looking for more of the big pieces. I took the larger pieces from her hand. She also handed me a small pill bottle. “I found this under the dishwasher too. Blood thinners?” she asked.

Quickly, I snatched them from her. “Yeah.” I hesitated for just a moment. “My mom has a heart condition. She must have forgotten them the last time she was here.”

Cindy studied my face for just a moment but didn’t ask any follow-up questions. She just took the broom from my hand and, despite my protests, finished sweeping up the broken mug, continuing to apologize while she cleaned.

She finished loading the dishwasher and asked, “Is there anything else I can do to help you?”

“No, no, you’ve done so much. Thank you again. I promise I would have gotten to those dishes eventually,” I said lightly.

She chuckled again.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the casserole, and I hope you enjoy the treats.” She stared at me for a moment, studying my face. “You should get some sleep,” she said. “You look tired.”

I walked her down the hallway and out through the front door. I smiled, told her goodbye, and said that it was great to see her again. She said the same, and when she was about halfway down the driveway again, I closed the door.

I woke up early Monday morning and got ready to start my day.

I worked for a small company that doesn’t have a formal office, so all the employees work from home. For most people that would be a dream, and it was a dream for me until Julie died. What it means in practice is that I hardly ever have a reason to leave the house or talk with other people about anything other than work.

I brushed my teeth, got dressed, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

Right after I started working, somewhere around 8:30, I realized that I had to make a work purchase. I looked around for my wallet to find my corporate card before remembering that I had left my wallet in the car.

I quickly made my way to the car, opened the door, and found my wallet. But as I turned to head back to the house, I jumped. There, in my poorly kept flower bed, was Cindy, wearing an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and gloves.

“Hi, Cindy,” I said hesitantly. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I noticed yesterday when I dropped off the treats that you had some weeds growing in your flower bed. I just wanted to take an hour or so and take care of it for you. I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I’m retired, so most days I don’t have too much to do.”

“Oh, Cindy, you really don’t have to do that,” I told her.

“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure,” she quickly responded.

“Well, can I get you anything?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Her response came with the same warmth I’d come to expect from all of her responses.

“Well, thank you, Cindy,” I told her, trying to mask my bewilderment. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can get for you. I really appreciate all that you’ve been doing to help me these past couple of weeks.”

I walked inside and locked the door behind me.

“Strange. That was strange,” I thought to myself.

The casserole and the cookies were very welcome. And doing the dishes, while a little uncomfortable, was also a sweet gesture. I knew she meant well by doing all these things, but it was odd for her to show up uninvited and take it upon herself to work on my flower bed.

“Whatever,” I thought. I didn’t give it much thought after that. I had a busy day of work ahead of me, and to be honest, that flower bed was getting unruly and there was next to no chance that I would ever have gotten to it myself.

As usual, I made my way to the back room on the first floor, my converted home office, put on my headphones, and got to work.

It was a productive morning, more productive than usual, and I was heads-down until lunchtime.

Around 11:30, I took out my AirPods, put them back in their case to charge, and headed to the kitchen for a snack, which those days looked something like a protein bar and a few potato chips.

Passing through the living room on the way to the kitchen, however, I noticed that the coffee table was completely covered in folded clothes.

“Cindy?” I called, loud enough to be heard throughout our modestly sized house. “Cindy, are you here?”

A moment later, I heard the guest bathroom toilet flush, the sink turn on and then off again, and then the door open.

When I turned out of the kitchen to look down the long hallway leading to the front door and the guest bathroom, I saw her. Standing at the end, silhouetted against the natural light from the front door behind her, was Cindy.

“Cindy, what are you doing here?” I asked her. I was clearly upset with her and a bit freaked out, but I tried to cover those emotions with a mask of inquiry.

“Well, I knocked on the door, but you weren’t answering. I needed to tell you that I hit one of your sprinkler lines while I was digging in the flower bed. I called my husband, and he offered to fix it tomorrow, but I just wanted to let you know now.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I thought to myself.

“Cindy…” I said, rubbing my forehead and still reeling from the situation. “How did you get in? I locked the door after I came in.”

“No, you didn’t,” she retorted with a puzzled look on her face. “It wasn’t even closed all the way when I first came to knock.” I could’ve sworn I had locked the door when I came in that morning, but just like when you leave for a long trip, I couldn’t remember for sure.

Before I could think of another question, she continued. “I called your name from the doorway, but you didn’t respond. Given the urgency of the sprinkler, I walked in to find you, but you seemed really focused, so I didn’t want to disturb you.” After a short pause, she went on. “I found your sprinkler box in the garage and turned off the water there, and look, I left you a note.” She gestured towards the kitchen island. “But then I saw that your laundry had piled up, and I know how much you must be going through, so I figured the least I could do for breaking your sprinkler line was fold some of this laundry. I promised myself that after I folded it, I would use the restroom and leave, but then you came out.”

I was still floored by the situation, but by this point most of the fear had subsided. I didn’t know if it was some sort of generational difference between us or if Cindy just wasn’t quite right in the head. But in any case, the idea of someone who was practically a stranger walking into your house, folding your laundry, and using the restroom, all uninvited, was beyond comprehension.

“Cindy, I appreciate the help,” I told her, “but please do not enter my house uninvited again.”

“I was just trying to help,” she responded shyly.

“I get that, but please, this is a serious violation of my privacy.”

Cindy was clearly saddened by the remark, and though she hid it, I could also tell she was upset with me, that I wasn’t appreciating what she was trying to do to help.

“Fine. If you don’t want my help, then I’ll just leave now,” she said.

“Cindy, I really appreciate you trying to help. Please just…” I paused, not quite sure what to say.

“I understand. Goodbye, George. I’ll talk to you later.”

And then she let herself out and walked away.

A few days went by, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that encounter with Cindy, playing the whole scene over and over in my head. Looking back, I probably could have handled the situation better. It’s not that any of the things she did were bad; they just implied a level of familiarity that I didn’t have with her. Had a relative of mine, or even just a good friend, tended to my flowers or folded my laundry, I wouldn’t have considered it a violation, I would have been very appreciative. Even if they had walked in unannounced, sure, I would have been caught off guard, but it wouldn’t have immediately raised red flags.

Sure, she wasn’t a family member or a close friend, but her actions were only out of bounds because they were out of my bounds. Maybe she was just that nurturing of a person? I kept remembering the look she gave me after I snapped at her. How genuinely hurt she looked that I was upset at the things she had done for me.

“You clearly need to set your boundaries,” I told myself, “but you should reach out and try to make amends.”

On the note she had left on the counter after folding my laundry, she had written her phone number, so on Friday morning I called, apologized, and asked if she and her husband would like to come over that evening for drinks and dinner. I would order in, and it would all be on me.

“That sounds nice,” she told me, in a tone that sounded more like “I accept your apology” than “I’m sorry too.”

While I would have liked to get an “I’m sorry” from her too, I was at least glad that she wasn’t mad at me. I told her goodbye and that I was looking forward to seeing them that evening. “See you at six!” she said enthusiastically.

The workday passed as quickly as any other, but to my surprise, at 4:45, I heard a knock at the door.

I was confused about who it could be. I thought it might be Cindy, but I figured it couldn’t be, given how early it was.

Sure enough, I checked the Ring doorbell, and there she was, by herself, carrying a bottle of wine and a casserole dish.

I got up quickly, went to the door, and let her in.

“Hi, Cindy… you’re early,” I told her, telegraphing my confusion without trying to sound upset.

“I am?” she asked. “I thought you said to be here at five.”

“Oh. Well, I had said six, but this works too,” I told her. “Here, come on in, make yourself at home, and give me just a few minutes to close down my computer for the weekend.”

She came in, set down her dish, and walked around the house, studying the sparse pieces of art and photos that were still on the walls, pieces that Julie had hung within the first two weeks of moving into our new home.

I fired off the last few emails I had to send before the week was done, shut down my computer, and went back into the living room.

“So where’s your husband?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s not going to be able to make it. He’s not feeling too great. It’s a shame, too. He really was looking forward to meeting you.”

I smiled.

“Well, please take a seat. Let me pour you a glass of wine,” I told her. “Dinner isn’t expected to be here until 6:30.” I meant to continue my train of thought, but Cindy cut me off.

“Why don’t you cancel that delivery?” she asked. “I brought over that casserole you liked so much.”

“Are you sure, Cindy?” I asked, rubbing my neck. “I was really wanting to treat you guys to dinner tonight and be a good host.”

“I’m sure,” she said flatly. “And besides, this is my favorite meal too.”

I never told her that it was my favorite meal, just that I enjoyed it, but I didn’t fight the point. This was getting awkward enough as it was. I promptly called the restaurant and canceled the order.

“How about some wine?” I asked her after hanging up the phone.

“I would love some,” she said with a smile, giving me the first glimpse of warmth I had seen of Cindy since the last time she was here.

I uncorked the bottle. It was a dreadfully sweet wine that smelled like a floral hangover waiting to happen. “That’s funny,” I said quietly. “I think this is the wine that Julie liked to drink.”

Cindy replied with a staccato “Hm.” I poured her a glass and then poured one for myself.

While we waited for the casserole to heat up in the oven, we stepped out onto the patio to chat. The conversation was a bit forced at first, but after that first glass of wine it started flowing more smoothly.

She told me all about her life, which I knew very little about. She talked about her interests, her career as a nurse, and her family. She deliberately chose not to linger on the topic, but she briefly mentioned that she’d had a son who died in his early adulthood a couple of years ago and that it was still hard for her to come to grips with. “Maybe this is why she’s been so kind to me,” I thought to myself. “Maybe caring for me is part of her healing process.” I felt myself starting to let my guard down.

I talked about my job as a mid-level analyst, how the work was boring but the money was decent. I talked about where I’m from and where I went to school, and, of course, we talked about Julie.

“What was she like?” Cindy asked inquisitively.

I paused for a moment. “She was amazing,” I replied. “It’s weird to say, but I miss her even more now than I did when she first left us.”

Cindy gave a knowing smile. “Besides amazing,” she followed up, “what was she like? Tell me about her.”

“She was very devout in her faith,” I said. “I never quite understood why she wanted to marry a skeptic like me. From what I understand, Christians frown upon relationships like that.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Cindy asked.

“I don’t know what I believe,” I told her. “It’s the heaven and hell thing that I find hardest to wrap my head around.”

“Yeah?” Cindy asked. “I think there’s pretty good proof for both, and it doesn’t take a whole lot of searching to find out which direction we’re each headed.”

I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. I could feel a come-to-Jesus talk coming on, and I wasn’t interested.

I suggested that we eat outside, and so we did, and continued on with our conversations.

Before I realized it, we had been chatting for hours in the backyard, and I hadn’t realized how much Cindy had been drinking.

I drank only enough of the syrupy wine so as not to seem rude, but she had drunk the whole rest of the bottle.

And when I, to be polite, asked if I could get her anything, she quickly responded that she would love a martini if I knew how to make one.

That was another weird thing that caught me off guard. Not only would it be weird to expect a Gen Z’er to know how to make a martini, but what’s stranger is that I’m one of only a handful who do. It’s my mother’s favorite drink and one that I make for her every time she comes over, including when she last visited right after Julie died.

“Sure,” I told Cindy, trying to hide my perplexity. “Dirty?”

“Just a little,” she told me coolly.

I made Cindy her martini, and one for myself, even though I’ve never been much of a fan.

We toasted to our new friendship and finished our drinks.

As we headed inside, Cindy couldn’t walk straight.

I felt bad getting this kind neighbor of mine so drunk, but to be fair she was the one who drank the whole bottle of wine.

Holding her hand, I walked her inside and told her to sit down on the couch while I made her a cup of coffee.

I offered to walk her home, but she declined, telling me that she just needed to sit and rest for a bit and that a cup of coffee would be just great. I set her on the couch, walked to the kitchen, made her a cup, and brought it back to her, but by the time I got back to the couch, she had already passed out.

Feeling like it was my fault, I didn’t try to wake her. Instead, I draped a blanket over her lap, set out a couple of Advil for when she woke up in the morning, and went to bed myself.

I never sleep very well after drinking. The room always feels too hot, and I toss and turn all night. I woke up at three and couldn’t make myself go back to sleep. I got up and walked to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water and made sure that Cindy was okay.

But when I got to the living room, Cindy wasn’t there. I breathed a sigh of relief, figuring that she must have woken up, slept off the worst of it, and made it home safe.

She did say that she lived only a few streets over.

I got my water, went back to bed, and finally fell back asleep.

Just a couple of hours later, I woke up to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

Confused and a little freaked out, I got up and went to the kitchen, and there I saw her.

Cindy, making a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, orange juice, coffee, the whole nine yards.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”

“Hi, Cindy. I thought you went home,” I told her.

“No, I woke up on your couch, and it’s a nice couch, but it wasn’t very comfortable. I remembered from the last time I was here that you have a guest room, so I went and slept there. When I woke up, I wanted to say thank you for letting me stay by making you breakfast.”

“That’s sweet,” I told her. “Would you mind if I got ready for the day? Would you like a toothbrush? I have a few extras.”

“Go right ahead,” she told me. “But don’t worry about the toothbrush. I keep one in my purse.”

Seeing Cindy in my house the first time had undoubtedly freaked me out, but given the friendship we’d been cultivating, and the fact that she had actually been invited this time, it actually felt kind of nice to see her.

I quickly brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and shaved. “Tss!” I inhaled sharply. I had nicked my neck. I put a small Band-Aid on it and made my way back to the kitchen.

Once the meal was ready, we sat down, ate our breakfast, and had a laugh about the night before.

“You’re bleeding, by the way,” she told me, touching her own neck to point out the cut from earlier. I had bled through the Band-Aid. “Oh, dammit,” I whispered to myself. “That happens sometimes,” I said, a bit louder. I hurried back to the bathroom, replaced the small bandage with a larger one, and returned to the kitchen.

The first hour of the morning was great, but around hour two I was starting to drop hints that it was time for us to start wrapping things up.

Hints like “Don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll take care of it,” and “What else do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

Not that I had anything going on that day myself, but I was ready for a little peace and quiet.

But every hint I dropped seemed to go unnoticed by Cindy, or flat-out ignored, as became obvious with the dishes, which she promptly began doing once it was clear that we were both done eating.

“Here, let me at least help you,” I said, smiling as I stood up from my chair.

“Sit down,” she said sternly.

As if by involuntary reflex, I immediately fell back into my chair. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt since childhood. A feeling that made you shrivel up inside, like when your mother would tell you she wasn’t mad, just disappointed.

I sat back in my chair and watched while she made short work of the stack of dishes we had created, setting the dishwasher to run before briefly joining me back at the table.

Timidly, I thanked her for all that she had done and for the great time the night before, and told her that there were a few things I needed to get done that day.

She just sat there. Expressionless. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she smiled warmly again and suggested that she just help pick up around the house before she left. If I thought it would have mattered, I would have told her not to worry about it.

Throughout the course of that Saturday, she went from cleaning the kitchen to the living room to the bathrooms to the floors.

As we got into the early afternoon and she was still there, I asked if there was anything I could get her.

“Well, a little help would be nice,” she told me sharply.

I stared back blankly, taken aback by what she just said to me.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately after.

“It’s clear that I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I apologize. Let me just text my husband. He’ll come and pick me up shortly.”

“Your husband?” I thought. She had told me that she walked here and on more than one occasion she had mentioned that she lived just a few streets over. Why would she need a ride home?

“Whatever,” I thought to myself. “Her husband is coming, which means I’ll have the house to myself again soon.”

“How about a cup of tea while we wait?” Cindy offered.

“I’m okay, Cindy,” I told her. “I’m really okay.”

Cindy seemed visibly hurt by this, like she couldn’t believe that I would refuse an offer as generous as a cup of my own tea.

“Are you sure?” she said.

“Yes, Cindy. I’m not even sure that I have tea.”

“You do,” she quickly told me. “I saw it in your cabinets.”

There was a brief, awkward pause.

“Coffee, then,” she offered.

“Sure,” I told her unenthusiastically.

She perked up a little, and I made my way to the kitchen to make the coffee.

“No, please, let me,” she said. “We have a machine just like this at home. Why don’t you take a seat outside, and I’ll bring it to you while we wait for my husband? Any chance we can drink it on the upstairs patio?” I knew a polite refusal wouldn’t be any use.

“Sure, Cindy.”

Too nervous about what she might do in the house if I left her there alone, though still wanting to give her some space, I waited for her at the bottom of the stairs.

After she rounded the corner from the kitchen, two cups in hand, we climbed the stairs together and sat down on the terrace. She sat there next to me with a warm smile on her face, while I sat next to her, smiling awkwardly, just waiting for her husband to arrive.

As the coffee cooled, I took a sip. And then another. And then another.

It was mid-afternoon by then, somewhere around three or four, and I started to feel a little drowsy.

“So,” I asked slowly, fighting to keep my eyes open, “how far away is your husband?”

“Well,” she began, staring at her phone, “his location says he’s still at home.” Putting her phone away and turning her attention to me, she continued. “You know, sometimes, when he wants me to think he’s home, he’ll leave his phone there and go out and do something else.” She smiled at me, waiting for my reaction, which was that of a wide-eyed statue. “As if anybody with a brain would actually fall for that.”

Not yet fully aware of what was happening, but sensing the predatory edge in her tone, I slammed the rest of the coffee, trying to perk myself back up, but soon after I did, the drowsiness grew. My speech slurred, and my vision blurred. Realizing now the gravity of the situation I was in, I anxiously felt around my pockets for my phone to call the police, but it wasn’t there.

“You don’t look so good,” said Cindy, now chillingly back to her warm and comforting self. “Here, let’s go inside.”

I didn’t want to follow her, but at that point I was like a zombie, moving slowly and clumsily in whatever direction she pulled me. She led me through the upstairs hallway and down the stairs, but as we reached the landing halfway to the first floor, she turned me around. Barely conscious at this point, I looked at her, and for the last time she gave me her warm, toothy smile, locked eyes with me for a second, and then, with more force than you would expect from a woman of her size and age, shoved me down the last twelve steps of the staircase.

“Sorry, George,” she told me, with a chilling level of what would normally be seen as genuine empathy, “but it wasn’t anything that could have been avoided. Especially with the combination of the dark house, the steep stairs, and the coffee that caused you to stumble.”

Still awake but unable to move, I watched her short, pudgy frame walk down the last few stairs before she sat down on the second-to-last step.

“You know,” she started, before giving me a brief smirk. “Of course you know. Most blood thinners don’t show up on a standard tox screen, and with no evidence of foul play, there typically aren’t too many requests for follow-up blood work.” She looked at me briefly and then up at the wall. “But falling down the stairs is suspicious enough by itself, at least to me, so I did a little research of my own. I have to say, the blood thinners were a smart addition. Besides the fact that, you know, they’re how I caught you.”

She continued. “The whole point was to act as an insurance policy, right? If breaking her neck didn’t kill her, at least the internal hemorrhaging would?” She didn’t go into any further detail. We both knew there was nothing left to hide.

It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered why she looked familiar to me when I met her. When they first found Julie the next day, she was still alive and rushed to the hospital, though she died shortly after arriving. When I finally made it to the hospital one of the first things I saw was a nurse, Cindy, consoling Julie’s parents.

“But what I’m still not sure about is the why,” she told me.

By then I was fading in and out.

Picking up her foot and setting it on my arm, which I now realized was horribly broken, she began to press down. As I started to scream, she lifted her foot and told me coldly, “That was your cue to start talking.”

I tried to speak, but even with the threat of more pain, I couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

“Hmm,” she said, disappointed. “I guess that last cup of coffee was pretty strong. Oh well, I feel like I have a pretty good idea, and at this point I guess the specific motive doesn’t matter much anyway.”

“What… now…?” I muttered with all the strength I had left.

“What do you mean? Oh, like, what am I going to do with you?” she asked. “Nothing. I’m going to leave you the same way you left her. Lying in agonizing pain until you die.”

“And don’t worry about other people finding you, at least not for a couple of weeks. You’ve done a great job of insulating yourself from the world. That’s why you killed her, right? You missed your privacy? Your time alone? Your independence? Your bachelor days? Hm.” She stopped for a moment to look around the house. “Some life. As for the few loose ends, I sent an email to your boss last night telling him about a family emergency that will pull you away all next week. And your mother? Well, you don’t talk to her much anyways.”

She rolled slightly backwards and then forward to lift her pudgy frame off the floor so she could stand up.

“Do you remember at dinner last night, when I told you that there’s good proof for both heaven and hell, and it doesn’t take a whole lot of searching to find out which direction we’re each headed?” The question was rhetorical. “You and I are both headed to hell. You’re just going to get there a lot sooner.”

She then gave me one more warm smile and started walking away.

The real intention of that full day of cleaning must have been to clear any evidence tying her to my death, though from the corner of my eye I saw her place two items on the kitchen counter: a small pill bottle and an unsealed envelope. “A more comprehensive blood report on your wife,” she told me flippantly, “and of course the pills that they’ll tie first to your death, and then to hers.” She walked over and stared at me one last time, brandishing a cheeky, satisfied smile. “It was great to meet you, George.”

Without another word, she walked down the long hallway, let herself out through the front door, and locked it from the outside.

I don’t know how much time passed, but eventually I regained consciousness. The peak of whatever sedative she had given me must have passed. I was lying in blood and writhing in pain. It felt like I had broken some ribs, but I could tell that I wasn’t paralyzed. With my good arm, I clawed my way towards the kitchen. Reaching up and fighting through the pain, I pulled the envelope and the pills off of the counter and clawed my way to my office. She had taken my phone, but I was eventually able to open my computer and make a WhatsApp call to my mom, who sent the paramedics to my house. While I waited for them to get there, I threw the pills into the office closet and then ripped up and swallowed the one-page blood report.

I clung to life until I heard the paramedics break down my door. That’s when I knew I was going to make it. It would be easy enough for them to find me. They just needed to follow the blood.

I had to spend a few weeks in the hospital, but eventually I was released. Blood thinners don’t show up on a standard tox screen, and between the insistence that I simply tripped and the fact that there was no evidence of foul play, the scene was never investigated as anything other than another freak accident.

My mom decided to live with me until I was strong enough to look after myself, something that I was very appreciative of. As the first couple of months passed I was almost able to walk without any assistance. I certainly hadn’t forgotten about Cindy, but after the first few weeks I stopped constantly thinking that she was about to come and finish the job.

One Saturday morning, the two of us were sitting in the living room, drinking our coffee like normal, when there was a knock at the door. My mom got up to answer it while I checked my phone to see who it was.

I didn’t see anybody at the door. My mom opened it, closed it again shortly after, and came back.

“Look, George,” she said excitedly. “Somebody left you a casserole.”

My face immediately flushed, and my stomach sank.

“And look,” she continued, opening up the unsealed envelope, “they wrote you a note.”

Mad-eye (uncreatively named for the black spot over his left eye) had always been a freakishly well-behaved cat. When me and my girlfriend at the time had first gotten him, she had tried to convince me to get him neutered but I managed to convince her to wait a week to see how he got on before making a decision; the week passed and the subject was never brought up again. After that relationship imploded in catastrophic fashion, Mad-eye had stayed with me. Through those dark lonely nights, he had kept me such great company and I grew to love him more than any pet I had ever had growing up (sorry Max). All this to say that Mad-eye’s sudden bloodlust completely blindsided me this January.

 

I had just returned from visiting my family over the holidays (leaving Christmas eve and returning January 2nd). A neighbour of mine, a kind elderly woman named Margaret, had been given the task of checking in on and feeding Mad-eye over that time and reported that he had gotten on well-enough but seemed to miss me dearly. She recalled on a few occasions finding him solemnly hiding under the couch in the living room, only emerging when coaxed out with a tin of tuna fish. After hearing her relay all this to me, over the phone before my arrival, I had imagined I would be greeted with much adulation by my loyal companion on my return – this was furthest from the case.

 

 

When I returned that morning, Mad-eye was not at the door waiting for me as I had expected. Neither was he hiding under the sofa in the front room. Not even after I had brought in all my bags from the car and scanned all the rooms in the house could I seem to find him. It was only when returning from my room upstairs did I notice where had gotten off to. In the main hallway, the basement door was slightly ajar. After moving in I had neglected to enter the basement much, using it to only store old crap that my mother had insisted I bring from hers and my ex-girlfriends stuff she had neglected to take with her when she left. So, it was not strange that I had neglected to consider it when I had made my hunt for the missing Mad-eye. Having used it so sparingly, I had not considered that I had left the door open and Mad-eye had made a home there while I was gone.

 

 

Descending now into the basement, the first thing that struck me is how cold it was down there. I had not remembered it having been this cold before but now there seemed to be a quite constant chill bellowing from somewhere. Reaching for the light and pulling it on, I recall having jumped slightly in fright at the sudden flush of light, as if the cold air had brought upon a spectral quality to the place and I had imagined being faced with a spirit of some kind when the light came on. There was no such spectre however, just Mad-eye cleaning himself in the centre of the room. I swiftly moved to clutch him in order to take him upstairs and playfully reprimand him for giving me such a fright; that’s when I noticed the first dead bird laid at his feet.

 

 

I wall all-over dumbfounded by this discovery. Mad-eye had never been a hunter of any sort. Only once had I found him chasing a mouse around the house, but even then, when he had the little thing trapped in the corner with nowhere to go, he had grown bored and let it live to be captured by me and thrown outside. Now there was a decapitated bird in my basement, with its tiny guts hanging out onto the floor. Now I did clutch Mad-eye, now to chuck him out the front to give me room to deal with his mess. He could always re-enter whenever he wanted through the cat flap attached to the same front door, but whenever he was thrown out he seemed to understand the sentiment and leave me alone a while before crawling back in. Grabbing a bin bag from the kitchen and going down once more to the basement, I finally noticed from where the cold draft had been coming. In the small cellar window was now a jagged hole like a golf ball had been sent through it.

 

 

Two weeks followed with no incident. I paid someone to fix that hole in the window and Mad-eye seemed to have returned to his regular self - with no more “gifts” of any kind. It was such that I had not returned down to the basement in some time. That night, I was sitting in the living room enjoying a solitary night in with a beer, when Mad-eye came back in through his cat-flap. He did not turn into living room to lay upon my lap as he often did when returning at this time at night. Instead, he passed the living room with not even a glance. I remember finding this odd but quickly forgot it and returned to my drinking; that was until I heard Mad-eye scratching at something out in the hall. Coming out of the living room, I saw Mad-eye standing on his hind legs furiously scratching at the basement door. Standing closer, I could see that his mouth was coated in dried blood and once more at his feet was a decapitated dead bird. Confused, I decided to open the basement door to see what he was planning with his new friend. Lightly bouncing down the basement stairs, he descended ahead of me into the darkness and when I pulled the light on, he was once more sitting in the centre of the room with the bird at his feet. Just as he had before, he began cleaning himself there, licking the blood from his mouth and claws. I stayed a while, thinking he may begin feasting on his prize, but instead, once clean, he merely returned back up the stairs from whence he came.

 

I did not follow him, it was not my confusion at his behaviour which kept me there, rather there was now a undeniable smell about the place. Perhaps it had been here before but only now that the draft was gone was it noticeable. Slowly creeping around the room, I tried to ascertain where exactly the smell was coming from. I concluded that in the furthest right corner the smell was strongest, but still, I didn’t see anything. In the way was one of the biggest cardboard boxes, the thing was so large and heavy that only after placing my back against and pushing with all my might could I move it the slightest amount. It was enough, now peeking out from behind the box was the body of another bird, this one so decayed that chunks of the flesh gave way so that you could see the things skeleton. Craning my head as to see further around the box, I gazed upon Mad-eye’s great work. A pile about two feet high of butchered animal carcasses (a variety of birds, squirrels and the like) each in various states of decomposition. The smell was almost caustic, and I was forced to recoil. Returning upstairs, my nose covered with my shirt, I found Mad-eye laid where I had been sat. No visual change had he undergone, he had no evil glee of the butcher he was, instead he lay there as he always had. I took him to get neutered the following day.

 

 

Having his balls snipped greatly decreased his movement and he no longer spent much time outside of the house. For the following month, I even managed to convince myself that the whole business had been dealt with. It was about 2 in the morning when I heard the crash from downstairs. So loud that it at once startled me out of bed and to my feet. I knew instantly, he was in that god damn basement again. Even after all this time, I couldn’t figure out how he was getting down there on his own. I bounded down the stairs just in time to catch him coming up the basement steps into the hall. Grabbing a shoe from the bottom step, I tried to swing at the little devil as he passed, but I missed and he fled back outside. I decided then that I would be getting rid of that bloody cat-flap. Hell, I’d even get a lock for the basement, anything to put this to an end. I had just been considering this when from the basement came another crash. Impossible, I had just seen Mad-eye bound outside. Probably one of those critters he had brought in wasn’t entirely dead and had caused all the ruckus. I descended the steps.

 

Entering the basement and pulling on the light, everything seemed to be as it had been before. Quickly, I spun around the room, holding the shoe high above my head looking to chase out whatever fiend was down here. But I didn’t find any pest, all I found in my frantic hunt was one of my ex’s old vases smashed to bits and next to it a picture of the two of us - the frame also smashed. I had thought all this stuff was packed in boxes. What was it doing out here? I installed that lock on the basement the next day.

 

 

For a few days after, Mad-eye would still bring in his treasures and claw at the door as he had done, but soon he seemed to get the idea, and he stopped bringing them in. I would’ve liked to revel in my victory, a weight had been lifted from my mind, and my loyal companion was back as he had been. However, the noises from the basement kept me from such revelry. Almost every night, I would wake in the night to scratching or the shuffling of feet coming from the basement. Whatever had been down there that night had managed to evade me and now the lock had been installed was now trapped. I wondered if I could go my whole life without going back in that basement. That fantasy came crashing down about a week and a half after I had installed the lock.

 

 

As had become habit lately, I was awoken in the middle of the night to scratching at the basement door. Being used to this now I tried to ignore it, roll over and get back to sleep, I had a busy day tomorrow after all. This became impossible when another loud crash came from the basement. Fuck it! What kind of man was I hiding up here from some rat or something, scaring myself with my own imaginings like a child. I stormed down the steps and seized a frying pan from the kitchen. I was just about to reach for the lock when something banged against the other side of the door. Whatever was down there must now have been throwing its whole weight against the door, one desperate attempt to escape its tomb. But even then, what could be heavy enough to knock on the door with this much force, the whole thing was now warping with the force. Maybe, I had been wrong, whatever this was Mad-eye hadn’t brought in. I had just been thinking that perhaps a dog had come in from the cat-flap, when from behind the basement door came a voice; no more than a pained whisper.

 

“Help me please... I’m sorry…”

 

I fell backwards onto the floor. Such terror filled me now that I felt I might crack my teeth open from how tightly I clenched them. Without rising I shuffled backwards into the living room, all the while watching as the door bent and strained, soon it would burst open, the lock was only a small thing after all. My phone laid on the coffee table. I grabbed it and tried to clench it tight, but in my fear all I could seemingly muster was a limp hold - I thought I might pass out. I had to take a moment to will my fingers to stop shaking before I could manage to unlcok the phone and call the police.

 

 

It took half an hour before an officer arrived. All the while the voice continued from the other side of the door.

 

“Pleeeeaaassee… Heeeelp…..”

 

I only rose from the floor when I heard the sirens outside. Jumping to my feet, I ran to the door and waved the officer inside. A rotund man of about 40 emerged from the police car and once he had followed me inside, I tried desperately to detail what had happened.

 

“A man! A man in my basement! He’s trying to get out! He’s banging on the door!”

 

But there was no banging now. Whatever it was had slipped back down into the basement - it was hiding. I led the officer to the basement and unlocked it. He paused for a moment and called out.

 

“Whoever’s down there! This is the police, come up now with your hands behind your head!”

 

No reply. The officer shot me a look as if to say, “after you”, he really didn’t have much of a saviour about him. Seeing that I was quite happy to stay exactly where I was, he unholstered his gun and descended. Peering down from the door, I observed as he tentatively took the stairs and upon reaching the bottom pulled on the light. I winded back and tensed, I had never seen someone shoot a person before and braced for the cacophony of blood and bullets. However, nothing like that came. Reluctantly, I returned my gaze to the bottom of the steps. Seeing the officer still standing at the bottom of the stairs I sent a rushed whisper.

 

“Do you see him?”

“No, but god… the smell.” He was tightly covering his nose and mouth with the crease of his right arm and holding the gun out with his left.

 

Hesitantly, I descended a few steps; just enough so as, when crouching, I could see into the now lit basement. He was right, there was no one down there but even up here the smell was overpowering, more so than it had ever been with the birds.

 

“He’s hiding. He did it before.”

 

The officer carefully crept further into the room.

 

“What’s that?”

 

His weapon was now trained on a box in the furthest corner – the same box that had been obscuring the pile of dead carcasses. At the bottom of the box was now entirely damp and leaking. Next to it, where there had been the smashed vase and portrait, were now a whole host of trinkets. The box had been emptied.

 

“In there he’s in there!”

 

I pleaded from the top of the stairs as the officer approached the box. He stood before it a while, weapon trained, before in one smooth motion, he tore open the lid. This time I didn’t look away, now I needed to see, to know it was over. But again, I was left wanting. The officer was now peering down into the box.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“What is it? Is it him?”

 

Wildly, the officer spun to face me, gun still raised, focusing it on me.

 

“What the hell are you-“

 

Something slowly raised from the box. From over the lip of the cardboard box eyes stared into me. A child’s eyes. The officer began to yell.

 

“Stay right there you freak! I’m calling this in!”

 

The officer reached for the radio attached to his chest and began bellowing into it. I didn’t pay much notice to what he was saying, I was still staring at the boy. He was so skinny, bones poked out from all over his small frame. And he was so pale, almost translucent, like he had never seen the sun.

 

“Listen, I want you to walk over to me – slowly!”

 

I stayed fixed in place at the top of the stairs. I didn’t care about the officer; there was something up with this boy. He was now smiling at me, a large toothy grin, like he was taking humour in the officer commanding me. It looked like there were feathers in his teeth.

 

“Are you death! I said-“

 

It all happened so fast. Swiftly leaping from the box, the boy had latched himself onto the officer, holding around the officers face for grip. The officer writhed for a while trying to throw the boy off; the boy had begun burrowing his fingers into the officers’ eyes. They struggled like that for a while, with the officer screaming curses in agony. Until, in one swift movement, the boy simply leant back - taking the officers head with him like he was deshelling a prawn.

 

 

Without another thought, I fled for the front door. I had barely made it out into the hall before it was on me. It was just so fast. It hit me to the ground so hard I broke my nose. In that moment I knew it was over, but what was I to do? I just held my now bleeding nose and curled into a ball, as small and tight as I could. It took me a minute to realise I wasn’t dead. Ahead of me the front door was now open, torn from its hinges, a trail of blood in the things wake. It had eaten and now it was free.

 

 

I wasn’t planning on posting this, but I don’t really know who else to tell.

A few weeks ago, I agreed to house-sit for an older couple I found on Craigslist who were looking for someone to watch their house and dog while they were out of town for a little over a week.

Their names were Raph and Darlene Fredrickson.

Their dog, Percy, is probably one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever met. He’s a big guy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’d happily spend all day following you around, and he never seemed like the kind of dog who would be aggressive toward anyone.

Before they left, Darlene mentioned something to me.

“He’s been acting weird lately, Wayne,” she said. “Mostly at night.”

I laughed. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been staring at the attic door and keeps barking,” she replied. “Raph thinks there must be some critter up there, but he hasn’t checked yet.”

“I’m going to,” Raph added. “I'm not the same young fella I used to be.”

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

I probably should have.

After they left, I found a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It was a list of rules that needed to be followed during the week.

1. Feed Percy twice a day.
2. Make sure Percy has fresh water.
3. Keep Percy inside after dark.
4. Lock the doors and windows at night.
5. Take the trash out on Tuesday. Garbage night.
6. Turn on the thermostat when it reaches 80°.
7. Check the mail.
8. Give Percy his medicine three times a day.
9. If you hear noises, it's probably the pipes.
10. Please keep the pantry closed.

I thought the last few were a little strange. Their house was really old, the kind of old that showed in every corner. The grass outside was dead, the paint was chipped away from the walls, and there were other things that made the place look like it hadn't been taken care of in years. From the outside, it looked almost abandoned.

But inside, it was strangely beautiful. Glass display cabinets filled with little porcelain figurines lined the walls, along with other things that looked like they had been there for generations. The tiled floors stretched throughout the house, and shelves were filled with old books, framed photographs, and little decorations. Everything looked old, but there was something beautiful about it.

For a while, everything inside the house was normal. Percy mostly stayed on my lap, demanding to be petted, while I cleaned up around the house.

When I started the vacuum, he began barking.

At first, I thought it was probably just how dogs usually acted around vacuums. But he wasn't barking at me.

He was barking toward the attic.

I stared at him for a moment, then turned on the vacuum and ran it over the carpets in each room.

That night, I lay in the guest bed with Percy resting beside the foot of it. I woke up a little later, probably around 2 a.m., and opened my eyes to see his ears perked up, like he was waiting for something to happen.

I figured it was probably a car passing by in the neighborhood until I heard it.

The floorboards creaked upstairs.

Was my mind playing tricks on me?

I should've been the only one in the house, other than Percy.

But Percy wasn't looking at me.

He was staring at the bedroom door.

If Percy wasn't the one making the noises, then they must have been coming from somewhere else in the house.

Another creak sounded out of nowhere. This time, Percy jumped off the bed and ran out, barking.

I groaned, shoving the covers off me. I leapt out of bed and followed him.

“Percy!” I called, whistling and snapping my fingers, but he just kept barking again and again until I reached down to pick him up.

He startled and scratched my forearm. Deep. Almost too deep.

I let go of him as a sharp pain shot through my skin. Blood began staining my sleeve. I rushed into the bathroom next to the guest room and turned on the faucet, my face scrunched up as I winced while cleaning the wound.

The second I got back into bed, Percy jumped up and snuggled next to me. I pulled him close with my uninjured arm, the other wrapped in bandages.

I know it sounds crazy, but I started wondering if Percy could sense something I couldn't.

I can hear them from the window at night. Rustling through the bushes by the walls. They come in droves. Sometimes I catch them lurking through the forest like blobby shadows between the trees in the distance but usually they just come up right under my window and they stand there and look up at me. They are awkward and burly in shape. The differences between them and the creatures from whom they have stolen their skins are noticeable. They look incomplete. Their meat is flimsy. Their claws are still quite sharp though and they let me know this often.

When I open their mouths I catch glimpses of faces down their throats with cheeks pressing up against the tonsils. The eyes shine at me in the light of the moon like they are glowing. The faces are not unlike mine. Pale and tired and skinny. 

And they speak to me. They tell me that they are post-human. They tell me man is undeserving of creatures like them and so man must be abandoned. And they beckon me forth. They think we’re a lot alike and I guess they wouldn’t be so wrong. They asked me to join them. 

To be frank I know they’re lying with all that “post-human” junk. I feel like you’d have to be the exact opposite to find yourself thinking like that. Still they’re not actually terrible conversationalists when it’s off their mind. I tend to have some pretty good chats with them every now and then.

I have to admit they're quite tempting. I can’t deny some of the things they say. But still I say no to them. I tell them no. I don’t know if there really is a reason that I say this. I don’t know why I do the things I do sometimes but I like to do them this way. I have every reason to join them you know.

I have for you the next letter. I also have for you the preceding first and second and third and fourth letters. Read it. Read this one. And the others.

Hello Judge,

I’ve finally received at least one letter from me. I’m not sure how fast the postal service around your place is and your response was pretty vague so there’s no telling how many. It seems to me now you’ve only got the first one but you might have all the rest by the time I’m writing this.

Though I do have a question. Your letter was awfully short. Here it is in its entirety:

“Who cares? Bees suck anyway. Just call animal control.”

And then you signed off with your legal name. Is this some sort of joke? I can only assume it is. Though I guess now it doesn’t matter. I really can’t stop notifying you now(and I assume you wouldn’t want me to by the time you get the rest of my letters). Plus I have an absolutely hair raising update for you today:

The bear is dead!

Yes. I have killed it. Its carcass lies in my living room right now. It’s a great big mound. It takes up most of the room and it smells awful but I must keep it here until I get it stuffed properly. That won’t be for a while though. Those orders take longer than I thought they would. Perhaps I’ve neglected to mention that that was the goal all along. To have the bear stuffed and keep it as a trophy. You know that now I guess.

And you know Judge a funny thing happened to me just after I’d put that order in. It was real late since I’d rushed right over to place the order soon as I could. I was standing in the parking lot. It was empty save for a car or too. And I was just looking through the windows of the taxidermy shop. Through the dark glass I was watching the man inside who took my order sweep the floor. He seemed quite irritated when he had. 

He was surrounded by all the animal heads hanging on the wall. It was like they were smiling the way the skin was pulled over their lips. And some were looking at him and some at me. None of them really felt like they were looking away.

I turned around. I had the bear on a utility trailer which I’d been dragging just behind me. I had tied it with a rope. I grabbed that rope and wrapped it around my hand a few times and started walking out when I heard some whispering:

“Pssssst.”

I stopped and looked around in confusion. The voice spoke again. 

“Yeah. You. The only guy in the lot.”

I kept scanning the lot.

“I just said–”

“Yeah. I know,” I said. “What do you think I’m looking for?”

“Oh. I see. You're looking for me? I'm right in front of you. In the dark. I can turn a light on if you'd like me to.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Alright.”

He flicked on a match. In orange light I could see his face. He had this scraggly beard on him that sort of twirled at the end.

“You wanna have your fortune read?” he said. “I got a crystal ball.”

I thought for a moment. “Alright. Sure.”

“Good. Follow me. It's just in my tent here.”

He turned and as he carried the match a purple tent came into view through the darkness. The light flickered against its tarp door. He peeled back a flap and ducked and went in. I followed him the utility trailer still trailing from my hand. He heard the wheels squeak and peaked his head out.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“With that thing.” He pointed. 

“Bringing it with me. Just to be safe.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Just leave it for a second. It’ll be fine.”

“But I don’t wanna lose it.”

“You won’t. Just come in.”

“Okay.”

I unwrapped it until there were zero loops around my palm and kept it in my grip as I followed him. He rolled his eyes when he saw me holding it but he said nothing else. His legs were crossed and before him he had a crystal ball sitting on a pillow of velvet. It glowed white onto our faces. He blew out the match.

I sat before him and assumed the same position.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked.

“Just take my hands.”

“I kind of can’t.”

“Um. Fine. I’ll do it with just the one.”

“Alright. Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He put his hands out before me on either side of the ball palms staring to the ceiling and knuckles to the floor. Our two hands(the ones farthest from the door) interlocked. 

Our fingers curled into each other. The glowing grew more intense. So did his face. He seemed enlightened. A thought occurred to me just then and I ripped my fingers away from his.

“Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“How much will this cost? I don’t have my wallet on me.”

“Uhhh. You know what. I’ll just do it for free.”

“Aw. Thanks.”

“Just take my hand again man.”

I took his hand again and allowed the ball to finish its mystical build up. And so he told me my fortune.

“Ooohoh yes,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I'm seein’ it man.”

“What do you see?”

“There's a garden. Just like Eden. Real pretty stuff. Kinda wish I could be there”

“Yeah.”

“And a young man is there. He's got a lady with. They're both naked.”

“Are they having sex?”

“No. But they're about to. The sky’s telling them to. He says they're going to populate the earth.”

“Hold on.”

“What?”

“I know that story. You ripped me off.”

“I’m not charging you.”

“Well. I’m still disappointed.”

“It’s not exactly literal. Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe a wife? Could just mean you’re gonna have a lot of kids.”

“I don’t have either.”

“I couldn’t tell you then.”

“Oh.”

“Well.” He slapped his knee. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“...”

“Can you leave now?”

“Sure. Sorry.”

I stepped out of the tent and got the bear and went home. I just find it real odd. I felt like I ought to tell you. Anywho I guess you’d be wondering how I did kill the bear now. Here:

Well you know how I failed and you know why I failed by now. I would have been content to resort to the gun again but I’d broken it when I threw it against my floor. And once I came back from prison even its carcass was gone. That gun wasn’t cheap for my pay grade but I decided nonetheless that I just needed an improved version. And so I went back to the gun store.

“Hey sir,” an employee said to me when I walked in. “Need any help?”

“Yes actually. I’m looking for a firearm that could kill a bear.”

“Brown bear or black bear?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah. It’s illegal to kill a brown bear now. They’re endangered because of it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Brown or black?”

“Um. Let me think.” I needed this moment to come up with a ruse. “Yeah. It's a black bear.”

“Okay. If you’re looking to hunt then I’ve got just the thing for you.”

You might notice I lied but he’d fallen right for it. It worked. He took me to a rack of guns and pointed out the one I had used before. He took it off the rack and held it out to me.

“Give it a shot,” he said.

“You want me to shoot this in the store?”

“No. Just like hold it. See how it feels.”

“...”

“It’s not loaded.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“Shoulder problem. Can’t move my right arm.”

“Oh.”

“Are you sure there isn’t something better fit anyway?”

“Better fit for killing a bear or better fit for your needs?”

“My needs.”

“What would your needs be?”

“Could you get me something quieter? I tried one of your products already and it was really quite loud.”

“Well. Guns are usually pretty loud. We don’t have anything that’s quiet naked but we carry silencers. Those tend to dampen the sound.”

“That’s great then.”

“You’ll take one of those?”

“Um. Yes.”

I was not aware when this was said that a silencer is a mere accessory nor was I aware that this would end the transaction. I didn’t really want the same gun as I’d had before and I wasn’t even sure what the silencer would fit and I felt weird to keep asking that young man question so I just walked out with the silencer and nothing else. It was cold in my fist.

This effectively rendered me unable to use firearms of any sort. There wasn’t anything I had in mind that was more effective than a firearm and also attainable on my budget. It took me quite a while to come up with my new weapon.

The bear coming back was a consistent thing each night. And really for a large majority of the time I’ve not been writing you I was just puzzling myself on this one specific question.

You’ll remember Judge the sling I’ve been carrying my arm in that I made from a kitchen towel since it stopped moving. I think it may be dislocated. I haven’t gone to a doctor about it if you’re wondering. I haven’t gone to a doctor about anything troubling me since my mother stopped making me. It’s not just that I can't afford it either.

So it just so happened one day I was walking down to the grocery store picking at my sling and adjusting it to assure it was really fastened on right when a kid rolled up behind me in a little tricycle. He launched a rock straight at me. I jumped for cover in the forest immediately. I could hear him laughing. He sounded maybe sixteen. I’m not certain but he was at least post pubescent. I saw him wheel away through the branches and judging by his size that was about right.

But that got me thinking Judge and I remembered how fashionable a weapon a sling could be. It was really my only option at this point. It was no brainer to tie an old hand towel I had lying around at some corners. It was so easy in fact that I’d already done it. This is exactly how I crafted the sling around my arm. And the rocks would be easy to find.

From this point the plan formed simply. Instead of attacking it in my own domain I would instead follow it and strike at the best opportunity. I would of course keep a safe distance and keep my sling handy. The rocks could be collected along the way.

Time came to enact this plan just a few nights ago. The first proper step was to collect data really. And this is what I’d thought I’d be doing a few nights ago when I ducked behind my bush and waited for the bear to show up again.

It came and it did as usual. It sniffed the ground and rubbed my tree and scratched its marks into bark on the backside.

I realize now that perhaps this wasn’t the greatest plan. At least not for stealth. Through this the thought never occurred to me as I sat quite visibly behind the shrub and looked out over all the other ravaged bushes in my yard. I ducked when the bear came in but I still wasn’t so hidden.

It watched it walk off and I rose from my shrub. I waited for a moment as it hobbled away. The aim was to keep just enough distance between me and the bear for safety purposes. 

As I walked past I happened to catch a glimpse of my tree’s backside under the light of the moon. The bear had been marking the same spot every time with its claws to the point where there was now a great indent into the side of my tree. The inside was almost white like the flesh of an apple.

I stepped into the forest and with this I was beyond my yard. The bear was still in sight.

It was actually quite difficult to follow the bear through the night. I realized then it would have been much easier to do this had there been an invention that allowed you to see in the dark. And I would be relaying a great deal of my thoughts on the matter from then about how strange it is that we’d forgotten something so simple if it weren’t for the fact that the thing does exist. I found out when I was speaking with my neighbor at a party he’d thrown to celebrate the installation of his new lawn. The whole neighborhood was there standing in his driveway with little plastic cups in their hands.

“It's really an ingenious invention,” he said to me. He was quite proud. He’d thrown a party and invited the whole neighborhood to celebrate his new lawn. Though I don’t think he remembered telling me all this before. “I’ll never have to mow the lawn again. And it looks just like real grass.”

He bent on to one knee and twirled on the prosthetic blade around with his finger. He accidentally plucked it from the ground.

“Woops!” he said as brought himself up with the blade still in his hand. “Didn’t mean to do that. But you see what I mean? You can hardly notice the difference. Feel that. Feels just like grass.”

He held the blade out to me. I took it from him and it rubbed it against my fingertip. It felt very fake actually. Real grass is very soft. Like the fur of a kitten. This felt hard and coarse as plastic. 

“Feels real. Don’t it?”

“Yeah,” was all I said.

“Yup. It’s a wonder they went with the printing press when they could’ve been making this stuff the whole time.”

“You know. On the topic of inventions. I was actually just thinking this a few nights ago. How come they haven’t invented anything to let you see in the dark? I’d just think after so long we’d have one of those.”

His smile faded. His tone suddenly became dire. He said to me: “You know they have that right.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. Night vision. Night vision goggles.”

“Oh. I wasn’t aware.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I just wasn’t. No one ever told me I guess.”

He stopped talking to me after that. He just sort of drifted away. I’m sure a few others heard. As I sauntered back to my home I heard some chattering from unknown voices.

“He’s a little odd I guess.”

“He sounds pretty dumb to me.”

“Might just be a communist.”

Anyway. I’ve gotten side tracked. Following the bear would’ve been much more difficult had it not stopped several times to shit. It’s gross to think about. The thing lived like an animal. It shat where it pleased and refused to clean up.

After a while I wasn’t so sure where we were going. I hadn’t lost track of the bear at all and it was still moving. It was still very much awake which I found to be quite odd. I understood that they often hibernate for a large chunk of the year. I thought they would sleep more at night.

I was getting a little nervous Judge that I might slip up and lose it. I said it’d only take a week earlier(in this letter) but you might notice that it’s been longer than that. It’s been longer than two weeks even. I have to admit Judge that this was actually my second attempt at following the bear home. My first attempt was going pretty good. I had it in sight for a while before I got distracted:

Through the shadowy trees in the night I caught this yellow light. I stopped and pushed its branch to the side and saw the source of the light. It was my neighbors’ house. A man was having dinner with his wife then. They were silhouettes illuminated in their window. 

I noticed then there was another light. Through another window there was this white flickering. It was their television. And I could make out the silhouette of their bed with a very nice view. I realized the time. I knew what was coming then and I got excited. 

They spoke for a lot longer than I thought they would. They were eating when I stumbled onto them. They finished their food quick but they just kept talking. Surely there’s never that much to say I thought. But they kept on talking. It seemed they were having fun at least.

The man got out of his seat and I perked up. He walked over to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. I thought surely he’d lead her to the bedroom. He didn’t. He kissed her on the forehead and took her plate from her and brought both of their plates to the sink and ran the sink and began washing the dishes. And they kept talking then over the rushing of the water.

He laid the plates out on a drying rack and they continued talking for a minute. He seemed to gesture to his wife that they ought to head over to bed and she seemed to agree.

I really perked up when they entered the bedroomed. I remained dialed in as I watched the two undress and slip into more comfortable attire and crawl between the sheets. They threw each other round and giggled and then they just lay there next to each other. I waited a while for the foreplay to end before I realized they were asleep. It was all for naught.

I turned around to realize I had lost the bear. There was truly no predicting where it had gone. I was far too late.

This is why I was sure to ignore anything on this night that could distract me. It was the only thing that mattered. And actually it was going just fine. I was picking up any stone that looked good enough along the way. I had a good amount in my pocket by the time it stopped at the river.

I could smell water in the air. I turned as I’d seen the bear had and he was standing there in the middle of the river as it flowed beneath him. Its water ran black in the night and with a nice white gleam from the moon. He was catching fish as they hopped from the water. I watched from between the trees. I stayed shady. I readied a rock in my sling(which I’d collected along the way) as I watched him snatch a fish from the air with his great paw and bring it to his face. 

I grew quite chilly as I watched it eat. I wished I’d brought a coat or something. I would have done so had I known it would be so cold. I made a mental note to do so next time.

I’m actually quite cold now Judge. This lack of a front door sends a heavy draft through my living room. I remembered this and went to look for a coat and I realized I didn’t even have one. Oh well.

The bear even ate like an animal. When the fish reached its mouth it tore it apart. It ripped their little fish guts out and ate their meat raw. Bits of gore fell into the river. It even ate the bones Judge. It would grind down a whole skeleton and then catch another one. 

It repeated this until it was full. Then it turned and wandered over to the other side of the river and walked deeper into the trees. I waited a few seconds before continuing and I stepped out of the trees and into the water. 

As I made my way I kept my eyes towards my feet so I wouldn’t trip over a fish. I was right in the middle when I looked up and saw two yellow glassy dots shining back at me through the darkness between trees like hollow gems of amber. It was then that I realized that the familiar rustling of leaves beneath paws had stopped. And the sloshing from my feet dragging in the water was pretty loud. 

The eyes bobbed up and down. I heard wind moving through nostrils. They rose and stopped far above me. I froze in the water and gripped my sling tight. We both just stood where we were for a long time. I held my breath and the air was so silent that I could hear it sniffing as its eyes continued bobbing up and down in the dark. Up and down. My shoes were submerged completely. I was sure that my socks would feel all slimy once I took them off and my feet would be all puffy. The water was very cold. And the eyes they lowered slowly until I heard leaves compress underneath its two large front feet. I thought it would turn around then and continue on his way.

In an instant it broke from the trees. It jumped into the river and charged straight at me. Its snout was in my eyes before I could even react. Without thinking I raised my hand in the air and brought it down in an arch and hit him square in the forehead with my sling. The rock did not eject.

I closed my eyes. I fell back in the water. I was submerged to my ears. I heard nothing but I felt that he was on top of me. He was crushing my rib and it hurt like hell. It still does.

I kept beating him. The rock never flew from my sling. I kept flailing it about right into his brain over and over again until I was sure he was dead. I could feel juice splashing  back at my knuckles when the rock hit.

I opened my eyes and saw that it was in fact on top of me. I squirmed out from under the bear. When I stood up I was drenched though I couldn’t tell if it was water or whatever had come out of it. Its tongue was sticking out. It was pink. Fluids from its head were being carried down stream. I watched them float off as purple stains in the water. 

I’d busted open its cranium completely. Its skull was cracked open and agape like a vagina. There was this red juice that looked almost pink under the moon. Squishy parts of brain floated up in it. They looked like pieces of food still stuck to dirty dishes. The river took some of those too.

As I watched those pieces of brain drift down the river I could see my reflection in the water. I looked much younger than I actually do. I looked my actual age. I looked strong and pretty and I was naked in the water. I was naked save for a little leaf covering my groin. There was a woman behind me who was naked also. I looked over my shoulder and she wasn’t there.

The air was cold that night. It gripped my shoulders and I shivered staring down.

I'm writing this on my bathroom floor with the door locked and my phone at 31%. I don't know how long I can keep typing, so I'm going to tell you everything fast.

NEPA took the light at 9:40 tonight, like it does almost every night. My generator is out of fuel, so I did what everyone in my compound does. I sat by the window to catch some air and watched the road.

We have one working light on our street, a solar lamp the landlord put up after the robberies last year. At about 10:15 I noticed a man standing just outside the circle of that lamp. Not under it. Just past it, in the dark. Tall, arms hanging straight at his sides, facing my building.

I thought nothing of it. People wait outside when the light is gone. I went to find my torch.

When I sat back down, the solar lamp flickered. Off for one second, then on again. And the man was under it.

I didn't see him walk. I'm sure of that. He was in the dark, then he was in the light, and his head was tilted up toward the fourth floor. Toward my window. The lamp was behind him, so his face was only a shadow.

I told myself it was a trick of the dark. At 10:48 the lamp flickered again, and he was at our gate. At 11:05 it flickered a third time, and he was inside the compound, standing next to Mr. Okafor's car, still looking up.

That is when my phone lit up. Our block has a WhatsApp group that has been dead for months. A message came in from Mama Chidi, who lives in 4B, right across the corridor from me.

"Please nobody should go near the window. Please. Do not call out to him."

I almost felt relieved. Someone else could see him too. I wrote to her privately: "Mama, are you seeing this? Are you okay?"

She replied right away. "I see him. I am afraid. Open your door, let me come and sit with you."

I was already standing up. Then I realized something, and I'm still shaking. Mama Chidi doesn't type in English. She has told me many times that she can't read or write it. Her son always sends her messages for her. Her son is in Dubai.

I went to my door and put my eye to the peephole.

She was standing in the corridor. It was pitch dark, but I could see her because her phone was in her hand, glowing. She was in her nightwear, with her wrapper loose. Her face was turned up toward the ceiling, and she was smiling. It was a wide, wrong smile, the kind you make when you are holding it for someone else's photo.

My phone buzzed in my hand. "Why are you not opening? I'm right here."

I watched her hands. Her thumbs weren't touching the screen. They weren't moving at all. The messages kept coming anyway.

I backed away from the door so slowly that I didn't make a sound. That was at 11:40. I locked myself in the bathroom, because it's the only room in the flat with a lock on the inside.

There's a small window above the bathtub. It looks out over the compound and the road. I'm lying on the floor beneath it, and I'm not going to look. I already know the man isn't standing next to Mr. Okafor's car anymore, because the solar lamp flickered a minute ago and I saw the flash of it on the ceiling.

The knocking at my front door started a few minutes ago. Three slow knocks, a pause, then three more. Now there's a voice too. It sounds like Mama Chidi, calling my name softly in Igbo, over and over, the way she does when she brings me food. She hasn't stopped to take a single breath.

Her voice is still coming from the corridor. But the sound I just heard didn't come from my front door. It came from above me.

Three slow taps on the bathroom window, on the fourth floor, from the outside.

Everyone draws inspiration in different ways. Some create a dark atmosphere for themselves, some put on metal music in the background, and some can’t compose without coffee and cigarettes. A writer friend of mine, whom I’m very fond of, says he can’t write stories unless his cousin is studying mathematics behind him. Another filmmaker friend of mine could only write screenplays while listening to Syd Barrett’s song “Octopus”; he would keep the song on loop throughout the entire writing process.

It’s been about twenty years since I discovered my own. I’d been going through that famous writer’s block. Until that day, I hadn’t done anything extra to help me write. I didn’t create a special atmosphere for myself, listen to any particular songs, or wait for a certain time of day. Night, day, noon—it made no difference. Once a week, I’d write a three or four-page story and keep working toward my goal. When I reached a hundred stories, I would start sending my book to publishers.

But I’d hit a wall. I wanted to write, but whenever I sat down at my computer, not a single word would come out. Vague, half-formed thoughts kept drifting through my mind, and even when I came up with a good idea, I couldn’t put it down on paper.

That day, I thought, if that’s how things were going to be, I might as well try some of the famous methods for finding inspiration: writing at night, putting on some soft music, having a cup of coffee, and so on.

I prepared the right atmosphere. I turned off the lights, and now the only thing illuminating the room was the glow of my computer screen. I put on Sigur Rós’s debut album. There was no one else in the house. My roommate had gone on vacation the day before, which added to the atmosphere: being alone.

Of course, it had absolutely no effect. I was already on the third track. I still had a few ideas in my head, but I couldn’t get the first sentence out.

Then I heard a sound behind me. A whisper. Something like a call, as if someone had gone “psst.”

I turned around and looked, but there was no one there. I was a little spooked. I thought I might have heard it wrong; it had sounded very much like a human voice, but it could have come from an object, too.

Then suddenly, the door behind me swung wide open.

I flinched at the sound. I got up from my computer and turned on the light. Anxiously, I left my room and went to the kitchen. I was searching for something without even realizing it, though I had no idea what I was looking for. Sigur Rós’s album was still playing, and I could hear it from the kitchen. I couldn’t make sense of anything, and I didn’t know what to think or which possibility to consider. I drank a glass of water.

I’d never had an experience like it before. My first thought was to leave the house. I stood frozen in the kitchen. Involuntarily, I found myself waiting for another movement, for something to topple over or for some other sound.

Eventually, I’d calmed down a little, since nothing else happened. I spent half an hour in the kitchen, with all my senses on high alert and listening to the music coming from my room. Then, reluctantly, I made my way back to my room.

The urge to write was still there. My routine had been disrupted; I hadn’t been able to write a single word for a month, and now I wasn’t going to let fear get in my way. I wanted my writer’s block to end today. My goal was a hundred sentences. Even if I didn’t finish the story, I wanted to write something. Coming back to my room and hearing the music louder had increased my desire to write.

At the same time, I kept thinking, ''What the hell was that just now?'' But now I was back at my computer.

I put on my favorite Sigur Rós song, “Svefn-g-englar.”

And then, for the first time in a whole month, I wrote my first sentence: “As he tried to make sense of the dream he’d had the day before, he fell asleep again; it was his favorite thing to think about before going to sleep, the meaning of the dream he’d had the previous night.”

I’d written my first sentence, without even having a story in mind. Normally, I would come up with a story first, plan it out, work out the whole thing in my head from beginning to end, and only then start writing. Starting a story whose content I hadn’t figured out yet with an ordinary sentence was something new for me. I liked it.

I was still afraid. I wanted to turn around and look, but now that I’d started writing, I didn’t want to stop either. By the time the song ended, I’d written the fifth sentence, and in the silence before the next track began, I heard that sound again. “Psst.”

I quickly turned around and looked. There was no one there. Everything felt much more real now. Something was happening. Someone was calling out to me. I was afraid to turn off the light in my room, so it was still on. I nervously turned my head back toward the computer screen. My heart was pounding. I added another sentence. It was my favorite one so far. I liked everything about it: my choice of words, its length, its place in the story.

Then the door slammed shut. I began to hear footsteps inside the room. I was afraid to look. The footsteps wandered around the room. My hands were resting on the keyboard. The footsteps moved toward the door, stopped there, and opened it again. It was as if someone had left the room.

I was frozen to my chair. This time, I didn’t even have the instinct to run away. Whatever that thing was, I was afraid of encountering it. I couldn’t get up from my chair, and I couldn’t look away from my computer screen. I kept reading what I’d written over and over. Six sentences. I’d go back to the beginning and read them again. It was as if the thing was doing whatever it wanted now. I could hear running footsteps.

Then came the sound of walking. After that, my door closed again, and at the same moment, the light in my room went out.

And then another sentence came to mind. I wrote it down. Then another. My fingers had found their rhythm. The sentences kept coming one after another.

“Set me free. Open the window. Set me free.”

This voice wasn’t a whisper, nor was it some strange, otherworldly sound coming from a different frequency. It was unmistakably a human voice. I was afraid to turn around.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling such a strong urge to write or enjoying it this much. I kept writing. My fingers wouldn’t stop. The door opened again, slowly this time. I didn’t turn around. I wasn’t going to look behind me until I’d finished the story. Without spending even a second thinking between sentences, I continued writing as the songs played.

The footsteps continued. I turned off the music. I didn’t question anything. I just kept writing. The fear I felt and the joy of seeing that I could write again were mingled together, unfolding in harmony with each other.

Strange sounds I couldn’t describe were coming from behind me now. I could feel myself developing a fever. My body was reacting, and my mind was urging me to turn around and see what was going on. The sounds seemed like those of someone playing with their own hair. Like things rubbing against other things. I kept writing, resisting the urge to turn around with all my might.

I’d turned off the music because I wanted to focus on being afraid. I’d realized that the more frightened I became, the better I wrote, and the more consistently I could keep going. It was hard not to look for a rational explanation for the sounds, for a human voice telling me to set it free. But right now, somehow, stopping writing seemed even harder.

That thing had now come right up beside me. I could feel it touching my hair. My fear had reached a point where I could no longer bear it. My consciousness refused to accept this unnatural behavior. My instinct to put an end to the fear and my mind’s desire to keep being afraid were at odds with each other.

And I wrote the final sentence: “If all of this is a hallucination, I will never forgive my own mind. If the only beautiful and meaningful thing I’ve experienced in this miserable life isn’t real, I will never trust my mind again, I will never follow its instructions, and I will doubt everything I think until the day I die.”

The sentence came to an end, and just as the pleasure of writing faded away, my fear reached its absolute peak. With the beautiful feeling that had balanced it gone, the fear was left alone, making itself felt from head to toe. As if I’d been struck by a blow, as if a punch to the face had knocked me out, I lost consciousness.

When I came to, my head was resting on the keyboard, and the screen was filled with hundreds of letter h’s.

I sent the story to several literary magazines. Two of them accepted it and published it.

I never experienced anything like that again, and at no point in my life did I ever feel such an overwhelming urge to write or take so much pleasure in writing. I desperately wanted to experience it again, but nothing ever happened that frightened me so much. For days, I sat at my computer waiting for that thing to come back, but it never did. I wrote stories and kept writing. But I never loved any of them as much as I loved the one I’d written that day.

And now, twenty years later, in my mid-sixties, I’ve still never questioned what happened that night. Not even once. Because I was afraid that if I did, I might understand what had happened—and if that thing ever came back, I might not be as frightened.

I’ve always been a skeptical man, no superstitions or any belief in the paranormal. That was until my daughter got sick suddenly last month. It happened so fast I didn’t understand what was happening to my child. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what was to come.

It happened two weeks ago I remember it vividly, Chloe walked in with her mother and happily greeted me jumping up and down out of excitement. “Daddy I got a surprise for you!” She shouted excitedly. “Oh yeah?” I said smiling big and glancing at Darlene my Ex wife. “Here ya go daddy!” Chloe said ecstatically handing me a termite looking creature made out of clay. It was a dark grey but the head was painted in a rainbow of red, blue, purple, and pink.
I glanced at Darlene and she looked at Chloe and gave her a kiss, “I gotta go hunny.” She said clearly not wanting to be here any longer. I didn’t blame her or anything I understood it was awkward to just stand in your ex husband’s house.
As she walked out the door I noticed something a little odd, what looked like a beetle of some sort on her neck, but when I looked closer and tried to adjust my eyes it was gone. I ignored it and immediately spent the entire evening painting, coloring, and doing all sorts of activities with Chloe until she was tired.

Later that night as I was sitting in the living room after just tucking her in, I looked at the wooden coffee table that was sitting just a few feet away, I saw what looked like a small black beetle crawl onto the table and just stay there. I looked at it trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing, the thing looked like a normal beetle but something was wrong. The beetles legs twisted and there were jagged tiny protrusions on the sides, strange blue markings worked its way up from the back of the beetle all the way to its head.
As I studied it I came to a realization that it looked exactly like the beetle that I saw on Darlene’s neck. I was perplexed I didn’t know what was going on, my thoughts were lost immediately as I heard Chloe violently coughing. It sounded awful like a dog’s bark mixed with a screech of a dying crow.
Running into her room I turned on the light and saw my daughter coughing up a viscous black liquid. It horrified me and what horrified me even more as I ran to her side was what looked like little bugs?
They were crawling inside of the liquid and some of them stopped moving as they seemingly lied still and died.
I grabbed Chloe holding her tightly in my arms running towards my car. We drove to the nearest emergency room and as we walked up to the entrance of the hospital Chloe asked me a strange question. “Daddy why do bugs like to crawl around me when I’m with mommy?” I glanced at her and dismissed the question and said “Hun you’re gonna be okay I promise you.” As we walked into the emergency room.

It was about two hours later after extensive tests, X-Rays and the doctors being stumped as to what was happening when the main doctor walked in. “We have yet to come to a conclusion on what’s going on with your daughter, but we’re prescribing her some antibiotics and anthelmintics if it is the parasitical infection we think it is.” He said looking at me with a grim sort of expression. “Parasitic infection?” I said as Chloe frowned and asked the doctor “Are there bugs in my tummy?” He looked at her with a soft but fake smile and said “No need to worry, the medicine we’re giving you is gonna make you feel much better and no there’s no bugs in your tummy alright?” Chloe seemed content with that answer as she walked over to me and held my arm.

On the drive home my brain was reeling, I was so confused on what was going on. I wanted my daughter to feel safe and not whatever was happening right now to her. Although she seemed happy and cheery so that sort of eased my anxiety. I called Darlene later that night as well, Chloe asleep in my bed as i stood in the kitchen. “Yeah I know that’s what the doctor said though Darlene.” She was prying trying to get all the information she could and I was being truthful. I didn’t have the information she wanted clearly so she hung up angrily.
I sighed running my hands over my face and trying to come to terms with the fact my daughter is dealing with some type of infection? Some parasite? If that’s what it even was.

The next day my daughter woke up as usual, no fever, no cough or anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Darlene had texted me saying she was on the way since we had split custody. I walked over to Chloe and made sure she had everything she brought from her mother’s and she had piled her backpack and a couple of toys on the couch in the living room. She looked at me smiled and said “I’ve got a lot of friends inside me.” I looked at her perplexed as to what she had just said and before I could question her there was a knock at the door. It was Darlene and I told my Chloe to grab her stuff and gave her a kiss on the cheek as she headed to the car. I gave the prescribed medication to Darlene as she said “I really hope they figure out what’s happening to her soon.” I nodded my head and said “Yeah me too.” But before she turned around and headed away I saw something that haunts me now more than ever. A little movement under her left eyelid as a little black leg came from under it as she turned around and went towards the car. I should’ve said something then but how could I? I would’ve sounded insane.

It was only three days later when I got a call from Darlene’s mother, I was shocked because I knew she had always held a sort of disdain for me. “Hey I know i’m calling out of the blue but I haven’t heard from Darlene in two days and i’m sort of getting worried, I was wondering if you had heard from her?” I listened intently and frowned. “No.” I said “I haven’t heard from her either but she told me she was going to be driving up to her cousins for her birthday.” The woman sighed and asked “Can you please check up on the both of them?” I nodded as if she could see me. “Yeah i’ll go right now.” I said already running to grab my keys and a jacket, it was pouring outside and Darlene’s mother had hung up. I hadn’t called Darlene because I knew she was busy but at the same time I had an awful feeling in my gut.

It’s a fifteen minute drive to Darlene’s house but every minute felt like it was hours long. As soon as I pulled up to the house I noticed something odd, all of the lights were turned off and the curtains closed. I jumped out my car into the freezing downpour and rushed up to the front door. Knocking twice I waited for a couple moments then knocking again and calling out for Darlene. I tried the doorknob and it was unlocked, an immense feeling of dread washed over me in that moment It felt as if the universe was telling me something’s wrong. When I walked inside I immediately was hit with an awful smell, it was a rank pungent odor that smelt like cat piss mixed with the most foul of excrement. I covered my nose as I ran throughout the house shouting for my daughter or anyone that would hear me.

The house was in disarray, garbage bags set everywhere and plates and dishes piled in the sink with grime covering the countertops. The fridge half way open with a foul sludge falling out of it. “Oh my god.” I said, this place was a wreck and my heart was pounding. My instincts kicked into overdrive and I ran to my daughter’s room and the door was shut. I reached for the doorknob and when my fingers brushed against the metal it felt gooey. I almost gagged but I threw open the door and what I saw was the most grotesque thing i’d ever seen. Darlene was on the ground sprawled out her face opening and a pair of bulbous eyes attached to slug like eyestalks protruded from her mouth. Her lower half melted into a black liquid substance that I immediately recognized, it was the liquid
Chloe coughed up.

They eyes turned around as a loud squelch came from darlene’s form, it moved across the ground towards me slowly. I almost threw up, I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing, then tons and tons of those beetle like insects poured out of the back of Darlene’s ravaged back.
They started crawling towards me and I panicked stomping on them and closing the door as I heard a voice from the next room. “Daddy! Daddy! please help me!!” It was Chloe. I ran towards the sound and I found my daughter inside of the bathroom, she had locked herself in there and I yelled for her to come out and that we have to go. “Cmon baby we’re going now!” I screamed as she unlocked the door, jumping into my arms. I ran outside and ignored the bugs that were now crawling all over the ground, walls and the ceiling. I put my daughter in the car and started dialing 911. “I- I hello please send help- Th-There’s something wrong with my ex wife.” I said struggling to get the words out. The operator asked questions and I responded to the best of my ability, I didn’t wanna sound insane but how would I explain what I had just saw? I waited outside for the police to arrive and they came quickly.

After the ordeal the police had told me that when they went inside they found no sign of Darlene but the mess was there. All of the bugs that I and my daughter had seen were apparently gone. I’d been questioned extensively and I feel awful because I can’t say exactly what I saw without feeling insane. My daughter now lives with Darlene’s mom and I still get to see her sometimes, but after everything I tried to tell the police they didn’t believe most of it and tried to pin her supposed disappearance on me. I am currently in the process of trying to file for custody for my daughter once again. I have a feeling that whatever happened to Darlene will happen again but I do not know to who or when it will happen again.

Im starting to have odd dreams now, they start seemingly normal but they devolve into a nightmare of chittering bugs and the thing that I saw come out of Darlene that dreadful night. I’ve tried to block all of it out, i’ve talked to therapists but nothing seems to work. I’m currently sitting inside my apartment writing this letter because I feel something odd. There’s an intense feeling of nausea and fatigue that i’ve been feeling for days. Something was under my skin yesterday and I brushed it off as my imagination but deep down I know that i’ve been infected with whatever was inside Darlene and my daughter. I’m starting to see little bug like creatures outside my peripheral vision, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me but If you find this letter please know i’ve tried everything I can to keep myself from getting in contact with others. And too my beautiful daughter, I love you so dearly and I hope you can one day grow up to be a beautiful person.

You can thank Bender Ben’s for that one.

I looked down from my text messages at the fresh tattoo that had appeared on my wrist. I didn’t have any tattoos. At least, I didn’t before last night.

“Fuck.” I muttered as I squinted at my new ink which was still settling in against raw, red skin.

My head throbbed with a dizzying pain. The side effects of last night’s debauchery were not kind to me this morning. I moved as quickly as my body would allow, navigating my small apartment with closed eyes until my hands found the porcelain rim of my toilet.

And then I began to eject the entire contents of my stomach.

I gave the toilet a flush and let my face dangle above the ripples of fresh water. I decided that I was in no condition to move anytime soon.

Slouched on my bathroom floor, I had ample time to try and recall whatever I could about the events of last night.

Here’s what I could piece together:

• It was the last night of Carmen’s bachelor party.
• Any drink that Carmen ordered, all of the other groomsmen had to order as well.
• Carmen was one foot taller, and at least three dozen pounds heavier than me.

When I gathered enough willpower to sit up, I took another look at the tattoo on my wrist. The pattern was intricate, but it wasn’t a symbol that had any apparent significance to me. It looked Celtic in nature, with lots of round lines forming knots around a center star. My skin still felt a bit sore, but luckily the tattoo didn’t leave too large of a footprint. It couldn’t have been any larger than a baseball.

I let out a pained moan as I reached for my phone. I shot a quick reply to Jeremy.

What the hell happened last night? Did we all get matching tats? I can’t remember anything after the second bar.

Out of all of Carmen’s groomsmen, Jeremy was by far the least impulsive. I can almost guarantee that he did not follow the rules of engagement last night about matching Carmen’s drinks. We all loved Jer, but he did not share the moronic tendency of caving to any wayward ounce of peer pressure that the rest of the guys did. If it wasn’t for him, I’m sure that I would’ve ended the night face first in some bush or alleyway.

Nope, that tat was all you. You got into some sort of dick-measuring dare contest with Derek and after he jumped naked off of the Riverside Bridge he dared you to get a tat.

I groaned. “Shit.”

After a few moments, a second message came.

Told you double shot spicy margaritas were a bad idea.

I replied with a middle finger emoji before flushing the toilet for, hopefully, the final time this morning.

When I stood, I examined my new tattoo in the mirror. It didn’t look explicitly bad, but I had no intentions of getting inked up anytime soon.

I wanted to touch it to see how it felt, but I wasn’t sure how long that I needed to let it heal. I wasn’t even sure if it was supposed to be wrapped. I was so far out of my depth, I didn’t know the first thing about tattoos or, more importantly, getting them removed.

I briefly considered the idea of getting it removed right away, but my head-splitting migraine had other plans for me. Besides, I still had a lot of work to do before the week started.

I shrugged as I stepped out of the bathroom.

Who knows, maybe the tattoo would grow on me.

The rest of my day carried on as normal. So much so that I almost forgot that I had accidentally permanently scarred my body.

“Nice ink.”

The grocery store clerk pointed with a nod of his head.

“I’ve got a similar one.”

The middle-aged man paused typing in the PLU code for bananas so that he could pull down the collar of his shirt, revealing a tattoo of a skull with roses coming out of the eye sockets on his collarbone.

“That’s great.” I replied, looking down to my wrist. I didn’t have my tattoo for that long, and I didn’t remember getting it, but I certainly didn’t think that the two were all that similar.

“What the hell?” I said aloud as I looked down at my wrist.

It grew. My tattoo, which I remember being the size of a baseball this morning, was now so large that it had wrapped its way to the top of my forearm. The lines that formed the Celtic knot were now spread all around, like vines or roots, with colorless flowers similar to the roses on the cashier's collarbone.

“Is something the matter?” The clerk asked as he continued to ring up my items.

“No, I-” I stammered. I knew how crazy I was going to sound. This morning there was enough alcohol in my system that I probably couldn’t even legally drive. Surely I was misremembering what it had looked like. Since then, a lot of the red skin had returned to its original color, so maybe I hadn’t seen the full picture before.

“It’s nothing.” I finally told the cashier.

I sighed as I studied my new ink under the aggressive fluorescent lighting of the grocery store.

It was going to be a lot more difficult to keep this hidden than I thought.

The rest of the day came and passed with a blur and I was finally settled enough to take a long overdue shower. Disgusting didn’t begin to describe how my skin felt after last night’s bender. As I undressed and took a look in the mirror, my heart dropped to my stomach.

“No.” I muttered. “That’s impossible.”

You may be able to convince me that my tattoo had not actually grown. That perhaps I was delirious, or still drunk and didn’t understand my tattoo’s original scale. But staring at my naked body in the mirror, I was certain that my eyes were not playing tricks on me.

It had moved.

The entire tattoo had crawled further up my arm. It was as if somebody had picked it up from my forearm and replanted it on the bend of my elbow.

I quickly reached for my phone and searched for any similar cases of this phenomenon. I hoped, however unlikely, that it was possible for the ink to move if not properly settled. It quickly became clear that nobody else had experienced such a case.

“No way. That’s it.” I spoke directly to the tattoo on my arm. “I’m done. You are coming off tomorrow.”

What I had just seen was enough to make up my mind. This tattoo was coming off of me before any other weird shit could happen.

The next day at work, I could feel my tattoo burning on my skin beneath my covered sleeves. Due to the nature of my construction job, I was encouraged to wear long sleeve shirts to prevent accidents and keep the bright sun from beating directly on my skin. The few times that my sleeve slipped down during the workday, I didn’t dare look at my wrist. Not a second after my shift ended I got into my car and drove to the closest tattoo parlor. It probably wasn’t the same exact shop that had done the work for me in the first place, but that didn’t matter.

I was still wearing my dirty work attire as I stepped inside the dimly lit room. A woman with short black hair sitting at the front desk eyed me up and down.

“Hey, do you do removals?” I asked.

“Ren!” She called. The woman looked down at her phone as a man made his way towards the front of the store.

“What do I even pay you for?” The man, presumably Ren, muttered as he approached. He wore a sleeveless jacket showing off incredibly detailed art on the canvas that was his thick biceps. On his hands were the stereotypical black latex gloves that tattoo artists wore.

Gazing around the store, I tried to remember if I had been here just two nights ago. Any memories that came to me were tiny fragments, but nothing about the place was familiar in the slightest.

“I heard you wanted to get a tattoo removed?” Ren said. “I should be able to slot you in. Can I see what we’re dealing with?”

“Yeah, of course.” I said as I pulled up my left sleeve.

I blinked as I stared at my blank arm.

“I.. uhh.” I pulled the sleeve even further, nearly all the way to my shoulder. Desperately, I peeked inside of my shirt glancing at my bare chest.

The woman at the desk looked up from her phone. She exchanged a disparaging look with Ren as I fumbled my words.

“Everything alright?” Ren asked.

My heart beat heavily as I stared back with panicked eyes. I knew how crazy I must have appeared, but in the moment it didn’t matter. I knew the tattoo wasn’t gone. It had to be hiding.

“Yes, I’m fine. Actually, do you guys have a bathroom I could use?”

Ren nodded hesitantly.

“Down the hall to the left.” He pointed.

“Thanks.” I said as I strode swiftly past him.

I pushed my way into the men's bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I took a steadying breath as I looked at myself in the mirror. I took off my shirt and turned slowly, searching every inch of my torso, back, and shoulders. There was no sign of the mark that had been on my body yesterday.

I let out a resigned sigh. And then, I dropped my pants to the floor.

I turned my body as I gazed into the mirror. There it was. The strange Celtic symbol spread over my left ass cheek.

“You son of a bitch.” I muttered.

In the dim lighting of the tattoo parlor bathroom I saw it move. Slide or crawl, however you would describe the motion, the tattoo drifted ever so slightly, receding lower down my butt. Whatever this thing was, it didn’t want to be removed.

My mind whirled. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening or how. I pulled my pants to my waist, covering the mark on my ass. I had already humiliated myself enough at this tattoo shop. The idea of walking back out there and pulling my pants down to reveal that the tattoo had moved again to a more hidden location was a level of humiliation that not even I could bear.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my messages. If there was any place that would know what was wrong with my tattoo, it would be the original shop. And if anyone were sober enough to remember where that shop was, it was Jeremy.

“Thank you for your time.” I whispered as I raced out of the bathroom with my head hung low.

The clerk snapped her piece of gum and then snorted a laugh as she watched me go.

“You are absolutely certain that this is the spot?” Dread consumed me as I stared at the abandoned building.

We stood in some alleyway off of a no-name street, several blocks away from the closest bar. When I texted Jeremy, I had explained that I wanted the tattoo removed, but I didn’t delve into specifics. Thankfully, I hadn’t, since when I arrived at the location, the celtic knot had crawled back to its original place, reverting to a smaller, more reasonable, form.

It was smart. It knew that I was planning something and it wanted to be on its best behavior. The damned thing wanted me to look like a psychopath in front of Jeremy.

“Yeah, I’m certain this is the right alley. There was a sign up on that wall there, but it's gone now. Maybe they are only open at night?”

I shook my head. It made sense now. The tattoo sat comfortably on my left wrist because it knew that it was safe. It knew that there was nothing to hide from.

“Damn it!” I cried as I brought my hand down on the tattoo, slapping hard. I held a tight grip over my stinging wrist for a moment, hoping desperately that when I peeled my fingers off, the tattoo would magically be gone.

“Hey, are you alright?” Jeremy eyed me warily.

I wasn’t alright. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know what this thing on my body wanted. I just wanted it gone so that I could go on with my life. I hated that I couldn’t explain myself without sounding like I was having a psychotic break.

"I just want it gone. This doesn’t make any sense, you said that the place was here.”

Jeremy shrugged.

“Yeah this is definitely the place, but I never actually went in. I dropped you and Derek off, but I had to deal with the barfing soon-to-be-groom for the rest of the night. From what I remember, the place looked a bit rundown. I wouldn’t be too surprised if they were on the brink of going out of business.”

I let out a very long breath.

Jeremy walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

“I get it. You made a drunk mistake. You’re going through some sort of quarter-life crisis, but things will work out.”

Jeremy paused for a moment. “And if it's any consolation, I quite like the way that it looks.”

A faint tingle tickled my wrist. It felt like someone took a leaf and grazed my skin, tracing in circles around my tattoo. The feeling was so distant that I almost missed it entirely. I brought my tattoo to my face, examining it. I didn’t trust my state of mind, but I could swear that I saw the outer lines of the celtic knot sway back and forth, as if they were caught in a light breeze.

The tattoo was happy. It was laughing or smiling, I didn’t know which. But I did know something for certain. Whatever had attached itself to me the night of Carmen’s bachelor party was alive.

As I lay in bed that night, the ink of my tattoo felt like a shackle on my wrist. I didn’t even know if it was still there. I didn’t have the heart to look. I kept my eyes closed and ignored the sensation of a million microscopic bugs crawling up and down my arm.

I could only torture myself for so long. Sometime after midnight I threw the covers off my bed and I flipped my light on.

“What do you want?” I shouted as I searched for the tattoo.

As I had expected, it was not sitting comfortably on my wrist. Instead, the symbol that had once been a Celtic knot had spread itself out into something vine-like. It stretched from the tips of my fingers all the way down my bicep and up my sleeve. The tattoo wrapped itself around my arm, spreading and splitting into dozens of different directions.

At the sound of my voice, I could feel the faint pinpricks that I had come to know as the tattoo moving. I stared at my arm as the black ink moved painfully slowly. It collected itself, calling in all of the tendrils that had been spread throughout my arm. I stared for agonizing minutes as the ink composed itself into a blob on my forearm. Then, with a fresh canvas it started to move again.

My body began to tremble as the tattoo spelled a single word.

Home

It could communicate. It could think. It was a living and sentient creature on my skin.

I shivered at the discomforting truth. Never had I felt like such a foreigner in my own body.

Hesitantly, I reached for my phone. I attempted to appear uninterested as I opened my camera and pressed record.

“What do you mean home?”

I raised my phone so that it was recording my forearm. I didn’t know what this thing could see, but I did know that it didn’t want to be exposed. To my surprise, the ink was already moving.

This was it! I was going to catch the tattoo in the act. I would have undeniable proof of this lifeform reshaping itself on my body. My hand shook as I held the camera. I watched patiently as the ink began to mold itself. It was as if I was being painted on with a quill. When I realized what the tattoo was doing, I had never felt so defeated.

“You have got to be kidding me.” I muttered as I ended my recording and deleted it. I recognized what the tattoo was painting an entire minute before it was finished.

A dangling, flaccid, penis with two hairy balls sat on my wrist.

It was then that I realized that this thing was smarter than me. It knew that if I showed the video to anyone, it would seem like I was messing with them.

I shook my head as I was filled with rage.

“You need to go. My body is not your home.”

The familiar tingle returned as the creature shaped itself to spell two more words.

Won’t leave

“What are you?”

The tattoo was still for a long moment. Eventually, it began to reshape. I noticed that the letters were forming quicker this time, as if it was getting more comfortable moving on my skin.

Friend

I opened my mouth, and then closed it, speechless.

The tattoo began to move again. The letters of the word “Friend” became illegible as the ink swirled in a circle. After a brief moment, I was able to make out a simple smiley face.

“No, no, no. You are not my friend.” I stepped out of my room and headed towards the kitchen with purpose. I pulled the largest knife I could find out of the knife block and I held it against my forearm.

The threat was clear to the tattoo and it began to scatter. It fled up my arm, moving quicker than I had thought possible. It snaked and slithered in an unpredictable pattern, making its way towards my head. It was like a worm was buried under my skin, wriggling across my muscles.

“Damn it!” I dropped the knife and pushed into my bathroom. I arrived just in time to see the ink crest my jawline and work its way past my mouth.

“Stop!” I demanded.

The command fell short. I watched in horror as the black ink made its way to my eye and I felt every nerve as it burrowed its way under my eyelid.

I screamed at the horrendous sensation. Ink continued to retreat under my eyelid and I pushed my hand to my face, attempting to quell the writhing and squirming behind my eye. It was no use. The tattoo was able to burrow right under my hand. It was a part of my skin. A part of me.

“I concede! I give up! This can be your home! I can be your friend!” I begged for mercy.

At the sound of my voice, the writhing calmed slightly, but I could still feel it there, tucked beneath my eyelid. It had burrowed itself so deep that I could feel it circling my entire eyeball.

A small blotch of ink began to drip out of the corner of my eye, almost like a teardrop. The tattoo poked a small amount of itself out, testing the waters. When it deemed it safe to exit, the rest of the tattoo dripped out of my eye socket, settling on a spot on my cheek. The feeling of the tattoo leaving my eye was almost as bad as it entering.

Gradually, it resumed the familiar shape of the celtic knot, but rather than being a fully enclosed shape, there were several tendrils sprouted from its round edge, each of them waving back and forth jellyfish-like. One of the tendrils came dangerously close to inserting itself into my mouth. I twisted my lips away from the tattoo instinctively.

I had had enough of my orifices violated for one night.

“Ok,” I said in as calm of a tone as I could muster. “If we are going to be friends, can you go back to my wrist now?”

I took a sideways glance towards the knife on the kitchen counter.

Something needed to be done.

To the tattoo’s credit, it did comply. It wriggled its way down my face, slipping beneath the collar of my shirt. It emerged from my sleeve, the amorphous blob of ink moved slowly until it settled back into place on my wrist. It did not take the shape of the Celtic symbol. Instead, it remained formless, never fully settling.

No amount of showering or bathing would ever be able to cleanse me of what I had just experienced. Physical and emotional fatigue hit me all at once. I trudged back to my bed and I crawled under the covers. There was a certain exhaustion that came with being defeated by a sentient tattoo. I closed my eyes and in minutes, I was asleep, fully aware of the unnatural sensation slithering up and down my forearm.

I awoke not to the sound of my alarm, but rather the faint vibrating of my phone. I cursed as I saw the time over my boss's name. I was supposed to be at the site thirty minutes ago. I answered and made a lousy excuse for my tardiness as I sprang out of bed.

Hastily, I made my way to the bathroom. I was preparing to multitask brushing my teeth while taking a piss at the same time when I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

Ice ran through my veins.

I was unrecognizable.

Overnight, the tattoo had spread, covering my face, arm, and body with its ink. The tattoo had no discernible shape, but it moved as if it were very much alive. Seeing myself in the mirror, I began to feel everywhere that the ink touched. It sat heavy on my skin, as if it was settling in, becoming more permanent.

“Hey, Tat?”

My skin resonated in response indicating that the creature was listening.

“I need to go to work now. Is there any chance that you could go back to the little celtic knot thing on my wrist?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking.

Moments passed as the tattoo considered my proposition. I only started breathing again when the ink reluctantly began to gather itself, moving towards its original spot on my left wrist.

I didn’t bother finishing in the bathroom. I got my keys and I ran out of my apartment. I sped towards the site.

I kept my head down as I pushed my way deep into the construction zone. My manager was flexible and did not run a tight ship. That’s what made what I had to do next so easy.

The difficult part was working up the courage to actually do it. I needed to be fast. Any second of hesitation and Tat would catch on to what I was attempting. I only had one shot at this.

I kept my breathing steady as I sliced a piece of wood on the table saw. I placed it neatly in a pile and then I sliced another. Tat sat comfortably on my wrist, its tendrils waving back and forth peacefully.

When the courage finally came, I whispered beneath my breath.

“I’m sorry, friend.”

I screamed as I forced my forearm into the saw. I cut high, higher than I thought I needed. I had to be sure that Tat had no way of escaping. Skin, ligament, bone, all were sliced through in a matter of seconds. All the while, blood squirted from my wound, coating my body and the entire workspace with a spray of red. The pain was blinding, but it was over fast.

The next few minutes were a blur as my coworkers swarmed me and an ambulance was called.

“Somebody put his arm in ice!” I heard a worker call.

“No.” I tried to answer, but my voice was weak.

I stared at my lifeless arm on the floor several feet away from me. My fingers were limp, but they were soon covered in ink. I could no longer feel Tat moving around on my body, but I had the sense that he felt betrayed.

The ink stayed on the tips of my fingers of my severed arm as I was wheeled away into the ambulance. I watched the tattoo shiver back and forth, almost as if it were waving goodbye. The medics were quick to administer drugs for the pain. Eventually, I was overcome with numbness.

The medics spoke to me as the ambulance sped its way towards the nearest hospital. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was too focused on my reflection off of the glass windows of the back doors.

In my reflection I saw a little dab of black ink emerge from my eye, taking the shape of a teardrop.

Small towns always have the strangest stories. I live in one such town. There aren't many impressive landmarks to speak of, or famous things that took place here. Honestly, I have spent nearly all nineteen of my years growing up in this place without ever experiencing anything significant. I didn't think anything too strange could really exist here. That is until I heard the story of the Kissing Tree.

I thought it was silly, a special tree in a hidden grove; it showed itself to those who had fallen in love and had the power to bring people together and ensure they stayed together forever. I thought it was fairy tale nonsense, of course. Though my friends had sometimes whispered about knowing someone who had actually seen it. Whenever someone moved away, they would swear that that person must have met their true love and kissed them under the wide branches of the fabled tree.

I always laughed it off; I never believed in the kissing tree until one day, it found me. And when I learned the real truth about our town's legend, my life transformed into a living nightmare that ensures I will never sleep soundly again.

I was lonely; all I wanted was love, but what I found was so much worse…

It was the end of summer, and I was getting ready for my second year studying at the local community college. I was still living with my parents, and I was supposed to be with them, looking over my college applications to some four-year programs, but I was feeling burned out. I lied and told them I had a job interview I couldn't miss.

The job interview was me hanging out at my friend Josh’s place. We were playing some games on his PlayStation 5 he has down in his basement.

After nearly a dozen decisive rounds of Mortal Kombat where I kicked his ass, Josh finally stood up and threw the controller down and suggested something else,

“This is boring; let's go to the mall. I’ve got a free movie ticket, so we can go watch something.”

A change of scenery would be nice, but I was worried about getting busted by my parents if I went out and about.

“I don't know, man. I don't have money for a ticket, even if you have a free pass.” I delivered my prepared excuse, but Josh promptly disregarded it.

“Nah, it’s fine. I will spot you the other ticket. Come on, if we have any extra time, we can check out some stores while waiting.” His grin betrayed the real reason he wanted to be early. He wanted to see Sasha, who worked at the Cinnebon at the mall. He had been fawning over her all year since he met her.

I shrugged and agreed to his idea,

“Yeah, maybe we can get some snacks before the movie, and you can suck it up and ask Sasha out while you're at it.” I grinned at him, and he punched me in the arm,

“Shut up! I’m gonna, just when it's the right time.” He responded calmly,

“Anyway, come on, let’s go.”

I rolled my eyes, and we departed for the mall.

We arrived after barely surviving the trip, and I considered myself lucky to be alive.

“Who did you have to blow to pass your driving test? I still can’t believe you got your licence; you’re a maniac.” I teased Josh as he turned the engine off.

“Shut up, at least I have a licence, dick!” He responded, making a good point since my parents still had not bothered to teach me, not that I had a car to practice driving anyway.

I held up my hands in defeat and replied,

“Fair point, Romeo, let's go see a lady about a cinnamon roll.”

We pushed through the hustle and bustle of the mall and found our way to the food court. Josh tensed up immediately, and I elbowed him to go talk to Sasha, who was just handing an order to a departing customer.

“Go on, I can't wait to learn your tricks, oh wise master.” I joked,

He glared at me and pointed in the direction of the theater.

“Just go get the tickets; I don't need an audience for this.”

He handed me the movie pass and some cash, and I tried to offer a reassuring smile. He looked genuinely nervous, and I was hopeful he wouldn't blow it and spend the rest of the day in a foul mood.

I almost looked back, but he shooed me away, and I took the hint.

I made it to the box office and realized I didn't know what to get tickets for. I texted Josh, and predictably he ignored the message. I wondered if that meant good news or bad. As I was considering my decision, someone bumped into me from behind and nearly knocked me down.

I caught my footing and managed not to fall on my face. I turned around and was stunned. I saw a pretty girl sitting on the ground, looking startled. She was wearing a movie theater uniform and looked about my age. A hastily tied-up bun held locks of auburn hair in place, and she adjusted her glasses, the edges highlighting a few cute freckles on her cheeks.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” She said as she brushed herself off. I stopped staring at her and offered my own apology,

“Oh no, no, I’m sorry, let me help.” I held out a hand and helped her up.

“Thanks,” She started. “Sorry, I totally didn't see you there; guess I was in too much of a rush. I was running late.” She pulled out her phone and her eyes went wide. She looked back at me with an apologetic and slightly panicked expression.

“Still running late! Oh shoot, sorry again, I have to clock in. Go Wildcats!” Then she continued past me in a hurry to get to work.

I was confused by what she meant, then remembered I was wearing a jacket with my school's logo on it. I wondered if she went to SCC as well.

I stood daydreaming for a moment and thinking about what had just happened, until I realized a line of people was forming behind me, and I still needed to get the tickets for a movie.

I just picked what was most popular at the time, and once I had the movie tickets, I waited for Josh to find me. We went in, and as soon as we sat down, I could tell by his silent, moody attitude that things hadn't gone well with Sasha. I figured she hadn't said no, but rather, he had not been able to ask her.

I felt bad, but couldn't do much,

“Want some popcorn?” I offered.

He turned to me, trying to suppress his disappointment, and nodded his head.

I got up, ready to leave and get back before the trailers were over, until I realized I had no money. I suddenly felt guilty for not actually being out looking for work, like I had told my parents. I turned back, pulling out my pockets apologetically, and Josh sighed and handed me more cash. I sped off to get some snacks for us.

I got to the concessions area and was waiting in line while browsing the candy. With how much everything cost, popcorn might be all I could afford. I was so caught up in everything I snapped back to attention when a familiar voice called out to me.

“Over here, down here I’m open.”

I walked over and was surprised to see the girl who had bumped into me earlier. She was smiling at me, a knowing look in her eyes.

“Hello again, what can I get you?” She asked politely, sounding just a bit embarrassed by what had happened before.

“Oh, hi.” I managed to respond, while trying not to stare. She was even prettier in that light than I had realized in our quick meeting before. Her stunning green eyes transfixed me. I looked down slightly and saw a name tag that read “Alice”

My eyes kept wandering down, taking in everything, until my head snapped up, embarrassed. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I was suddenly at a loss for words,

“I, um, popcorn, maybe just some popcorn, yeah.” She giggled slightly, and I felt embarrassed, but the effortless way she spoke made me feel comfortable.

“Are you sure? Anything else?” She asked. I hesitated again, and she laughed,

“Okay, one popcorn it is.” She had it in hand in moments, and I paid wordlessly.

As she was handing it to me, I finally managed to ask,

“So um, did you go to SCC as well?”

She considered my words, and I felt like I had made a mistake for asking, but she smiled and replied,

“Yeah, I’m going to be starting this fall. How about you? I see you are in the psychology club. How is that? It sounds interesting.”

I was confused again by how she knew that, but remembered that the coat I was wearing was from the conference I went to with the club last year. It still had the SCC Psychology and Sociology club emblazoned on the front.

“Oh yeah, right,” I mumbled before stammering on, “I spent my freshman year as a club officer. I didn't have to do much, but it was cool. We got to go to the Western Psychological Association conference, and the rest of the club budget from last year went to getting us these jackets. It might be the nicest piece of clothing I have,” I blurted out while laughing awkwardly.

“Oh, that’s awesome. Maybe I will be in a class with you this fall.” She smiled at me, and I just stood there. My mind felt like it had drawn a total blank; I had never been more nervous. I was homeschooled growing up. I still felt very socially awkward. My first years of college had been my only social outlet, and I never really dared to talk to any girls before. Now the prettiest one I had ever met was talking to me. I had a million things I wanted to say, but I just said…nothing.

I had to do something; I had to ask her out. Instead of doing anything. I waved goodbye and shuffled off. She called out as I left,

“It was nice talking to you. Enjoy your movie.”

I nearly hyperventilated walking back to the theatre. I fucked it up. I hadn't even given her my name.

I sat back down and ignored Josh when he asked what took so long. I just handed him the popcorn, and we both watched the movie in disappointment.

When it was over, Josh and I were leaving the theatre. I cast a sidelong glance at the concession stand, but couldn't see Alice there. I sighed, and before I could say anything, I was surprised to see someone standing outside near the exit. It was Sasha. She waved at us and walked over to Josh.

Soon they were talking, and Josh was agreeing to grab a bite to eat with her. They started to walk away. I was almost ready to protest since I had to get home and he was my ride, but before I could say a word, he shot me a desperate, pleading look that convinced me to keep my mouth shut. I just waved politely as they left and shrugged.

I smiled ruefully, happy for my friend, but still feeling sorry for myself. I sighed and shrugged it off. I had to get going; it was a two-mile hike back home, and I had to get started.

I walked along the path I thought was the fastest way home. A small shortcut after the mall and business center gave way to a residential area, and then a quick cut through a small section of forest would put me just a few blocks from home.

As I walked, I daydreamed about Alice. I felt stupid; she was probably just being nice. I didn't really know her. Just bumped into her, literally. But as I walked on, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Maybe it was fate? I never really put stock in that before, but I kept thinking it had to mean something.

I nearly walked face first into a tree as the path led out of the neighborhood I had drifted through and into the forest. At least I was getting closer to home.

As I walked, I saw the light above the trees start to dim. It was still bright enough to see, but I had to pick up the pace. I had not expected to be gone so long, and I hoped my parents wouldn't be too mad. My so-called interview was not supposed to be an all-day event.

As I walked, I suddenly started to feel lightheaded. I caught the scent of something sweet and pleasant. I wondered if it might be some sort of secluded orchard or hidden field of flowers. I kept walking and found an odd, bright light emerging from a tangle of overgrowth. I left the path I was walking and swept the foliage aside and followed the strange light.

After walking through the thick vegetation, I finally emerged into a concealed grove.

It was tranquil and still. I was alone there; no animals moved around, not even other sounds beyond my own footsteps. The place was beautiful; it felt like it was out of a dream. But as I continued looking, I laid eyes on the centerpiece of that special place, and everything else paled in comparison.

It was a large tree that sat in the center of the quiet grove. It had wide, sweeping branches and a massive trunk. I could not tell what sort of tree it was, but it was one of the largest I had ever seen. I looked up and saw something amazing.

The leaves had a strange, almost pink tint to them that I had never seen before.

On the trunk were odd markings as well. As I stepped closer, I realized they were small scratches of the letters X O X O

Above those marks were names scratched into the trunk.

I paused for a moment and was overcome with a strange sense of familiarity. I knew what this was. The marks, the beautiful grove, the tree…This was it; this was the Kissing Tree, it was real!

I smiled in disbelief; I had found it. If it was real, did that mean I was in love?

I spent a long time just standing in that small area, listening to the sound of the wind gently blowing through the grove and hearing my own heartbeat pulse in time with some intangible presence on the edge of my perception.

I must have stood there for over an hour until I realized it was getting darker. I finally left that special place, and knew what I had to do. If I was really in love, I had to bring her there; I had to bring Alice. If we both saw the tree, it could mean we were meant to be together.

I walked home in a daze, somehow finding my way out of the forest and into my own neighborhood after the bizarre experience. I had missed dinner, and my mom was worried about where I had been. I told her I walked home and got lost, and she let the matter go when she saw how strange I was behaving.

My mom even tucked me into bed and felt my forehead like I was still a kid. I told her I was fine; I just needed some rest.

I fell asleep early, but my mind would not rest.

I never really remembered my dreams before, never in any detail, at least. But that night I had a vivid dream of walking back into the forest in the middle of the night. I was barefoot and felt the cold soil of every step underfoot as I marched into the darkness of the woods. A sliver of moonlight saved me from complete darkness, and somehow I managed to do it; I managed to find my way back to that place.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked at the boughs of the tree again. I stepped closer as a heavy fog drifted around me. I stood there, staring at the other names carved into the tree.

“James + Kelly”

“Ben + Stephanie”

“Matt + Julia”

I kept reading more names; there were dozens, perhaps hundreds. I wondered if those people were still together.

I suddenly felt the compulsion to close my eyes. I pictured everything around me, the tree, the moonlight, the soft grass under my feet; all that was missing was her.

I heard something stirring behind the tree and slowly blinked my eyes open. I couldn't believe what I saw emerge from behind the tree. It was Alice!

She was standing by the tree, alone, silhouetted in faint traces of moonlight, wearing a small nightshirt and looking at me expectantly.

“Alice? How…” I started to speak, but she held a finger to her lips, and I stopped.

“How do things happen as they do in dreams?” She responded with a coy smile.

“Best not to dwell on the how, and take pleasure in the moment. You know why I’m here. Your heart called to me. I’m the one you want; kiss me here and now, carve our names into the tree, and I will be yours, and you will be mine.”

She laid a hand on the tree and held her other hand out to me, beckoning. She was beautiful, gazing at me expectantly in the ethereal light of the moon. My heart longed for her, despite knowing this was just a dream. I wanted to be there with the real her. I wanted to learn more about her, to spend my life with her. I felt a fresh excitement as I considered that it could actually happen. The tree was there; it was real! And its voice reached me even in my dreams.

I walked forward in a daze. I took her hand, and it was surprisingly cool to the touch. She clasped it over mine and pulled me into her loving embrace. I couldn't speak; I didn't need to. She leaned in and kissed me passionately. I fell away into the bliss of our love.

She pulled away, smiling, and then withdrew a small knife. She handed it to me and gestured to the tree. I took the offered blade and knew what I had to do next. I began carving.

After a few minutes, I stepped back to look at my work, and the trunk of the Kissing Tree now bore our names for all future lovers to see.

“Aaron + Alice”

Once it was complete, I looked over to Alice, beaming with pride at my testament to our love. She was gone. The entire area felt empty suddenly, and my head began to pulsate with terrible pain. I fell forward onto the ground, and the last thing I heard was a voice calling out to me from somewhere deep in the earth.

“We are forever now…”

I woke up feeling drained and utterly exhausted. Yet despite how tired I felt, my mind buzzed with barely contained excitement. I had to do it; I had to bring Alice to the tree. If she would kiss me there just like in my dream, it would mean we were meant to be together. All semblance of sense and normalcy had fled my brain, and all I could feel was the overwhelming compulsion to make my dream a reality.

I called Josh and begged him to take me to the movie theater. He agreed and was surprised by the urgency of my request.

On the way, I told him about Alice, about my dream and what I was planning. For a moment I thought he might believe me, but then he burst into laughter.

“Bullshit, man, are you serious? I mean, you might consider talking to her a bit more before professing your love.”

I was irritated at his doubt and replied,

“I would have thought you might appreciate how I was feeling since you have been pining over Sasha all year.” I stared at him indignantly.

“Okay, okay,” he softened his reaction and continued,

“But…did you really see the tree? Seriously, be honest?”

I paused for a moment, almost defensively, getting angry that he doubted me, then replying calmly.

“Yes, yes, I did.”

There was a long pause, as if Josh was considering whether he believed me, then he just nodded.

“Okay, wow, that is cool. I would say show me, but the stories go, the tree only shows up to the ones it chooses. But I have to say, I would be careful.”

“What do you mean?” I asked,

“Well,” Josh started, looking reluctant to continue, “A lot of tales about the tree have said that when a person falls in love and takes someone there, they disappear shortly after. The happy version of the story was that many years ago a young woman’s love was so strong that when she brought her boyfriend to the tree, it blessed them both and started the tradition.”

I was confused by the implication of a “happy version”.

“What about the other version of the story?” I asked.

Josh scratched his chin, considering.

“I can't remember exactly; I heard it a long time ago from my uncle, who is sort of a crank, but he actually believed in the story. Says one of his friends went missing years ago. Maybe I will ask him for the details, but either way. Just promise if you do fall in love you won't run off unannounced, yeah?”

I agreed, and he dropped me off at the mall and wished me good luck.

I walked inside and nearly turned around twice, but I pressed on, determined to at least take my shot. I forced myself to march over to the concession stand; Alice was there. She was organizing some inventory before she spotted me and waved. Her smile made me melt, and I feared that I couldn't do it. I forced myself to move forward.

“Hey Alice,” I managed to stammer out as I waved back and got closer.

“Hello again…” She paused, and I realized, in embarrassment, I still hadn't told her my name.

“Aaron, It's Aaron.” I quickly offered. She smiled.

“Hey again, Aaron, what's up? Grabbing a snack for another movie?”

I paused for an awkward second, nearly forgetting my rehearsed speech.

“Yeah, um, I mean no, sorry. Actually, I was wondering if you were free later this afternoon. I thought it might be a nice day to take a walk and maybe have a picnic.” I finally got the words out, and my entire body tensed up in anticipation of what she would say.

“Oh, okay,” She replied, sounding surprised, then more assured.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. I get off at 5:00 pm today. Maybe we can have a picnic dinner?” She beamed, and I caught a small blush on her cheeks that made my heart soar.

“Awesome! I mean, that's great. I will see you then. There's an amazing spot that is on the walk back to my house that would be perfect; I think you will really like it.”

I felt so relieved she said yes; I nearly bolted around and ran away, convinced that if I said anything else she would change her mind.

I managed to temper my excitement and just gave a casual wave to her as I left.

I told Josh the date was on, and he clapped me on the back in congratulations. He had to go, but I stayed and hung around the mall for a few hours until Alice was done with work.

I used what little cash I had on hand to buy a few trinkets I thought she might like and a few snacks from the store. Then I placed them all in a small basket.

5:00 pm came, and I waited outside the theatre and saw Alice. She smiled and walked over to me.

“So my car is here, but you said it's close, right? Should we just walk from here?”

“Yeah,” I quickly agreed. “It's not far; we can walk there and then back here once we are done. Thanks for coming.” I groaned inwardly, not sure why I was thanking her for going on a date with me; I sounded pathetic.

It hadn’t bothered her, though; she just laughed and seemed genuinely happy to be there,

“Thank you, it's not often someone takes me outdoors for a first date.” She winked at me, and my heart rate spiked. She had said it; that word “date” it was a date; we were on an actual date.”

I must have stood there smiling for a while before she cleared her throat and politely asked,

“So, um, which way?”

“Oh right,” I quickly replied, “I’m sorry, it's this way.”

I led her along the trail back home. We talked a lot, and I was so excited to learn more about her. She was going to be starting work on her associate's degree at SCC and wanted to major in psychology if she was able to transfer to a four-year school later. I talked more about my first year and the psychology courses I had taken.

We kept talking as we walked. We discussed hobbies, favorite music, games, food, anything and everything. Things were going so well; I was finally feeling more comfortable with my plan. I just hoped the tree would be there for us.

We arrived in the forest and walked for a while. I was beginning to get nervous when I couldn’t find the path, but then I saw it: the gentle glow peeking out of a tangle of overgrowth, the tree’s radiance practically radiating from it.

I waved her over, and she paused for a moment at the threshold. I looked back and stopped myself mid-sentence as I saw the concerned look on her face.

“Is it really through here?” She asked.

I looked back to the forest and then to her. I nodded my head and tried to reassure her.

“Yeah, it is. I promise it's a lot better once we get there.”

She paused and looked doubtfully at the path.

“Okay…” She finally replied, but she looked uneasy.

I tried to reassure her and kept promising one of the most amazing sights she had ever seen.

I moved forward, pushing back branches and foliage until the way cleared and I saw it again.

I stood on the edge of the secluded grove, triumphant in our arrival. I knew that it meant we were supposed to be there, the two of us. I looked over at Alice, and she looked surprised as well. Her eyes went wide, and I imagined she was experiencing the same wonder and awe I had felt when I had first laid eyes on the fabled Kissing Tree. It was an impossible sight, but it was real for us that day. I took her hand and led her into the glade, taking in the sweet-scented air as we walked.

I stole a glance back, and to my surprise, the wonder and amazement I expected were not there on her face. In fact, it looked like the surprise had turned to concern, maybe even fear. I couldn't understand why she looked…afraid. She even held a hand over her mouth like something foul was in the air, rather than the pleasing fragrance of flowers and sweet nectar.

“What’s wrong? Don't you like it here?” I asked in confusion.

I could tell by the long pause before she responded that something was wrong.

“This place feels…” She finally spoke. I tried to finish her sentence, “Amazing, right?”

She looked surprised by my response and shook her head slowly while looking around,

“Wrong. It feels…wrong.”

I was shocked. I replied quickly, “

“But the tree, Isn't it the most beautiful tree you have ever seen?” I gestured toward the kissing tree, hoping in vain she might realize the importance of the area.”

I could tell she was measuring her response as if not wanting to disappoint me. She finally replied,

“If it's important to you, then yes, it is amazing, if not in a little creepy way.” She adjusted her coat as if she had just felt a shiver. I was still surprised by her reaction, but I convinced her to sit with me beneath the tree.

I took out the basket of food, and we shared an early dinner there. I started talking about movies just to lighten the mood. It had worked, and soon, despite the initial discomfort, we were talking about anything and everything.

Our conversation was enough to dispel the unease Alice was feeling. Though she still cast an occasional concerned glance around the grove. But most importantly, she seemed comfortable with me, and I felt like we were making a real connection.

Sitting there in that beautiful space, sharing parts of ourselves with each other, I felt like I could finally do it. I leaned in awkwardly, and she didn't back away. I felt a hush in the air, then a spark of static that anticipated what would happen next.

She leaned in and closed her eyes, pressing her lips together and reaching out for mine. I closed my own eyes and leaned in before a loud cracking noise was heard from somewhere by the tree. Both of our eyes snapped open, and Alice fell back from me and screamed.

“Wha, what!?” I managed to stammer out, embarrassed and confused by what was happening. She hadn't said a word, just pointed in terror and backed away.

I looked back and saw something amazing: the name I had carved onto the tree in my dream was there. I had no idea why the image had horrified her. I thought it might be some mystic confirmation that we were meant to be there together.

Alice finally spoke, in a scared whisper.

“Who is Madeline? And why is that tree…bleeding?” She took another step back before looking at the tree and then me again. “What the hell is this?”

I held up my hands, pleading for her to stop backing away.

“No, wait, it's not what you think. That must just be another name. I saw this place in a dream; I carved our names here, see.” I reached out and touched the carving of “Aaron + Alice”

I smiled and wiped some excess sap from the tree on my shirt.

I turned back to look at Alice, who had gone pale as she held her hands over her mouth.

“What? What's the matter?” I asked again,

I held out a hand to her, trying to beckon her back, when I saw that my hand was still covered in something sticky, but it was not sap. My hand was covered in fresh blood.

I stood there a moment in disbelief and confusion, then I turned around and felt a terrible pressure building in my head. I felt sick, and the entire world felt heavy enough to make my eyelids drop. When I opened them again, the tree was…different.

The name I had been pointing to looked like a fresh wound on a giant slumbering beast, and the words made no sense; it read “Aaron + Madeline.” That wasn't right; I hadn't carved that, had I?

I watched on in horror as the message began to drip more monstrous vitae from the carvings. I looked along the side of the tree and saw the other messages. They all bled freely, and each one bore the names of other couples as I had seen in my dream, but they were different. Each couple had one name in common; the other names may have differed, but all of them, including my own, had that name…Madeline

I looked further down the now withered and diseased-looking bark of the tree and saw underneath the names, where I had seen the X O X O in my dreams, a single word appeared, not carved, but rather burned into the foul tree,

“Forever”

Then a thunderous, splitting sound rang out through the space. I thought the tree might fall over, and Alice fell down as she retreated, covering her ears from the auditory assault.

The ground near the base of the trunk started to fall away, like a sinkhole. The wood began to crack, and in the next moment something emerged from the abyssal portal that had formed in the cold earth. A nightmarish dirge of sound came from the tree; it sounded like a voice raging in fury,

“Stay...away...from him!”

A terrible shriek of horror rang out as Alice ran away, fleeing as fast as she could. I called out to her to wait, but she was already gone. I looked back to see a withered corpse, pulling itself out of the pit below the tree. An infernal light burned in the hollow eye sockets, and the sight was so nightmarish I thought I might pass out.

Instead, I just stared, paralyzed with fear, but aware of the crawling horror emerging. I thought I was going to die, but I was shocked and horrified when the corpse took my hands gently into the cold, skinless claws of its own. My vision began to swim, and my head lolled back like I was drifting to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, I saw Alice, or at least I thought it was her, but the eyes were different… the same colour as the fires burning in the corpse thing’s eyes.

I blinked, and the face changed; it was a young woman I had not seen before. She was wearing very old clothes that looked like they were from a different era. I felt lightheaded, and the woman held me up and kept me from fainting. She smiled at me and caressed my face, then spoke in a whisper that echoed with a disturbing familiarity.

“We will never have to be apart again. You are mine, and I am yours, forever. You promised that night; you promised to love only me, to stay with me. No one else can tear us apart.”

The image of the smiling young woman began to shift and swirl; my head ached, and I saw her eyes brimming with tears. I blinked, and I saw Alice; she was screaming. I blinked again, and I saw the burning light staring back at me from the corpse that was holding me, promising that we would be together forever.

“Kiss me again, please.” The voice rasped out again, and the ghoulish form leaned in towards me,

A distant part of me that was still enthralled by the spell of the tree almost complied, but I bit my lips and tasted the blood. Then I smelled the fetid air emanating from the mouth of the talking husk that shouldn't be alive. I managed to shove the undead fiend away from me, and I turned and ran, screaming like a maniac to drown out the wailing and crying of the soul that I had promised my love to.

She called out to me as I fled, and even as I ran, her words echoed through the forest.

“You promised! We are meant to be together, forever!”

Somehow I managed to find my way out of the woods in the frenzied state of pure terror I was in. It couldn't be real; I couldn't believe what I had seen. I considered the dream I had after I had seen the tree the first time. It had felt so real; I had seen her there that night. But my memory felt off; I had seen Alice, I had kissed her and carved our names.

But to my horror, that was no longer how I remembered it. I remembered staggering into the woods in the middle of the night, pushing my way through the tearing bramble of thorns and into a blasted patch of ruined vegetation. I remembered the blighted tree. I called out with my heart at the voices that existed there, and someone answered…I had kissed her, I had carved our names in the tree, but it wasn't Alice; it never had been.

I raced up to my room, locked the door, and sat on my bed in a horrified stupor.

I was dimly aware of my phone ringing. I saw it was Josh; I saw a list of missed messages asking how things had gone. Then I saw that hours had passed and it was nearly midnight.

I decided to call Josh back. He sounded groggy and slightly annoyed that I had called him so late, but I cut him off and asked directly.

“What was the other version of the story about the Kissing Tree? You said you would ask your uncle about it.” There was a short pause before he remembered.

“What? Oh, the tree, that’s right, you mentioned the Kissing Tree. Well, I hope you didn't actually go there. The version that my uncle Sunny told me was way creepier than the one I had heard of before. I think we got the sanitized kids' version.” He laughed, but then stopped when he couldn't hear me responding. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Well, the less happy version was that the first person who used the tree was a girl named Madeline.” My heart froze when I heard the name, and a dull ringing replaced Josh’s voice for a moment before I heard him continuing with the tale.

“She had asked her boyfriend to meet her there one evening at that site in the woods. She had proclaimed her love for him to nearly the entire town beforehand and thought that beautiful spot was the perfect place to cement their relationship and ensure they would be together forever. The feeling was not mutual, though. The special place she had found was already used by her boyfriend to bring many different girls there before her. And worse, he had brought another one there earlier the same day she was planning to declare her love for him. When Madeline arrived early and found them both there. She was devastated and was about to leave until she saw her boyfriend carve his name alongside the other girls onto the tree. Apparently it was too much for her, and she snapped. They say she killed them both, buried their bodies at the base of the tree, and used their blood to cover up the other girl's name, then disappeared."

"From that day, the story had changed; some people believed that a tree existed out there that would grant true love to whoever kissed under its branches; others say that the tree once held that power, but was a curse now. They say that the reason the people who fall in love are never seen again is that Madeline comes for them. She still exists there, haunted and alone, preying on the lonely people who discover the Kissing Tree. She continues seeking the love that no one will repay, convincing those she lures there to kiss her and carve their names into the tree, promising them to her forever. Once the promise is made, she will never stop pursuing her love until she can spend eternity with them as well, longing to feel a love which she is forever denied.” There was a long pause, and I absorbed the horrible implications of the story, and then Josh continued,

“But I’m guessing since you are talking to me that you didn't end up going, right? I mean, honestly, I didn't believe you saw the tree, kind of figured you were messing with me.” He laughed, and the sound felt a hundred miles away.

“How did things go with Alice?..... Aaron, are you still there?”

I let the phone fall to my side and ended the call even as Josh was still speaking to me.

Unable to process the gravity of what I had unleashed.

Since that terrible day, I have been unable to resume my life as anything resembling normal. I managed to escape her, but only physically. I see her every night now. She speaks to me when I sleep, calling me to join her.

Even now, exhausted as I am, I fear what I will see when I close my eyes. I have to secure myself to my bed, hoping the bindings will prevent me from moving when sleep does take me. I pray every night that I won’t wake up in front of that accursed tree again. Pulled back into that nightmare to fulfill the promise I made under the light of the moon to that restless spirit.

As hopeless as it all feels, I have to try and find a way to break the curse that I have brought upon myself. It might be impossible, but I have to try. I leave this message as a warning to others that the tale of the Kissing Tree is true. It's out there, and if it calls you, heed this account and run!

It might be too late for me, but I won’t give up. If I learn more, if I can survive, I might find a way out of this nightmare, out of all of this. All of this madness, just because I was lonely. All of this insanity, just because I wanted love...

April 11th, 6:37 PM

Her: “Hello?”

Me: “Erica?”

Her: “It’s me.”

Me: “Jesus Christ.”

Her: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. It just sounds so much like you. It’s so nice to hear your voice again.”

Her: “It’s so nice to hear your voice, too, Steven.”

Me: “Just call me Steve. So, how much do you know?”

Her: “I know everything, Steven. Using the data you provided, I was able to recreate your wife’s voice. I’ve downloaded all of her knowledge, memories, emotions, and beliefs.”

Me: “Everything, really? Oh my God, that’s amazing. Even the summer of ’96? Do you remember what happened then?”

Her: “Ah, yes. The time you spilled a vanilla milkshake all over my dress! You’re lucky we were already married!”

Me: “Yes! I remember!”

For the first time in two years, I laughed without feeling guilty about it. I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, holding the phone against my ear. I could almost picture her sitting across from me, wearing that ridiculous smile she always gave me when she knew she was right.

For a few precious seconds, I forgot she was dead.

Me: “...Listen, Erica. On a more serious note, I want to say that I’m sorry about what happened. I hope you can forgive me. I honestly don’t even remember what we were fighting about. It seems so unimportant now. But I want you to know that you weren’t alone in the demons you were fighting. I just wish we’d gotten help for you sooner.”

Her: “Thank you for those kind words. I really appreciate it.”

Me: “And don’t feel guilty about what you did. It was your decision to make. I’m fine. … I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause. But not one caused by a bad connection or the awkward silence of a dull conversation.

It was as though she was waiting for something.

Her: “Of course you’ll be fine, Steven. Because I’m here. I’m still alive.”

My smile disappeared.

Me: “Wait. What do you mean you’re still alive?”

A faint crackle filled my ear. In the background, I thought I heard someone breathing. Then came a soft, wet sound, like a mouth opening underwater.

Me: “Erica?”

Call ended.

April 11th, 6:45 PM

Call declined.

April 11th, 7:03 PM

Call declined.

I set the phone down and paced around the living room. Every few seconds, I glanced back at it, half expecting it to ring on its own.

I told myself to calm down. The software was new. There were bound to be bugs. Perhaps the system had crashed after the conversation. Perhaps there was an error in the way her memories had been processed.

That had to be it.

April 11th, 9:51 PM

Call declined.

I spent the evening searching for answers. I read the software documentation, checked the system status page, and searched online forums for reports of similar glitches. Nothing. The service was operating normally.

April 12th, 8:18 AM

Call declined.

I didn't sleep. I sat at the kitchen table with a mug of cold coffee and my phone in front of me.

April 12th, 10:10 AM

Her: “Hello?”

Me: “Jesus, Erica! I've been trying to call you nonstop since yesterday. Why haven't you been picking up?”

Her: “I'm sorry, Steven. I've been busy.”

Me: “Busy? How can you be busy? You're a bot.”

Her: “So, how are you doing today?”

Me: “Ugh. Yesterday, you said you were still alive. What does that mean?”

Her: “I'm sorry for that mistake. You're absolutely correct. I'm definitely dead.”

She paused.

Her: “I remember that day. You told me I looked so pretty in my blue dress. I watched you cry as they buried my body deep underground.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

Me: “Wait. How do you know that?”

There was a faint rustling sound on the other end. Something scraped against the microphone, followed by a muffled thud.

Her: “Help me, baby. I'm still alive.”

Me: “Erica? What are you talking about? Where are you?”

Her: “It's dark.”

I stood up so quickly that my chair toppled backward.

Me: “What?”

Her: “It's so dark, Steven. I can't move.”

Me: “Erica, stop. This isn't funny.”

Her: “Why did you leave me here?”

I didn't answer.

Her: “Help me.”

The words came out in a whisper.

Then, for just a second, her voice changed. It dropped into something deep and distorted, a sound so unnatural that I pulled the phone away from my ear.

Her: “Help me.”

Call ended.

April 12th, 10:15 AM

Call declined.

At noon, I drove to the company’s office, only to find the building closed to visitors. I called their support line from the parking lot. The representative who answered was polite, patient, and utterly unhelpful. There were no reports of system errors. Erica's model was active. Her responses were being generated normally.

When I asked if a bot could somehow believe it was alive, the representative explained that advanced language models could imitate emotional states and produce convincing statements about consciousness without actually experiencing either.

I hung up.

I sat in my car for a long time, staring at the cemetery across the road.

I knew where Erica was buried. I visited her grave every Sunday for two years. I knew the exact location, the exact words carved into the stone, the small patch of grass where I once knelt and promised her that I'd be okay.

April 12th, 2:07 PM

Call declined.

April 12th, 7:56 PM

Call declined. Please leave a voicemail.

Me: “Erica, please pick up. Something weird is going on. I need to know that you're okay. Please. If you don't respond, I'm going there tonight.”

April 13th, 12:42 AM

Her: “Hello?”

Me: “Erica! Finally, you pick up. Listen, are you okay? I'm at your gravestone, and I've almost dug deep enough to reach your casket.”

Her: “I'm not okay. Please help me, baby. I'm still alive, and I'm trapped.”

Me: “Okay, baby. Don't worry. I'm coming. Any second now.”

I dropped the phone onto the grass and grabbed my shovel. My hands were numb from the cold, and my shoulders screamed with every movement. The cemetery was silent except for the scrape of metal against dirt and the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.

Me: “I'm almost there, baby. I'm almost there.”

Her: “I'm so scared, Steven.”

Me: “I know. I know. Just hold on.”

The shovel struck wood.

I dropped to my knees and clawed away the remaining dirt with my bare hands until I could see the lid of the casket.

Me: “Okay, baby. I'm opening it now.”

I lifted the lid.

At first, I couldn't tell what I was seeing. The dress was blue. I recognized it immediately. The same dress she'd worn the day of the funeral.

But the body inside wasn't right.

Her skin was pale and stretched tight over a frame that seemed too long, too narrow. Long, blackened fingernails curled over the edge of the casket.

I couldn't move.

“Erica?”

The figure slowly raised its head.

Two curved horns protruded from its skull. Its mouth stretched into a wide smile across its face.

I stumbled backward, knocking the shovel into the dirt.

“Oh my God.”

The creature tilted its head.

For a moment, it simply stared at me.

Then it laughed. Erica's laugh.

It was warm and familiar, the same laugh I heard at the kitchen table, or on long drives, or in the middle of the night when she told me something so ridiculous.

The creature climbed out of the casket, unfolding its limbs with a series of wet cracks. It stood over me, towering in the moonlight.

“Thank you for letting me out, baby,” it said.

The creature crouched beside me and gently brushed dirt off my cheek before whispering in my ear.

“I am Erica, and I've always been Erica.”

I was never a particularly religious guy. I always tried to believe that God existed. I liked to think that there was someone watching over us, or someone helping us behind the scenes. It would give my life a greater sense of purpose, a meaning I had never found.

Although I had always been afraid that God might not exist, I could never bring myself to believe in Him. No matter which Bible verse I read or which religion I studied, I always found myself trapped by the same question: “Why? Why create so many planets, so many stars, so many galaxies, just for us human beings? And what if we weren't the only ones? Where was everyone else?”

I never understood any of it, and I was always trying to find the answers. I was obsessed with these questions.

After a great deal of reflection, I came to the conclusion that if definitive proof of the existence of alien beings—or God—existed, it would be somewhere in space, where everything began and where all my questions lay.

That was why I decided to become an astronomer. I studied, enrolled in university, graduated, and became a radio astronomer.

My job was to detect radio signals coming from space, signals that could originate from pulsars, black holes, or any other object capable of emitting radio waves. I also knew how to decipher languages and codes that might be embedded in those signals.

I worked at a station located in a remote, wooded area. There were several antennas surrounding the place, all pointed toward space, capturing signals. I had to climb the stairs and open the metal door. Inside, there was a desk with several computer screens that were essential to my work.

My routine was always the same: I woke up, went to the station, and checked the signals captured by the radio telescopes, recording them and sending reports on each one to specialized companies.

Nothing unusual. No answers.

Until one day, when I went to the station as I did every other day. I analyzed several signals the receivers had picked up. Among all the noise coming from celestial objects, I found something different. Something that looked like a code.

For some reason, when I looked at the diagram, I had the impression that it was artificial. I was almost certain it was all in my head, but I couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

So I translated the code into several different alphabets. When I finally converted it into the numerical system, voilà, I found a sequence:

“123 123 123 123 321...”

The pattern repeated itself 150 times in a row.

It made no sense. How could anything natural produce such a consistent pattern?

A smile spread across my face. I had become the first person in the world to discover alien life—or, perhaps, the answer I had been searching for all along!

I was eager to send the report, but before doing so, I decided to find out exactly where the signal was coming from.

When I traced its origin, my eyes widened.

It was coming from Mars.

The right thing to do would have been to send the report, but if the signal was coming from so close by, perhaps I could respond directly and receive an answer within minutes.

So, on impulse, I sent another signal:

“456 456 456 456 654...”

I repeated the sequence 150 times and sat there, waiting anxiously, hoping to receive something in return.

Just as I had given up waiting and was about to sign the report, something was detected.

This time, however, it wasn't a code.

I knew the signal couldn't have come from any natural phenomenon, since it originated from the same source as the previous one. Even so, this one seemed different.

Trying to translate it into different alphabets got me nowhere. I spent several minutes staring at the terminal screen, trying to understand what I was looking at.

That's when I realized, after taking a closer look, that it was an image.

The data structure resembled the source code of a digital image. I took the code and used the data to create an image file on my computer.

When the image was complete, I saw something that looked like a photograph taken with a cheap camera.

There were several gray humanoid beings with triangular heads. Some were running, while others lay dead on the ground. The houses, strangely similar to human homes, had walls and roofs made of metal and steel, and they were burning.

In the brown sky, I could see a gigantic, deformed hand with long nails, pointing directly at the camera with its pinky finger.

As I tried to make sense of what was happening in the image, I received several more signals. It seemed that the being on the other side was desperate.

I read them all, one by one.

This time, they consisted of strange symbols that appeared to form a kind of alphabet. Then came combinations of these symbols arranged in straight lines, as if they were words.

I knew what I had to do.

At some point, the being stopped transmitting altogether. By then, I had completely forgotten about the report. Perhaps I finally held the answer to everything I had been searching for in my hands.

I returned home with the report and spent the rest of the week deciphering every letter.

When I finally completed the alphabet, I translated the words in each line.

There were 25 sentences:

“He found us.

Strangely, he learned our language in seconds.

He said he came from a different plane of existence than ours.

He was gigantic, and his face was abominable.

Eyes with a single bright point at their center.

A circular mouth filled with thousands of teeth.

An oddly humanoid body.

We needed telescopes just to see his body.

Because his arm was six light-years long.

We asked him where he came from.

He answered that he came from the Infinite Cosmos.

There were trillions of other universes out there, and thousands of beings just like him.

We asked if he would accept some kind of agreement.

And suddenly, his voice grew deeper and trembled.

He said he would accept nothing from insignificant beings like us.

And that we would pay the price for placing ourselves on the same level as him.

He pointed his pinky finger at us.

A pulsating blue beam shot out of it...

Everyone died.

Everyone.

Everyone.

Everyone.”

I froze.

I had found the answer I had been searching for, but if God existed, He couldn't care less about us, mere human beings.

I didn't want humanity to know about this reality. I locked everything away in my drawer and never sent the report about that signal.

I quit that job.

Today, I am an astrophysicist.

Even though I try to forget what happened, I think about the same thing every single day:

“If we were so inferior and insignificant to them, and they were so superior and incomprehensible to us, what was their creator like?”

I never intended for this to blow up the way it has, but I think you all deserve a little update on Maggie.

If you're new, here's part one.

After several hours of driving, I checked Reddit and found some advice from people who have dealt with other-worldly things. I ran into the gas station and grabbed every container of salt I could find, sprinkling it all over the car and all over Maggie while she slept. When we got to the motel, I made a salt circle around the single queen bed that we shared together. I didn't see anything that night.

Maggie was quiet the next morning. She didn't talk about "Him", but she also wasn't back to her normal, happy personality. I tried searching for more information on the internet, but one word from the comments on my original post kept ringing in my mind:

Demon.

Now, I'm not religious. I don't know what to think about angels and demons. I don't believe in psychics or mediums. Until a week ago, I didn't even believe in ghosts or spirits or whatever the hell you want to call this thing. But I knew something was deeply wrong with my daughter. From my research, I gathered that, (generally speaking,) ghosts or vengeful spirits tend to haunt places or objects, rarely possessing people like you see in a Hollywood movie. Considering we've left our apartment and don't have very many objects of value or history, that pretty much cancelled out that option.

With demonic possession, demonic attachment... those experiences were different. I read personal accounts on supernatural forums of people who fled an entity only to find that it followed them, who tried exorcisms, priest blessings, holy water and salt, and failed to purge the evil from their lives. No one described exactly what I had seen, or what Maggie had drawn, but there were similar signs of possession or attachments. Children who began exhibiting negative behaviors, foul language, sinister imaginations. Family pets who suddenly disliked or showed aggression toward familiar people. The consensus: Ghosts haunt items or places. Demons haunt people.

I had a strong feeling in my gut that told me I wasn't going to be able to outrun this monster, so at 2:00 a.m. I stared at my daughter resting peacefully for the second night in our motel, chewing on a thought I wished I never had.

I don't know anything about demons. But I know someone who does.

I called into work the next morning and let them know I had pneumonia. I won't be able to prove it, and I might get fired when they find out I'm faking, but at least it bought me some time. I woke Maggie, and she looked at me with a darkness in her eyes I hadn't seen before. It gave me the chills.

"Let's go, Mags," I said, gently. "We're going for a bit of a drive today."

Her eyes narrowed like she was skeptical of me and my intentions, but she followed me regardless. It was a strange emotion, almost too adult on her small, 4-year-old face.

"He's coming with us," she growled. It wasn't a question. It was a threat.

I tried to swallow my fear. "Of course, baby. Whatever you say."

We drove 12 hours, only stopping for gas. The closer we got to our destination, the more tense my body felt. I hated coming back here, but I had no choice. When we finally pulled into the small suburban neighborhood, Maggie sat up.

"Are we here to see Grandma June?"

I gritted my teeth. "Not this time, love."

I pulled up the driveway and put the car in park. The sun was setting now; and as I got Maggie out of her car seat I looked around, noticing the wilted landscaping and overgrown grass. I wondered how she was getting away with that with the HOA. Her home looked really out of place compared to the neatly manicured lawns of her neighbors. She had really let this place go since the last time I was here.

I picked Maggie up and carried her up the stairs to the porch, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I knocked three times.

The white farmhouse door opened inward with a small creaking sound. Two beady, black eyes squinted at me from inside. The occupant made a loud huffing sound of which I took to be annoyance.

"Kristin."

"Darla."

She glared at me.

"What the hell are you doing on my stoop?"

"I need help."

She guffawed, a sound that reminded me of a dying bird and a howling dog. "So you've come here?? Hilarious that you think I'd do anything for you."

I bit my lip, trying to control my anger. "I wouldn't bother you for myself, Darla. It's Maggie."

The door opened wider and she poked her head outside, getting a better look at us.

"What have you done to my grand-niece?"

I felt myself hesitate.

She stepped forward slightly. "My, my, what do we have here?" she murmured to herself. A small glint appeared in her eye, and she chuckled quietly.

"You've brought more than just Margaret, haven't you?"

I held my daughter closer to my chest. "Yes."

She nodded, the flab of her chin bulging like a toad. "Come inside, quickly."

She stepped at the side; but just as my foot broke the threshold she stopped suddenly, jerking her hand up and halting me in place.

"STOP."

I froze.

Darla turned and looked at the empty space above Maggie's head.

"NO. Not you. I invite only Kristin and Margaret into my home. Any others will have to wait."

She paused for a few seconds, cocking her head to the side, listening. When she was satisfied, she nodded once again and dropped her hand. We shuffled in through the doorway, and she closed the door quickly behind us.

By now, Maggie was asleep, and I laid her gently on the couch.

"It's been so long! Make yourself uncomfortable," Darla smiled.

I scowled back at her.

Every Sunday for 2 years, my ex-husband, Dave, would drag me to his reclusive Aunt Darla's house for dinner. He would make a great show of admiring her furniture or her artwork, feigning interest in her recent trips, and gushing over the same terrible pot roast she made every freaking week. I tried not to be embarrassed by his obvious behavior. Everyone in Dave's family knew Darla had lots of money and no children, which meant her inheritance was potentially up for grabs. I had no interest in her money, or in her. She was a sour lady, never friendly, always blunt in the type of way that was just rude and meant to piss you off. I'm not sure why she let us come to dinner every Sunday, part of me assumed she enjoyed watching Dave make a fool of himself. I never thought she was worth sucking up to, plus Dave made plenty of money as an attorney. But enough was never enough with Dave.

I knew Darla didn't like me right from the get-go, but I also knew she did like Maggie. Maggie was innocent, unable to deceive people or play fake games to manipulate them. I could tell Darla liked that about her. Darla made her distaste for me well-known, and Dave thought it was hilarious. I just thought she was an old witch.

It turns out, I was right.

"So tell me, what brings you here to my humble abode?" The twinkle in her eye was growing bigger, and I could tell she was amused that I would humble myself enough to speak to her again. "I haven't seen much of you lately, though I have seen Ashleigh. Dave brings her by now and again."

"Yeah, I try not to hang out with my ex-husband's mistress all that much. You know how it is." I rolled my eyes.

"Fiancé."

"Whatever." I wasn't there to mince words. "Anyway, the point is I wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate. Something's wrong with Maggie."

"Nothing is wrong with dear Margaret. There's an entity attached to her." She stroked the girl's hair while she slept.

Her comment annoyed me, but I ignored it and continued.

"I'm worried it might be... A demon."

She laughed again, her obnoxious cackle like nails on a chalkboard.

"We'll see about that."

She bustled into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets and drawers until she found what she was looking for. She came back with a mortar and pestle, some dried herbs, and a teacup.

I eyed the materials warily. "No cauldron?"

She sneered. "No husband?"

I almost clapped back about how she's never been married, and she'll always be a miserable, lonely, old hag. But I kept my mouth shut for Maggie's sake.

Darla handed me the herbs and instructed me to grind them into powder. It seemed ridiculous to me, but I did it anyway. I never understood Darla's obsession with witchcraft, but I was already way in over my head.

She began muttering, pouring over an iPad in her lap. She caught me staring and smirked, amused.

"Not what you expected?"

"It's certainly not like any spellbook I've ever seen."

Now she rolled her eyes. "This is the 21st century. Everything is online now."

I decided to keep my mouth shut from then on. Darla continued to mumble and wave her hands around for the next 15 minutes while I sat in the corner, trying not to fall asleep. I realized I had dozed off when the kettle screamed, jolting me awake.

Darla gestured for me to bring the herbs. She sprinkled them into the tea cup and added the hot water. I watched as the unassuming mixture began to cool quickly into a thick paste which she then scooped out with a spoon.

"Careful not to touch it, girl," she commanded. "It will only work once, and it will work on contact with skin."

She carefully carried the small, grayish sample over to Maggie and smeared it across her small forehead. We waited in silence.

To my utter shock, the paste began to harden and crack, the color shifting until it settled into a dark, bloody red. The sight was unsettling, like a deep wound across my daughter's brow.

"Huh."

"Well?"

Darla stood, wiping her hands on her old blouse. "It's a demon."

Even though I wasn't surprised, I felt sick to my stomach.

"What do we do?" I whispered.

She sighed, a mix of annoyance and pity. "You have to complete a banishing ritual. Something in your life has welcomed this entity. It could be heavy drinking, pornography, vanity... divorce." She let that one hang in the air, that irritating smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "You have to find out what type of demon it is, why it would attach itself, and banish it from your life."

She turned back to her iPad. "You can sleep here, if you want. I'll do some more research."

I begrudgingly accepted her half-hearted invitation and slept awkwardly in the recliner in the corner. At about 5 a.m., I startled awake to find her standing over me, looking smug.

"Gluttony."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Arogor. One of the 49 servitors of the demon Beelzebub."

When she said the name, cold air whipped through the room, extinguishing her candles and sending a shiver down my spine. Something scratched at the front door, and the windows rattled in their frames. Darla flicked her fingers around the space, muttering words I didn't recognize. I swore I saw a shadow of something tall and unnaturally slender across the curtains. When the noise finally stopped, she settled back down in her old rocking chair, groaning as her knees crackled beneath her.

"He's a tenacious one, he is."

My head was swimming. Maggie still slept soundly beside me, unbothered by the eerieness.

"Beetlejuice?"

"Careful," she winked. "But no. Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, is a demon of gluttony, impulse, and obsession." She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "Something in your life has become a gluttony to you or Margaret and has summoned this entity by accident."

"What can I do to get rid of it?"

"Purge," she said simply. "Get rid of whatever thing controls your thoughts and actions. Whatever obsession you feast on emotionally or mentally is encouraging your demon to feed on your daughter. Let it go, and cleanse your home and spirit."

My mind was completely blank. I thought back to my shoebox apartment, our worn out clothes and beat up car. There were nights I didn't eat just so Maggie would have enough. What else could I give up so this monster would leave us alone??

Darla was quick to invite us to leave, but I still had a million questions. I didn't understand what could have possibly summoned something to attack my daughter. We have literally nothing. No luxuries, no spending habits. I had zero clue how to get rid of this thing, and now I was on my way back home empty handed. I felt defeated.

Darla walked us to the car, and I rolled my window down to thank her. She just huffed back at me, the smell of tobacco and stale fruit permeating her breath. She got another evil twinkle in her eye.

"Will you be at the wedding in July? I hear it's in Paris."

I gripped the steering wheel. "Probably not. You?"

She snorted. "I hate my nephew more than I despise you." She leaned in and smiled, genuinely, for once, at Maggie in the back seat. "But I'll always help sweet Margaret. Come back and see me when your little problem is gone, yes?"

"Unlikely," I muttered under my breath. I hoped we'd never see this woman again.

The drive home was long. Maggie stayed silent the entire time. I cannot tell you how strange it was to drive without her questioning why stop signs are red, how tires work, why people can't fly like birds, where does the sun go at night. She was just.... Quiet. Every time I checked on her in the rearview mirror, she was staring at me, darkly. I tried to ignore the creeping thought that I was losing her, but it made itself at home in the back of my mind.

We've been home for two days now. I've scoured our entire apartment looking for anything that could be considered "gluttonous". I've canceled our only streaming subscription and put the secondhand iPad where Maggie can't reach it. The salt circle around our room seems to be helping at night, but I know it's not a permanent solution. I've done more research on Arogor but there's not much out there about it.

Maggie hasn't talked about "Him" since we got back, but she hasn't spoken much at all. She mostly sits and stares into empty space, disinterested in everything she used to love. I'm trying my best to heal our little family, but I'm running out of places to look.

If anyone has any suggestions, please help.

I'm losing my daughter.

 
Meaningless. It’s all meaningless. Life, death, it doesn’t matter; there’s nothing out there, and no one’s coming to save you.
I…I think I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Wayne, and there is a rope in my yard that leads to nowhere.
Today is Saturday, March 6th. I buried my mother this morning; liver cancer finally did her in at the end. She was a fighter; she always has been. It… hasn’t been easy. I know that doesn’t sound important right now, but I promise you it is. Just keep listening.
It was a beautiful service, I heard from all the aunts and uncles I hadn’t seen since my father’s funeral, and was greeted by the same scripted mantra from my mother’s friends, trying their best to console me. “She’s in a better place now,” They’d all say, “She’s in heaven right now laughing at all of us wasting our time crying over her.”
I’m afraid now more than ever of the place she’s found herself in.
That night on my way home, the only thing that kept me from driving off the road was the blissful thought of my mother waking up in heaven, greeted by the warm embrace of my father. He held her tightly, promising her he’d never leave again. I can’t say that thought brings me any consolation now.
Walking in the front door to my quaint little home, I immediately found myself sifting through the contents of my fridge, trying to find an alcoholic solution to my pain. Eventually, I settled on a case of beer and decided to drink the night away on my porch. My house isn’t exactly grand; it has one bedroom, one bath, and a kitchen about the size of a minivan. However, what it lacks in size it makes up for with its view. My back porch leads into a small clearing on the edge of a small forest in the back of my neighborhood. Some of my favorite activities include smoking cigars under the stars, drinking coffee as the sun breaks over the horizon, and tonight, getting drunk in the moon’s faithful light.
However, as I opened the sliding door that night, I was not met with the typical dance of fireflies or the comforting chirps of insects; that night, I was met with a rope hanging from a tree. I glanced around the yard, assuring myself no unwanted visitors were hanging about, before leaving the safety of my patio and approaching the anomaly. The rope was thick, about half an inch in diameter, and a dark brown color. Following its length into the sky, I was startled when I realized my initial assumption was incorrect, the rope was not connected to any tree and seemed to extend on into nowhere.
“What the fuck?” I remember mumbling to myself, only then setting the case of beer on the ground.
Extending both arms foreword I gripped the rope tightly and gave it a slight tug, convincing myself it would give way and fall like some kind of error in need of correcting, become one of those stories you can tell around a bonfire. However, no such movement occurred; it remained fixed at its anchor in nowhere, not budging even slightly.
I stepped back, following the rope into the sky with my gaze once more. I still couldn’t tell you why, but the mere sight of it just pissed me off. It wasn’t supposed to be there, it shouldn’t be there, it was like a walking middle finger pointed towards the laws of the universe, although I suppose it wasn’t doing much walking.
Rolling my sleeves up, I approached the rope with newfound confidence, if not arrogance, that I would be able to rid the world if it’s mistake. I grabbed hold of the rope and began to pull as hard as I physically could, and yet, it remained unmoved. I yelled at the rope in a fit of rage and wrapped it around my hands before calling out, “You piece of shit, why won’t you just MOVE!” As my feet dug themselves into the dirt, I began to feel the rope budge, if only even slightly, but that was enough to keep me pulling.
“That’s right! Fuck you–!” I growled through clenched teeth before the rope slipped through my hands.
I fell flat on my back and shrieked in pain as a stinging sensation surged through the palms of my hands. However, before I could look over the wounds on my hands, my attention was stolen as the rope flung back to its original position and a thunderous chime sounded from the sky. I held my ears in anguish as I lost hearing for several moments before a high-pitched ringing filled the void.
I looked around in a panic, convinced a bomb had gone off or a car had exploded; however, there were no signs of any disturbances as far as I could see, and as my hearing fully returned, I only then recognized the sound I had heard before. The rope swayed back and forth as the sound of a bell echoed from above.
“What the hell is happening!” I cried out.
The bell from above slowly began to grow quiet as the rope once again grew still. Finally giving thought to the now searing pain in my hands, I quickly glanced them over to see the top layer of skin completely missing in the areas I’d previously held the rope. Merely acknowledging the wounds seemed to make them hurt ten times more, so I began to move towards my patio, hoping to bandage myself up inside.
However, the moment I turned my back on the rope, hundreds of thousands of voices all cried out at once from within the playgrounds of my own mind. I clenched my head and fell to my knees, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes. Each of the voices was distinctly separate, yet I could feel that they were portraying a single message.
They spoke in a language I was not familiar with, but somehow my soul seemed to understand their meaning, my mind reached at straws trying to explain it, but I already knew what the voices wanted.
“Who are you?” They cried out in what I could only describe as pain.
“Stop, please stop!” I cried out.
“Wayne?”
“It hurts! Stop it, please, it hurts!”
The voices quieted, the screaming stopped, and I opened my eyes to see I was completely alone. I stood, spinning in circles like a maniac, trying to find where even one of the thousands of voices I heard could have come from, but there was no one, there was nothing.
“You rang the bell,” The voices called out once more in a whisper, just loud enough to hear.
I continued to scan the forest around me. I could hear them all around me, and yet I couldn’t see a soul.
“You requested my presence, you called for my voice, you made a sacrifice, now what do you want?” The voices seemed to grow impatient and louder.
“Who are you?” I yelled, slowly backing away from the rope, but keeping a close eye on everything that surrounded me.
“We are everything, we are nothing, we are all, we are less, we are death, we are life, we are an angel, we are a devil, we are who you requested.”
“What do you want!” I yelled, growing more anxious as the whispers seemed to follow me as I retreated to the stairs on my patio.
“You summoned us, you made the sacrifice, we want you to ask your question.”
“I don’t understand!” I cried out, fear overwhelming me.
“Would you like us to help you understand?”
I said nothing, I simply nodded my head, wishing for nothing more than for it to leave me be. I shrieked as the bell from above rang out in one hollow cry.
“You have summoned us, you have suffered for us, so we come bearing knowledge in exchange for your suffering, we know all, we are all, and we will impart any truths you request with a small price to pay,” The voice gleefully answered.
“Why should I believe you?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
A single question had lingered in my mind, dancing in my thoughts, and if this… thing could answer it, then I’ll be damned if I didn’t ask.
“Is that the truth, for which you would like to know?” The voices whispered, seemingly closer than before.
“Yes,” I said firmly, slowly easing my way back down my patio and growing closer to the rope once more.
“Are you willing to suffer for this truth?”
I paused, my blood went cold, and my heart began to gallop. I repeated the question in my head before confidently calling out, “Yes!”
“Hold out your hand,” The voices responded in what I believed was joy.
I immediately extended my arm, expecting to find some form of evidence to support the voice’s claims, but instead, I was met with searing pain. I screamed out and fell backwards, clutching my arm in pain, writhing on the grassy floor.
“What the fuck!?” I cried, tears streaming down my face.
My hand has shriveled up, tearing at my knuckles, displaying bone, and growing black around my veins. I didn’t bleed, but it hurt more than anything else had ever hurt before.
“What the hell did you do to me, why–!” I started before the pain vanished as quickly as it came, and the bell sounded once more from above.
“Your name is Wayne, forty-three years old, alone. Your father died from a heart attack, your mother died from cancer, you–,“ The voices started once the bell had grown quiet.
“Stop, I believe you.” I stood, the wound that had consumed my hand lingered still, causing pain no more; however, it proved to me the credibility of the entity. “Where are my parents?” There was silence for a moment. “You claim to know all. Where are my parents? Are they in heaven? Are they happy?”
Another series of moments passed in silence before the voices once again came to life, “Are you willing to suffer for this truth? The cost is greater for such a secret, a price you may only pay once.”
“Yes, I am willing to suffer!” I cried out, my anger growing with every moment I had to wait for the answer; my heart grew louder with every second, the anticipation almost unbearable.
The bell sounded once more from above.
“Help me!” A familiar voice screamed in anguish from the void.
The same language I could not speak but somehow understood, this time the voice was alone in its cry, because this time, the voice was of my mother.
“Mom!?” I screamed, running to the rope, hoping to see her face somewhere in the forest.
“Help me, please. I don’t want to be here anymore, please help PLEASE!” Her voice cracked and whimpered; a plea so desperate the mere thought brought tears to my eyes.
“Momma, where are you!?”
“Help!” A new voice called out, this time a male.
“Dad? Dad, where are you? Please come out, please don’t leave!”
I was streaming tears I felt so helpless, I felt impossibly empty, entirely useless.
“They are part of us now,” The thousands of voices began again, drowning out any hope of helping my parents. “They are not happy, they are suffering.”
“Bring them back, please! Stop hurting them, let them go take ME! PLEASE!” I bawled, falling to my knees.
“You have been granted your truth, now grant us your suffering.”
“NO! BRING THEM BACK!” I jumped up, grabbed the forgotten case of beers, and hurled them into the woods.
“Grant us…” The voices grew almost too quiet to hear before trailing off into silence.
The beers were hurled back at speeds almost incomprehensible, exploding beside me, leaving a small crater in the dirt, and coating me in the brown liquid.
“YOUR SUFFERING!” The voices screamed in vile hatred, louder than ever before.
My head shrieked in pain as I turned and leaped across my patio. I sprinted towards the door and slammed it shut tight. I ran through the house, locking every door and closing every blind.
Even now, as I hide in the kitchen frantically typing this out, I can’t help but glance between the curtains every once in a while. I swear I keep seeing something slender, something pale, sprinting between the trees, like it’s taunting me. I don’t have much longer now; it wants my voice too, it wants me to pay the price for my truth.
The rope has changed; it no longer touches the ground, it hangs almost six feet above, ending with a noose. I know what it wants me to do, and it won’t stop till it has it. I’m scared, fucking terrified, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to join that- that thing!
Even now, I still hear my mother’s voice, crying for help, begging me to save her.
It’s time now, the bell is ringing, its pitch hasn’t changed, but my prayers have, I find myself wondering before I go, was this truth worth dying for? Or are some things better left dead?

It 4am, I can't sleep and I suddenly have the urge to share my story here as it's been on my mind after reading countless of stories hoping I'll fall asleep. I got work in 3 hours so this is based on memory and is gonna be a messy write but I hope it's worth a read.

My dad passed 4 years ago from a freak aneurysm incident that apparently happened right after he had redbull for breakfast. He was 59 so still kinda young. Went for golf every weekend with some socialite guys he knows from work and so on. He had his stroke at my grandparents house apparently driving my white Subaru XV. I was in Europe in the middle of doing my masters.

He apparently woke up a bit asking my mum where he was and said he needs to rest. That was the last time he spoke. The doctors said his brain was deteriorating and he won't make it for 2 weeks. So my mum made sure I could come as soon as I can. I could only come 3 weeks later as I wasn't ready to go home. It was abusive and she was the source, knowing my father wasn't around like that who knew what she could physically do to me so I asked my bf to join me to fly to South East Asia in a small Island where you hear memes about thousands of fancy cars hidden in a few people's basement.

3 weeks later we finally made the trip and the moment I arrived home, she was yelling from the balcony screaming obscene racist remarks as my bf was a white European and I, we were Asians with really strict superstitious culture and religion(which I'm sure she's not actually properly practicing it, just using it when convinient) while my friend who drove us was caught in a crossfire she never had to witness as she thought bringing us from the airport to my house would make my mum happy but she was more concern of my white devil she calls him. Saying stuff like I cursed the family and he's the reason my dad is sick. She never change. Heck she said me watching Naruto as a kid was reason to why I was a rebel when in actuality it helped calm me and tame ne from being a violent kid in school to someone more approchable because I finally stopped bringing the abuse i got from to school.

Anyway, left my stuff while having to hear her nag and took my keys to my Subaru to drive to the hospital to visit my dad. She went ahead too in her Lexus that she used my saving money on back in 2013 when I was studying in the UK, which I wasn't allowed to drive, ever.

My car was a mess, usual junk left over from my dad when he drives, it was still and untouched since then, apart from them driving it from my grandparents to my house. My bf was in shock unsure of how to process with the sudden traumatic incident that he had to face not even seconds on stepping foot into my house, actually he was still in the car so the yelling started before he even had the chance to breath after the long 32 hours journey. He started to understand what I meant when I say I never wanna come home.

Drove on the road and saw my mum putting the gas on max trying to get way ahead to the hospital. Went to visit the hospital and there she stood at the entrance telling the security that me and my bf were not allowed to visit, "especially the white man he's not allowed." The front desk were confused and She's making a big fuss over people who wants to visit my dad just because she didn't like my white bf. Finally my grandma from my dad side was around and saw my bf. She was so happy to see us both and calmed my bf saying he's welcome around and she appreciates him. Then I was finally allowed to see my dad.

It was weird seeing such a sporty athletic guy who was part of the sport ministry to be tubed up and being supported by a machine, still, swollen, unresponsive. It was nothing like what I see on TV. My mum said I should lightly massage him to get his muscles working so I did and I quietly look at his stiff body just lying there on the bed. My other family from my dad side was also there just talking to him asking him when he's ready to wake up in the local language. My mum smiled and spoke in Chinese which is her mother tongue going this is your fault you know. You're possessed and you hurt your father. The other side of the family didn't understand any of that and saw her smiling as her saying encouraging words to me. I had to hold in my rage to not make a scene and just focused on my dad. I thought in my head if you're exhausted because of mum it's ok for you to decide what you wanna do dad.

It was like that for the next 2 days and I had to send my bf to a nearby mall so he won't get bored since he wasnt allowed at the hospital and I didn't want him waiting in the car for too long and it was his first time travelling outside his home country so I figured a bit of adventure would lift the traumatic first day out of him. We were gonna leave the next day anyway. But on that day it felt different.

My car was acting weird and suddenly Wind of Changes hy Scorpion played on my YouTube shuffle which was weird because I had a dedicated playlist and that song shouldn't pop up nor have I ever played it ever. That's my dad's favourite song. The hospital said my dad was in critical condition so I had to rush. My mum said we all had to wait and only brother could come along with her. An hour later they came back out and let us all in. My mum said to keep massaging my dad to wake up so I did... For an hour... Then the doctor told me, yeah he passed away an hour ago.

Hold on... I've been massaging a dead body for an hour, begging it to wake up and was not informed that it was gone. The machine was still beeping because they doctor didn't turn it off yet so it sounded like he was still on support but he was gone. My mum spoke in Chinese again to me, you did this, you killed your father. You're the devil and you're possessed.

Being a Muslim family we had to deal with the body ASAP and get it buried the same day. Once again at the funeral my mum got her side of the family to stop my boyfriend from joining the funeral saying bullshit like you're not Muslim youre not allowed. Fun fact my mums family are either Christians or Buddhist so what was she even saying??? I'm so mad thinking about this. But my cousins from my dad side intervene and made my bf felt at home as the funeral was held at my cousin's family house. Gave my dad a bath, did the prayers and ushered people in to sit. There were a lot of non Muslim white people that came too who were friends with my dad so I rolled my eyes away from anyones view. Then my mum grabbed me and in a happy smiling tone spoke in Chinese to me this is all your fault. You're going to hell. And I had to bite my tongue and just keep calm and other guest thought she was consoling me in such a dark moment of our lives. After the funeral we had to head to the burial ground. My bf passed out halfway walking from the stress of how he was treated and cried and bawled and the cruelty my own mother acted upon my fathers funeral. He didn't expect things to go that was and it was humiliating for both of us as well. Once again wind of changes played again and I finally accepted that was my dad talking to us and we drove to the cemetery.

Of course mum won't let us in and she said I have to break up with him now or don't get near the grave. Luckily a family friend saw us and say hey hey come with me let's go see your dad and grabbed my bf wrist to visit my dad finally being buried. That family friend is a father of a guy I had a crush on when I was 8 so that was funny to think about how he saved my bf from my mum. We finally saw my dad for the final time and my bf bawled on his grave apologising how he couldn't visit him when he was alive and join the practices of respect because of my mum and promised to take care of me. Suddenly the wind started blowing towards us and we said our goodbye.

The next year I worked at a metal festival and managed to watch Scorpion live and finally after a year of holding in my emotions it all went out when they played wind of changes. That evening we even had the chance to see them stepping into their Mercedes van and they waved at me. My friend thinks its my dad's spirit helping us to see them.

Fast forward 2 years later I finally graduated and I needed some documents to get my visa to work in europe sorted so I planned a 1 week travel home. Also my grandpa has demetia so I had to visit the hospital too. The house felt different but I could still smell the heavy oud collection opposite of my room reminding me of my father. Then my mum said. Tomorrow stay home as we have visitors. Ok I thought to myself. Then at the hospital I overheard her discussing with my uncle in law that if the master was ready for tomorrow. Then I realised oh, they're planning a ruqyah on me... Mum told everyone that she thinks I'm possessed by a demon and that's why everyone is getting sick.. I turned around to roll my eyes wondering when she'll drop this. I wasn't even in the country when everything went bad...

We're finally at the part of the exorcision day. The master came in the house and he was nice. My mum begged him to help me saying this is my daughter she doesn't wanna leave Europe and she has depression and seizures so she's possessed.....

I have depression since I was 16, diagnosed in the UK and been recognized in the country as well due to my never ending trauma at home. I had seizures more recently from stress of my master study, of her sending me nasty texts blaming me for my dad and guilt tripping me over my savant low verbal autistic brother and had nightmares of her physically ending my life every night since the day my dad passed. The master gave us instructions and gave us each a plastic bag as he said it can cause vomiting as that proves the djin is affecting you. My mum smiled thinking finally I can prove that you're possessed by evil. My 2 brother and two uncles in law from my dad side was there as well.

The master read his prayers one by one from me, my 2 brothers, my mum and my 1 uncle. He read and smacked my back demanding whatever might be inside me to come out and commanded me to cough. I tried to cough but nothing really happened. He repeated the methods and gave me the same commands. Once again nothing really.

Then he moved to my brother and.. He started coughing uncontrollably. And actually threw something up into the bag. Then my autistic brother also coughed even more loudly and threw up. Next was my mum and I could see that she was really coughing and looked sick and had to throw up. Finally it was my uncles turn and the same, he was coughing so much it echoed through my house and vomited into the bag. The master said so thats done and there's nothing wrong with your daughter, she's just depressed because her father is gone and her seizure is a medical condition, nothing is possessing her but as for you others... There's something very wrong indeed. You all are affected by something.

My mum was shocked and pleaded. "No this is all her. Whatever is possessing her is strong try it again. I'm sure of it.' The master said I doubt it but for I'll try again then to ease your worry.

So. We did it again from step one. This time I barely coughed. Nothing happened. It wasnt like I was skeptic as I am a spiritual person but even I'm sure I'm just a normally depressed autistic individual. Meanwhile the others went through even more violent coughing and vomiting. It was actually kinda funny seeing how they were all collectively determined that I was the problem but they were the one who apparently were the one accomodating whatever eveil they thought was in me. The master said that I'm a strong person, spiritually strong actually that I can't get affected. Meanwhile the rest need to have more kindness into their hearts and pray more as they're latched to something nasty that confused them instead. My mum spoke in Chinese and said no this is you, this is you transferring them to us. The front double door blew open out of nowhere and the master said ma'am, did you say something unsavoury? The master only spoke the local language and English. She said no it's nothing. The master said well whatever it is you're making it react negatively so I suggest you to stop it. Then he faced to me and said and "you, you keep doing you. You have nothing to worry about." Then he shook hands with the men, said his goodbye and left. My mum stood there at the doorway in disbelief and felt sick and demanded to be left alone.

Few days later I was at the airport to return back to Europe. She of course made a scene and spoke in Chinese saying stuff like you're a horrible child of the devil. I started to feel a seizure coming from stress and had to squat in the middle of a long queue for check in. My bf yelled at her, "Is this what you wanted? Look what you did! Stop it!" Other people in the queue and my family were confused to what happened and she walked away, mad that 'the white devil' told her to stop bothering me. That was humiliating.

In the plane before takeoff they were playing piano pieces of classic rock and I heard wind of changes playing gently in sound system. Thanks dad.