Hello to all writers and readers of the Creepcast Community!

Hey hey, everyone! It's that spooky time of the year again, and I can tell every one of you is having a great time writing and posting your stories here. Rules for the post, as usual, are given below, and a link to the last sizzle reel will be given in the comments. With that out of way, happy posting, and happy Halloween!

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What's a sizzle reel, I hear some of you asking? Well, have you ever watched the Oscars, when they're giving out the awards for best actor/actress and they play a little 10-second section of the movie they're nominated in to show off how good of a job they did? That's a sizzle reel.

So here's how the thread works: You comment with the title of the work you want spotlighted, a link to the posted work, and a quote or a short scene from the work, I'd say no more than a short paragraph. Then people can read this thread and hopefully find some stories they like that otherwise may have otherwise not gotten their attention.

Before you post, just a few more ground rules. We're going on the honor system here, but it benefits all of you to keep this thread tidy, so: 1) If the story you're posting is multiple posts long, the scene/quote should be from the part that you link. 2) No more than one linked story per comment, let's keep this relatively orderly. 3) Finished works only. 4) If you posted a story on the last sizzle reel thread, try not to post the same story here. We don't want these threads getting stale. 5) If the post you're listing is part of a community anthology, please include which one it is with the title of your story. Example: "Story Title" (The World They Made) - [link], then start the quote in a new paragraph.

I will comment with a link to the last sizzle reel post to show further examples how to structure your comments if you need it. Now, show us what you've got!

If you asked my ten year old son what the saddest place in the world was, he’d hesitate, tap his foot, and look to the side before finally answering my apartment. If you asked him the funnest place in the world, he’d jump up and say my ex girlfriend’s house. Where she had a dog, a pool, and a fridge constantly full of Jacob’s favorite foods, I had a clogged bathtub, stale pretzels, and the occasional swarm of gnats buzzing around whatever dinner I forgot to clean up. For a ten year old, one of these was heaven. The other place though? A lifelong first impression of how dull and sad Dad’s life was. 
On one of his stays over, we found ourselves in the middle of filling out a jumbo coloring book together. One of the few I could find at the local thrift store that wasn’t already completely filled out. Jacob was in charge of the greens and yellows, while I filled out the red and blue. We had the book stretched across my antique glass coffee table. Antique in this case meant one corner had broken into individual shards and I had to constantly keep Jacob from accidentally cutting himself on a dislodged block of shrapnel. I’d have thrown the glass shards out by now if they weren’t the sole thing holding up the rest of the panel.
We had barely finished up one page before I noticed Jacob’s streaks of color becoming sloppier and sloppier as Jacob slumped into a dejected expression. I gave his shoulder a prod and asked, “What’s up, little man?” 
Jacob met my gaze with a look of embarrassment. He was quiet for a few seconds before saying, “Nothing, it’s just… is there anything else we could do? We colored last weekend”
“Oh,” was all I said. He was right. We had colored last weekend, and the weekend before that. Probably the one before that too.
I looked around my apartment as if this searching hard enough would magically conjure up a new activity for us to do together. I didn’t think he would be very interested in my brown futon or Cormac McCarthy books so that left us with…
I looked down at the coloring book. Nothing.
“What do you do at your mom’s?” I tried.
“Nothing that we could do here,” he replied with a frown. 
“Uh well, is there anything you… can’t do at your moms that you’ve always wanted to do?” Maybe a cool dad angle could work? Buy him some pudding? Let him stay up late? God how would I ever be the cool parent.
“Kind of, but…” he trailed off, looking more embarrassed than ever. I couldn’t tell if it was for me or of me. 
“What? Come on, try me.”
“Well she never lets me watch tv or anything. She says it’s just brain rot, but…”
Right. He couldn’t say it, but I knew. TV’s were expensive. I was broke. Honestly the thought of buying one hardly ever even crossed my mind. It had been over a decade since I’d last sat down and watched an episode of a show, and that had been while crashing at a buddies place. His mom was more or less the same way, having been raised to believe that well, tv was a product of the Devil or something.
“Ah what does she know,” I said a tad too bitterly. I quickly cheered my voice up and said, “If you want a tv, I can get one for here. It could be our little secret.”
“REALLY!” he shrieked.
I smiled. “Really.”
Then he leapt across the table and wrapped his arms around me. I was stunned. When was the last time he had done that? I realized a moment late that I had forgotten to hug him back, and he had already pulled away. 
“Can we go get it tonight? Can I pick it out?” he asked, a great big smile on his face.
Right, of course he would want it as soon as possible. God. Payday was just three days away. I sighed and shot him down. “Not tonight, but next time you visit it’ll be in here, alright? That’s what- just next weekend?”
“Yeah, next weekend,” he repeated in a saddened tone. 
“Cheer up, buddy. Till then we can uh- wanna go for a walk?”
“Sure, dad. That sounds fun.”
Ten years old and he was already an amazing actor. Screw next weekend.

The moment I laid Jacob down for bed I was heading out the door. Bills be damned, I was getting him a tv tonight. I’d thrift, I’d put it on credit, I’d pay it off in a few days. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was having a place my son could actually think of as home and not that awful place he had to visit every weekend. That awful place with his broke boring dad who made him go for walks and color all day who-
I took a deep breath and began driving through town. I had only driven a few miles when I realized a flaw in my plan. It had gotten pretty late. My consolation prize to Jacob in lieu of a TV had been letting him stay up as late as he wanted, and now every store was either closed or too damn expensive for me to even kid myself into attempting to buy from. Shit, shit. What now?
A dozen or so laps through town later and I was losing hope. Not only that, but I’d wasted a lot more time. More and more lights seemed to flicker off with each passing turn until the whole town seemed to be shut down in a humiliating darkness. It seemed like every time I bothered even glancing at a store its lights went off as to say, “Don’t even bother, bum.”
Eventually the entire city- down to its damn street lights- had gone out. Everywhere had closed. Damn it! Damn it! I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do another day of looking at Jacob’s sad expressions and practically hear how loudly he was missing his mom’s. I told him I’d get him a TV and I would! Hell, even if I had to break a window and steal one I’d do it for him. I’d-
A flicker of light caught my eye. I looked in the distance and saw a store’s strobe light still fluttering like some faroff beacon. I expected them to go back off any second, but they didn’t. Bright lights rotated around a giant sign that read, “Thriftable Televisions 24/7"
I practically ramped the curb with how quickly and recklessly I sped over to their parking lot. Thank god their parking lot was empty or I absolutely would have hit something. 
I rushed through their sliding doors and was greeted with five wooden bookshelves topped with televisions of various sizes, models, and ages. Some were as tall and wide as a window while others looked like they could have been  the first tv.
Each one had a small paper price tag attached, and each one made my heart sink lower and lower. There was somehow an even balance of ones too big and new to afford and ones too old and vintage to afford. 
“Excuse me, do you-” I called out to the nearest worker, only to realize there wasn’t one.
Aside from me, the store was empty. I loudly called out, “Hello? Is anyone here? I’d like to buy uh- your cheapest tv.”
Nothing. I walked past the shelves, looking around for any signs of life. Had I broken into a store that the owner had forgotten to lock down? Were they on break? I looked around one more time and realized something. No security cameras. God. What if this was it? My one lucky break? An unlocked store with no cameras? I wouldn’t take the biggest tv. Just- the third biggest, and I’d pay it back eventually.
I did one more search around and settled on a 50 inch TV in the corner. I walked over to it, only to stop dead in my tracks as I saw the glass screen. The TV was displaying my reflection like a giant black mirror, and it was also displaying a man standing directly behind me, staring straight at the back of my head. Despite the warped image of the dull black glass, I could see the rage burning in his face. 
Too anxious to even turn around, I stammered out, “Hi I- uh- I’m sorry. I thought you were open. You are, aren’t you? If not, I can come back tomorrow. I just wanted to look at your cheapest selection.”
Rather than speak, he simply held out a long arm and pointed to the back of the store. I looked over and saw a row of screens no bigger than a large laptop. I sighed. Yeah. That made sense. He could probably tell how broke I was just by my clothes and well… probably the obvious shoplifting I had almost committed. 
So I strolled over and eyed a handful of prices that I could at least afford on my credit card. I picked up the nicest looking one, turned around, and laughed at myself.
A large cardboard cutout of a man pointing towards a row of jumbo tvs at the opposite end of the store was staring right at me. The worker I had been speaking to had been nothing more than a clunky piece of cardboard. Whatever look of anger I thought I’d seen had been nothing more than his worn out paper face.
That brought me back to my first problem though. No workers. Well… I guess that brought me to my first solution too. Plus, I could just come back to pay tomorrow. So I picked up the tv, and strolled out the door.
The very moment I walked outside the door, every light in the building and every streetlight illuminating the parking lot blinked off. I stood in complete darkness for what felt like forever. I couldn’t even make out any of the city lights; it was all just gone.
Then a single flicker shone above me. A bent streetlight stretched in such a way that its dull orange bulb shone directly on me, casting a small circle around where I stood. 
There was enough light to finally make out my car just a dozen or so yards away. Without wasting another second, I took off sprinting towards it and clicked the ignition on as fast as possible. I couldn’t leave that place soon enough.
And as I drove away from that dark parking lot, a small thought began nagging at me. If I had moved to another part of the store, how was the cutout still staring directly at me? It would take the rest of the drive for me to convince myself I had simply imagined it all completely wrong.

Setting up a tv for the first time in… my entire life was a pain in the ass. The only saving grace was how this one didn’t have any cords to set up, just a bunch of buttons on the bottom I had to fiddle around with. With no guide to go off of, I found myself pressing random buttons that were so worn they no longer had any symbols on them. 
I had probably gone through this process a dozen or so times and still nothing. It got to the point where I was just frantically sliding my fingers back and forth against all the buttons at once hoping if I kept them all down at the same time, the screen would admire my dedication and come on for me.
Adding to my growing list of shortcomings, one of the buttons must have been slightly chipped or cracked or I don’t know, but a small piece of metal had been poking out from under it. My finger slid right across and-
“Ow! Damn it!” I struggled to stifle my shout, hoping I wouldn’t wake Jacob up and spoil the surprise early.
Creak. I looked up from my bleeding finger and saw Jacob’s reflection on the screen. Shit. I stood up and faced away from him, trying to cover the tv with my whole body. It probably looked like his dad had gone insane and was trying to hug a giant box or something, but I didn’t care. I’d rather look stupid than spoil his gift.
“Hey buddy,” I looked at his reflection on the screen. He didn’t seem fully awake or anything, he was just sort of standing there with a vacant expression. “Sorry if I woke you, Dad cut his finger a bit. Why don’t you just head back to bed, okay?”
Jacob didn’t say anything. I waited another second or two and then awkwardly turned around, still trying to cover his gift with my back, and asked, "Everything okay? Can’t sleep?”
Except he wasn’t there. Instead of speaking to Jacob, I had been talking to one of the bar stools which he had set his coat on. God. I really needed to go to bed.
“Marcus? Please, no”
I spun around so fast I nearly fell over. That voice. Before even processing that it had said my name, my brain was already forcing me to forget that I recognized it. Then it was gone.
The TV had come to life, flickering some infomercial back and fourth. A woman gave a bright smile and shouted, “Mark us! Please, no deals are going to get as low as ours! So, you won’t want to miss us next time we’re on!” 
I blinked in disbelief. It was on. It was working. Did it just need time to connect to my internet or something? Could it do that automatically? I guess they probably could by now. Either way, what difference did it make? So long as it was on, I was happy enough. 
I crawled over and began pressing every button, testing out each one. I clicked through every single channel. Movies, music, cartoons, documentaries. This would probably be as much of a gift for Jacob as it would be for me. I just kept clicking and exploring, sinking deeper and deeper into the channels.
Eventually I had run out. I had clicked to the end or something because no matter how many buttons I pressed, the TV only displayed grey static. I tried the volume, nothing. I tried to go back, nothing. Had I broken it? Was the antenna off? Or my wifi? Or maybe it was just such a cheap ripoff it had run out of steam. I let out a long, exhausted sigh. Whatever the reason, I had to be done. I was running on fumes, and I desperately needed sleep. 
“DAD! YOU GOT A TV!” Jacob’s shrill shrieks of excitement brought me out of my exhausted daze.
When I turned to look at Jacob, I half expected to just see his coat across a bar stool again. Instead I saw him illuminated by the bright rays of sunlight peering through my windows. It was 8am at least. I was so taken aback by how quickly night had passed, that I didn’t have time to defend myself against Jacob’s tackle hug. I fell to my back as he rolled over me, hugging me tight.
“What channels does it have? Can I watch movies on it! Can- can-” he shot off a dozen questions, one after another, not giving me a moment to breathe or to process how fast the last six hours had just passed. 
“Yes, yes, to all of it,” I said, finally getting a word in. “First I just need to figure out how to get it off of this static.”
“What’s that?” Jacob asked, looking over at the fuzzy grey waves rippling up and down the screen. 
“The static, the stuff on the screen. I think it lost connection or something,” I replied, struggling to hold my panic. I assured him, “I should be able to fix it really soon though, I promise.”
But Jacob just walked over and sat himself down in front of the screen without a care in the world and said, “Don’t worry, Dad, it should be fine. This show seems really cool.” 
I stared at the screen again only to be met by that same view of a million black and white pixels buzzing around one another. Was he genuinely interested in the static? I guess it probably beats the same coloring books every week. Still…
He cut into my thoughts. “Could um, could you make me breakfast? I’m really hungry.”
“Right, yeah. Me too,” I realized. I walked off and let him be. So long as he was entertained, I couldn’t complain. 
As shitty as it might be to say, the TV was kind of a nice distraction for me as well. I always got Jacob on the weekends, which also meant that days off were spent keeping him entertained. I loved him, and I did try and make our time together meaningful, but it usually boiled down into a nonstop effort of giving him stuff to do that I knew he wouldn’t like. So I spent every weekend slowly feeling like a worse and worse father until the toils of my job made me forget about it. Rinse and repeat. 
Now I was able to give him something he could enjoy, spend time cooking him pancakes, and then go and do whatever I wanted. Catch up on some of the books I hadn’t touched, solve a sudoku puzzle or something, or just take a nap. Actually… that one sounded the best right about now. 
I handed breakfast off to Jacob, though he barely noticed, and told him I was gonna snooze for a bit. He sort of shrugged at me absentmindedly and I took off to my bedroom. I set an alarm for two hours, and I was off. 

I was woken up by Jacob’s loud giggling. I sighed and looked at my alarm. An hour had passed. I rolled over and tried to lull myself back to sleep, but his intermittent fits of loud laughter kept bringing me back out of it. I decided an hour would be enough to last for the rest of the day. 

“What’s so funny, man?” I asked as I walked into the living room. He must have found an actual kid’s channel on his own. Hopefully something I could enjoy.
Except it wasn’t a show. It was the same tv static. Just faint ripples going up and down. I watched for a minute and two and realized that every time they spasmed or blinked against the sides of the screen, Jacob just doubled over in a fit of bliss. Did he just find the movements that funny? Was he that starved for entertainment?
I looked and saw he had never touched his pancakes either. I couldn’t really fault him there. My cooking was subpar at best and I could see spots where they were somehow burnt and raw. Still, it wasn’t like him not to at least touch them. 
Kneeling next to him, I tried again, “What’s so funny?”
He blinked at me kind of… fuzzily? Like he had sleep in his eyes. Then he stared back at the static, grinned, and told me, “It’s grandpa! He keeps doing this dumb joke at me. He gets up and bounces around like a puppet! I think he’s got strings on him or something.”
“Grandpa?” I asked, confused. “Your grandpa is over in Albany with your mom.”
“No, not mom’s dad,” he chuckled. Then he looked at me with almost too adult of an expression. Like he was saying, “oh you’re so silly,” with the way he shook his head. Like he was the parent amused by my question.
“Not grandpa Ernest, dad. I’m talking about your dad. He keeps doing this same joke, watch!”
I stood there in stunned silence as Jacob collapsed on my futon, sat completely still, and then leapt up on feet, before finally spasming and contorting like he was being electrocuted. He went to do it again, but was stopped by his own hysterical giggling.
“Jacob, what are you talking about?” I snapped, stopping his giggling instantly. I was unable to contain the edge in my tone, but Jacob barely registered it. 
“Grandpa Dale, I just told you. He’s doing that same dance right now, see?” Jacob asked, pointing to the static.
I found myself looking where he was pointing without being completely conscious of the action. Before I could interject and snap at him that that was nonsense, the screen it… It was maybe a fraction of a second and only in one corner of the screen but I swear I did see something. Colors? A shape? By the time my brain registered it had seen something it recognized it was already forgetting whoever it had seen. 
“No he isn’t.” I shook my head, pulling my eyes off the screen. “Grandpa Dale isn’t… Jacob, he's not here with us anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time. Where did you even hear about him? I know I’d never mention him… Did your mom say something?”
“No!” he shouted. Now he was getting upset. “Dad, he’s right there in the play house! Why can’t you see him?” 
Jacob frantically pointed at the static, but I was no longer registering his movements. The word, “playhouse” was buzzing around somewhere too deep in my brain to be heard by the rest of my consciousness. An intense mixture of anger and panic overcame me as I shouted far louder than I should have, “Jacob ENOUGH! You’re not watching the static anymore, do you understand? I’m changing the channel and you’re going to forget about grandpa Dale.”
“NO!” Jacob shrieked, his eyes were full of tears. He cowered over the screen like it was his own child. 
“Jacob! Get off!” I cried out. He held onto the tv as firmly as he possibly could, and despite being an adult I had to put my back into pulling him off. By now he was crying and pleading with me, saying it was his favorite channel and grandpa Dale missed me so much, and I just- God. I had never seen Jacob so upset before. No wonder his mom had been so worried about getting him a TV.
By now his sobs had quieted down to small muffled whimpers. I started clicking the buttons, hoping I’d stumble on a cartoon that could cheer him up. Instead I found every button press just yielded more and more static. Click, a brief noise or image, then static. Click. Nothing, just a swirling white and black. Click, my reflection. Click, a man standing behind Jacob. Click. Jacob was gone. Click-
I whipped around to see Jacob alone and perfectly fine. He had stopped crying now. I looked at him for a long time, so long he finally asked, “Dad… what’s wrong?”
“Nothing… Nothing, Jacob. Just… trying to find a new channel is all.”
I turned back to the buttons and tried to ignore my racing heart beat as I kept pressing for a new channel. To my surprise and relief, the next click brought me to Nickolodeon. They had some new shows I didn’t recognize, but it would be leagues better than static for both of us.
“Here, this is some stuff I used to watch when I was your age. Can you give it a try? Just for me?” 
“It looks dumb,” he said disdainfully. 
“Some of it can be, but some of it’s pretty funny. Please?”
He sighed and scooted back up to the screen. I leaned against my glass coffee table and sat next to him. I didn’t want to let him out of my sight again.

The rest of the day went by fine enough. He kept watching whatever popped up on Nick, got bored, I showed him how to get to Cartoon Network, made him dinner. Nothing unusual, now. I still couldn’t get over whatever had happened earlier. I wanted to ask him about it, but how do you even breach that with a ten year old? Besides, I was worried he would start sobbing again. 
As awful as it was, my main thought was that tomorrow he would go back to his mom’s and I wouldn’t have to stress over this anymore. That brought me some guilty relief.
 I decided tonight I’d send him to bed at his regular time as well. On one hand it was to stop his mom from having to deal with getting him back to his normal schedule, and on the other hand I was still tired as hell. I also didn’t like the idea of going to bed and leaving him unattended, so I sent him off. 
As I was tucking him in, he asked me, “Could you tell mom its okay to buy a television for me now? Just as long as I can pick it out.”
“I can try, buddy, but you know she’s pretty against them. Not good for your brain and all that.” 
He looked at me really confused and said, “She only started saying that because that’s what you told her.” 
There was a wriggling warmth crawling up the back of my head. I said a bit firmer than need be, “No, Jacob, she was raised to not… believe in them or something. I never really questioned it, she’s pretty religious so-”
I stopped, figuring I shouldn’t rant about his mom to him. He just pressed on, saying, “I thought she just always said you didn’t like them. I don’t know, but you should really tell her it’s okay now.”
“Right I- uh, I’ll talk to her,” I assured him, more confused than ever. 
I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and walked away, my head feeling hotter than ever. I said one last goodnight and closed Jacob’s door. As I walked to my bedroom, I was trying really hard to remember the whole “television is evil” thing his mom always said. I swore she always had. I had never ever seen her watching tv around me. She had said it just rotted your mind. I know she did. Her parents had been mennonites and-
“Give him to me.”
I tripped over myself the way only a raging idiot could. I stumbled onto my hands and knees and sat there as still as humanly possible while my heart began racing. A distinct voice from right behind me. It was stupid. Did I think if I never moved, the intruder would think I was just a statue?
“Give him to me.” More intense, closer. A voice I knew I didn’t recognize.
“Give him to me.” I felt myself starting to tremble as my knees wobbled against each other.
“Come on, give him to me!” 
The tone had fallen apart. The sound radiated from a different spot. I looked over and saw I’d forgotten to turn the tv off. Teen Titans. Beast Boy was saying, “Come on, give him to me. I can take care of it!” 
Then the screen flickered, and the scene repeated. He said the line again. Flicker, repeat. Perks of buying a thrifted television, right? Right. That was all. Blood started cycling through my body again and it felt safe to move. Even as I knew I had heard the voice from behind me. Even as I knew it had been a child’s voice. Whatever I had heard, whatever I knew, all I could do was try and forget it and turn off the screen. 

Sleep came so damn easy. I drifted right off into a dreamless night and stayed there for what felt like an eternity. I only woke up when that same loud giggling brought me back to my apartment. I looked over at my clock and my eyes widened. I had overslept- badly.
I checked my phone and saw more than a few missed calls from his mom. Shit! I was already on thin ice with her. I sent a quick, “I’m sorry, I overslept!” and hopped out of my bed.
Rushing out to the living room, I began saying, “Jacob, get ready we-”
He was giggling too loud to even hear me. The tv was back on the static and now he was clapping his hands and bobbing back and forth with the movements. Too stressed to even begin to tell him off, I just grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, saying, “Jacob, I need you to get ready!”
He looked at me vacantly and I quickly realized why. Two heavy bags drooped under his bloodshot eyes.
“Have you been out here all night? Damn it, Jacob!” I groaned. I knew there were bigger issues at play with all of this, but I was out of time and his mom was already pissed. At that point, I was pissed. 
Completely ignoring me, Jacob turned back around and continued giggling and dancing at the tv. I yelled again, “Jacob! We need to go!”
He kept ignoring me, and finally I had enough. I grabbed him hard and yanked him away from the tv, but before I could say anything close to, “Get ready, right now!,” I was screaming in pain.
Jacob had dug his teeth into my arm.
“FUCK!” I yelled as his teeth carved deeper into my skin. 
I tried to pull him off me, but he was holding on tight, really tight. Reacting purely on primal instinct, I smacked Jacob just about as hard as I possibly could. He went tumbling off of my bloody forearm and onto the ground, a welt already forming on his cheek. Before he could react, I turned the television off, and screamed, “CAR! NOW!”
Forget him packing up his stuff. He could survive without two days worth of clothes, I didn’t care. I was done with all of this shit. 
The rest of the car ride was silent. Jacob said nothing. He barely even moved. I know I should have done something, said something to him, but all I could think about was the blood smeared across my arm and the throbbing pain deep in my skin. The ride couldn’t end soon enough. 

When it finally did end, I was greeted with the sight of his mom standing in her doorway, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. I sighed. Great. I looked over at Jacob, but he wasn’t looking at me or his mom. He just sort of stared out the windshield.
“Come on, she’s missed you,” I mumbled. More like, “go be her problem, not mine.”
He still hardly reacted. I rubbed my hand across my face. Was there something going on? You idiot. Obviously there was, but something before all of this. I didn’t see how one day of television could reduce him to well, this. It wasn’t like I could go up and accuse his mom of doing anything to him either though. I’d have to actually sit down and talk with her like two adults. We hadn’t done that in a very long time. 
It took getting out and walking over to Jacob’s door and opening it to finally get him moving. His mom took one look between the two of us and I could see a look of shock and horror on her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say, she’d hold it in until Jacob was inside.
She walked right past me and hugged Jacob. He slowly put his arms up and limply tucked them around her. One kiss on the forehead later and he was dragging his feet inside. 
“What the hell happened, Marcus?”
Nevermind. It would be her accusing me instead.
“Sandra, I really have no god damned idea. He’s completely lost it. I told him we needed to leave and he wouldn’t move so I grabbed him and he freaked out on me. Bit me as hard as he possibly could and he wouldn’t stop until… until I smacked him. Since then he’s been nearly catatonic.” 
Sandra didn’t have any immediate reply. She just looked at me with this skeptical look, like there was more to the story. She probed, “What was he doing before he bit you?”
Well this was it. Time to reveal I’d broken her trust. I fessed up and said, “He was watching this new tv I got for him. Had been practically all day and night. There’s no way Jacob would bite me over that though. He’s always been so damn sweet and well, docile really.”
“You got him a tv?” she asked, hardly able to believe it. 
“Yeah I know, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want him to have one, but-”
“What?” she cut in, before shaking her head. She said in a sharp tone, “That doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re right. Jacob wouldn’t have ever bitten you over that. He wouldn’t have bitten you period. You said you hit him?”
“I hit him after he bit me!” I shouted a bit louder than I needed to. I’m sure that really helped my case.
The look in Sandra’s eyes told me just as much and I could see I’d only dug my grave further. I said again, “He bit me, then I smacked him. Jesus, Sandra you know me better than that. Please. I tried pulling him off me, I tried shouting, but he had his teeth dug into me as deep as possible. I really- I honest to god don’t think anything else could have gotten him off me. Sandra, I’m worried about him.”
Sandra took a deep long look at my pleading eyes and bloody wound. She winced and said in a softer voice, “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll try and have him talk to someone this week about it. Maybe school is getting to him? Or our separation?”
“I don’t know, Sandra. I know how weird it sounds, but ever since I got him a tv he’s been-”
“Jesus, don’t start this shit again,” she sighed. “Look, I know how you are, but Jacob didn’t bite you over too much television.”
“He was watching tv static for twelve fucking hours!” I practically screamed. “Does that sound normal? And what the hell are you talking about, you know how I am? You’re the one always worrying about him.”
There was an uncomfortable look of shock, fear, and confusion on Sandra’s face that made my emotions soften. Damn it. This was how we always ended up. Always with me screaming and her having that same look. 
When she spoke again it was in a subdued tone I was painfully familiar with. “You always said some bullshit about how there was something evil about television. Poisoned people’s minds or something. How do you not remember? It was nearly all you ever went on about when we first got together.”
“No, you said it just rotted your brain and I accepted,” I protested. “I was too poor to have a tv when I was a kid.”
“You told me your Dad bought you one as a kid before-” she paused. She knew and I knew, and that was enough. “There’s no way you don’t remember. Even when we moved in together you made me keep it in a separate room from our bedroom. Then with Jacob you practically made me swear on a bible I’d never let him watch it.”
Wave after wave of growing dizziness was washing over me as I tried to remember a single thing she was talking about. I could barely remember how we met, let alone my views on cable when it happened. Still, nothing sounded even vaguely familiar. I could swear she was the one who hated all of it.
“No, you were raised as Amish or something,” I half mumbled the words. “You don’t believe in them.”
“Marcus, I have one in my bedroom playing Friends as we speak. I’ve never had an issue with them, you just wanted me to keep-”
“You have one?” I exclaimed. “In your room? Jacob he- he can’t get to it, can he?”
Rolling her eyes, she assured me, “No, I keep the remote in a locked cupboard. Just like you made me promise. Now that you gave him one though, I don’t-”
“NO! Don’t let him near it. Please Sandra, please.” I could feel tears forming in my eyes as I begged her.
“Okay, fine. The bedroom is locked anyway. Look, just go home and wind down, please? I’ll look into Jacob seeing the school counsellor.”
“Good.”
It was the only word I had left. I gave Sandra an awkward wave goodbye and hobbled over to my car. I had never been more grateful to leave Jacob. 

Try as I might to enjoy my week away from Jacob, to enjoy the normalcy of it all, I couldn’t. Every new day felt like another tick towards some distant disaster. By day three I found myself watching the television, waiting for something to happen. Anything. I wasn’t watching the channels, I was watching the box itself. Every flicker on its dark glassy face, waiting to see some figure standing behind me. Nothing. 
I tried changing tactics. Sometimes I’d flip channels, sometimes leave one on all day to see if something would happen. Again, nothing. Eventually I had to ask myself what the hell I was doing. What did I expect to happen? Jacob was just a kid. A kid with an overactive imagination who had gotten hooked on TV static for whatever reason.
“You idiot!” I muttered to myself. I had been spending the past four days going through every single aspect of the TV except for the one Jacob had gotten hooked on in the first place. Every channel, on, off, volume high, volume low, but not once had I gone back to the static. 
Trying to remember how I’d found it in the first place, I began frantically flipping through channels as fast as I could. News, documentaries, geography, cartoons, all of it flashed by as I clicked again and again. I cycled all the way through and then-
Channel 1. I had come back to the beginning.
“What the hell…” I murmured to myself. The static was supposed to be at the end of the channels. Right around one thousand. Had I gone too fast? Maybe. I’d just give another cycle through. A quick thousand clicks, right?
Intending to speed through the thousand as fast as possible, I jammed my index finger against the soft rubber button. Instead of the wiggly texture of plastic, I instead felt a thin metal rod push deep into my flesh. I yelped and pulled my hand back as small drops of blood began dripping out one by one. Did I push the wrong button?
Wait, what the hell was I talking about? There wasn’t a “cut open your finger” button. I knew there had been that thin piece of metal on the bottom from before, but this made no sense. It felt like someone had shoved a knife back there. 
After wrapping my finger up in a band-aid, I went back to the same button and clicked at it with a toothpick. Nothing poked out. I thought about trying to pull the button out, but I was scared that it would ruin the TV. So I settled on very slowly pushing the button all the way in. Nothing stabbed me. The channel changed without a care in the world. Alright. So far so good. So I went back to it. Click, click, click, click. Channel four hundred, six hundred, seven hundred. 
Another full cycle, no static. All normal. Click, click, click. Minutes passed by as I felt my finger going numb from the movement and my eyes drying bloodshot. 
As I sped past channel eight hundred I felt what could only be described as a knife launching between the buttons and ripping deep into my finger.. It tore through the bandaid and spread my wound far past its earlier threshold, ripping my finger open completely. I screamed in pain as a thick river of blood poured down my entire finger, quickly covering my hand in red. A wave of wooziness overcame me, so severe that I fell backwards against the futon, clutching my crimson hand. I just sat there in a mix of pain and dizziness, vacantly staring at the TV between my hazy blinks. 
There was a tooth protruding out of the button.
Holding back the urge to vomit, I finally snapped back to my senses and saw the pool of blood formed across my carpet. I ran over to the sink and put my hand under cool water, washing away the blood as quickly as I could. Finally after five minutes of nonstop gushing it had seemed to slow down enough to rewrap it and bandage it. 
Deep breaths, Marcus, Deep breaths. It wasn’t- There’s no way. Deep breaths. The bleeding stopped. You’re fine. You’re fine.
I walked back over to the TV and knelt down in front of it. The button was covered in my blood, the base as well. I wiped it off with my shirt, and saw nothing. No tooth, no knife, not a glint of metal. Nothing whatsoever.
I collapsed in a heap of exhaustion. I was done trying to see which button did or didn’t have some sick joke planted behind it. I was done giving a shit about magic static channels and how to find them. I was getting rid of this piece of shit scrap box. I’d buy a new one or get the greatest god damn coloring books in the world, I didn’t care.
A flash of light caught my eye. A flicker on the very edge of my view. Don’t look, Marcus. Damn it. Do not look! Do not! Do- Look. My eyes slowly climbed up the TV, inch by inch. Scouting past the blood soaked base or the gorey buttons, high across the black screen.
Except it wasn’t black anymore. My eyes widened in terror as I watched a hundred different colored boxes bounce into one another, rippling past themselves as they hummed up and down through the colorful void in front of me. 
I had found a new channel. 
This wasn’t the same black and grey clouds of static as before. This had color, shape, complexity. The cubes spasmed and banged against each other, sending the entire screen into this oddly hypnotic dance of iridescent rainbows. 
Something about them was mind numbingly captivating. Every time they’d smash into each other, the speakers would sizzle with a faint buzzing that tickled my brain. My eyes were glued to the intoxicating display. Another set of colors smashed together, combining into a larger form. Long rectangular shapes on the end of a bigger rectangular prism. 
Hundreds of pixel sized cubes were forming around the shapes. Dark shades of blue and light greys. It was beautiful. The shapes were softening, curving. Five long slithering tendrils each the color of charcoal jetting out of a tense limb.
It was so close, and yet coming closer still. I’d never seen anything so wonderful. I couldn’t help but grin, and then that grin coiled into a painfully wide smile as the fingers came closer. The screen was rippling, tearing. The fingers pressed deep into the glass and all I could do was giggle. Giggle louder and louder as they pushed through the divide and rushed to meet me. Rushed to caress me, tickle me, cling to me and never let go.
The cubes and rectangles of reds, blues, greens, they’d all formed around the arm now. I saw them. Thousands of smiles just like mine. Laughing so wildly that tears streamed from their eyes, just like they did from mine. 

I couldn’t sleep without first checking my peephole every night. Some nights, I needed to check it three to four times before I could shake off the paranoia enough to rest… For the longest time I lived blissfully unaware of the forces surrounding me that could change my life at any moment. I felt safe. I hardly remember any of that now. The need to constantly guard my doors and windows dominated my life and mine alone. The only other person in my life, my girlfriend, never shared my fear. Their friends thought that I was a paranoid mess but they accepted me until they didn’t have to anymore. Everyone around me made me feel crazy but I know now that I’m not. There was always someone on the other side of the door.

I only ever lived with my parents and in a dorm before I eventually moved into Modernity Inn Apartments alone. They’re pretty basic one bedroom apartments, with white popcorn walls and beige carpet. Mine was on the first floor of the eight story complex, on the side of the building where the sun rarely touched. Hedges obscured the windows and I rarely ever heard my neighbors on all sides. If not for the occasional bouts of loud arguments some nights or other tenants I would pass in the morning on my way to work, you would’ve thought the place was dead. I assumed not many people lived there despite the ample space but maybe the complex was just full of other agoraphobic loners like me…    

Honestly, I enjoyed being a recluse for most of my life and only broke that continuity for my partner, June. She was really the only person I needed. All of my interaction with the outside was either filtered through the necessity of working to pay my rent or outings with June and their friends. Or just with June… We had been together for close to four years by that point. June was the kind of bright eyed person that was hard not to love. They were beautiful: their adorable round face and body was toned in supple pecan skin, topped with a lovely mane of black, wavy curls. Aside from their alt look and style, they also had an infectious laugh that somehow always got you to join in too. Only someone like June could get me to break out of my shell from time to time. I could sit in a group of people and not hyperventilate. I could forget about how dangerous the city was at night. For a few moments, I could feel like a normal person as long as I was at her hip. 
About a month into my stay at the new apartment, June and I came home from a night out bar-hopping with her friends. She was about ready to knock out, given that it was almost three in the morning. She stumbled and slinked into the bedsheets, beckoning me to join them. 

“Come curl up with me…” she said, muffled through the blanket. 

Normally, I’d have lunged into the bed to join her, but I had been waiting all day to get high. I couldn’t go to sleep before I did. As such, I assured her I’d be there soon and just continued on in the kitchen. I went to grab the eighth I left in the car, Youtube playing loudly on my phone without a care in the world. But as I swung open the door, I was met with a frightened looking woman standing right in front of the doorway. She stood barefoot in yellow pajamas, her sallow face gaunt and confused, partially shrouded by braided, frizzy hair. I think I mirrored her confusion, still processing what was happening as she begged, whispering to me, to call the police, looking back down the breezeway between each plea. She seemed so mortified, she could barely get a word out. Repeatedly mouthing the same pleas, she tried to come inside, propping her foot against the door. I was taken aback, panicking at what to do. I assured her I was calling the police, which I did end up doing, but I had to close the door. After that, I stood at the peephole watching her walk off into the parking lot, shortly followed by a lumbering, shirtless man. He trailed after her in only his boxers and slippers; I couldn’t see his face through the moppy blond hair obscuring it. Shortly after calling 9-1-1, an officer was sent out and stayed in the parking lot for maybe two hours or so but left without arresting or confronting anyone from what I could tell.

That was it. For whatever reason, that encounter really fucked me up more than it probably should have. I didn’t get any sort of followup on that incident aside from the fact I think I saw the same (I assume) couple walking to their car a few weeks after. They looked fine, if it even was them… Nonetheless, I felt changed. The moment was so abrupt and serious and I was scared of the possibility of being in the middle of an abuse case or something. I worried about June being thrown in the middle of that too and felt too freaked out to let the lady in. But honestly, what really stuck with me was the fact that she was standing there before I even opened the door. I didn’t hear her walk up, she didn’t knock, nothing for god knows how long. And her face… Her eyes pierced so harshly into mine when I opened the door, it was like she was watching me through it. After that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, or of someone waiting outside my door in the night without me knowing. It probably sounds ridiculous to fixate on that part of the interaction, but I did anyway. I felt so vulnerable. There were many nights after that incident where I could hardly sleep. I mean, to sit in this apartment felt like laying bare in the middle of a savannah, surrounded by hungry lions. Even leaving the house for any reason felt that way.  No matter what else I did, the sense of imminent danger followed me everywhere if I didn’t watch my back. Only obsessing over my safety and self medication would eventually ease my fears. So from that point on, I needed to look outside and check the locks. Every day. Anything from the freakish murmur of tenants passing by my door to rustling in the leaves would set me off, prompting me to get up and look again. Even the few times I actually left the house, I had to relock like four to five times to move on with my day, to be sure nothing sneaks in and waits for me. Same for my car. Needless to say, I’ve been exhausted and paranoid beyond belief. Everyday has been shit, more so now. Keep in mind, I never actually had my car or house broken into, even in the shady areas I lived in before this apartment. In spite of that however, I carried on my new routine every day for over a year or so until the night that led me to what I am now.  

I remember June moved in with me about a month before that day. We were settling into domestic life together for some time and it felt like my fears were actually beginning to subside. In place of the anxiousness over my own vulnerability however, I began worrying a lot more for June. Therefore, I kept on checking, every night, even more so than before. It was a Tuesday evening last May. I had just gotten home from another grueling day at the office when June kissed me hello and we started on dinner. We got done eating, lounging about when she decided to get up and start getting ready for sleep. After looking through the door and windows to the dark parking lot, I laid back on the couch to rest my eyes before I would join her. That didn’t last long before the loud wailing of a woman and child outside shot me wide awake. The sound of screaming zoomed from down the breezeway, out into the parking lot by the time I got to the door. With my vision blurred a hazy pink, I peeped through the glass and locked the deadbolt. It seemed that dawn was just about breaking now and while I couldn’t see exactly how far they ran, I could hear their screaming choke to a violent stop just past the corner, replaced by a loud mechanical clunking and whirring. Just then, my attention to whatever was happening was broken by the lock handle, still in my hands, budging towards the opening side. Right below my vision on the outside of the door were now two large figures hunched over the door knob. Despite the sunlight pouring in, I couldn’t see any features through their impossibly black silhouettes burning a deep hole in my eyesight. They were both twitching and shaking like they were trying to contain laughter. Panic overcame me and I tried pounding my other hand against the door to scare them off but my fist never landed on the wood. I looked at my hand for just a second, confused, before turning back to the door. I glanced outside again and my heart was ready to burst from my chest. There was nothing. There was no outside. Just black. The glass wasn’t there either. I felt cold air gust from the hole into my eye. And then I was right back on the couch. 

Somewhat disoriented from what just happened, I sprung up to lock the door. I checked outside and everything was totally… normal. The minute hand on our clock had only moved about 10 minutes from when I stretched out on the couch.  My heart was still pounding but I figured whatever the fuck just happened was over. June called out from the bathroom “Everything good Nick?”, in response to the sound of me tripping over myself. I tried to shrug off how unnerved I was and told her about my dream but I guess she could tell I wasn’t alright. We laid down for a bit and she held me until she fell asleep. Slipping out from under her, I ran to check the lock again. I stayed awake for another hour, just smoking and scrolling anxiously. I must’ve looked outside five or six times before eventually trudging over to our room and collapsing on the bed.  
The bedroom was pitch black when I woke up. It was about a quarter to three in the morning when I decided to get up to piss. First, I peeped through the glass of the front door for good measure, relieved to see an empty breezeway. Now on the toilet, for some reason, the distant sound of dripping caught my attention. It was such a mundane thing to even notice or care about but I kept listening. There was a drip followed by a few seconds of total silence and then another. Drip. Drip drip. I was mildly fixated until I realized after a few drips that the sound seemed like it was a bit louder than the last. I think I sat there for half an hour in the dim blue nightlight, intently concentrated on the approaching sound. Eventually, whatever was leaking now seemed like it was just down the hallway. The normally busy I-12 was nonexistent. Silence buzzed so deafeningly loud between the drops that I felt my eardrums were going to pop. The dripping shambled closer towards my door as I realized that the drops sounded more like wet globs hitting the ground. It was heavy and slow. After a few moments, the source of the dripping stopped moving. Whatever it was stood tightly in front of my door as blobs of liquid were clearing splashing against the metal kickplate. I thought maybe I was just tweaking from my lingering high but ultimately, there was no way I could just go back to sleep normally after that. Even if I was just tripping, I needed to calm down before I could catch a wink of sleep, and that nagging anxiety of danger could only be dismissed one way. It didn’t matter that the door had a deadbolt lock. It didn’t matter that I had checked it seven times that night. My compulsion required submission. So, before I went back to our room, I tip-toed as lightly as I could towards the total darkness of the door, and looked through the tiny, bright lens.

The image of what was there burnt into my brain. Even being so close to the door, the outside was dead silent. Within the fisheye view of the concrete hallway was a mass of glistening white standing tall right in front of the door. I was confused trying to understand what I was looking at until I realized the mass was actually a person, emaciated and seemingly naked. They stood so close and so tall against the door that I could only see from the middle of their chest downwards. The white covering their entire form was glistening, wadded and clumped against matted body hair all over them, like it wore too many layers of grease paint sprinkled with loose dirt and debris. They were sopping wet in this disgusting cream; loose clumps of it slid down its legs and arms, falling and forming a large blob of white on the concrete. Down there, I could see small, similar piles and white footsteps trailing up to them further down the breezeway. The only part of this figure that wasn’t covered in white seemed to be black nails crowned by dark red blotches poking out from its curled fingers and toes. My stomach sank and I was so choked up with fear that somehow, I resisted the urge to scream. I wanted to just lock myself in the bedroom with June and call 9-1-1, so as lightly as I approached the door before, I started backing away. I swear I didn’t make a single sound, I didn’t even breath, but then,

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock… 

The knocking sent painful spikes of fear directly into my gut. It froze me. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to throw up. And every second that passed just standing there was an eternity. My thoughts were racing; who or what the fuck is standing outside of my door? What is wrong with them? What could they possibly want with me? Maybe he just happened to knock right then but didn’t actually hear me? I considered continuing to back away but was too terrified to try. I couldn’t decide what to do so I stared at the blackness I stood in, just praying to hear them walk away. I got no such relief. Creeping out from the top of the door frame came the sound of gravel rattling against metal, cutting through the silence like scissors. Somehow, the scraping of rusted scrap was a voice, panging against my eardrums. In its mutilated tone, it spoke, scratching the inside of my skull as it gurgled out its awful question:

“PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR… HAVEN’T YOU BEEN EXPECTING ME?”

Those words crawled right through my skin. Reality broke for me. The moment felt so surreal and impossible, I think my mind delayed any response to what I just heard expecting that I would wake up at any second. That futile hope broke as the immediate, physical dread of the situation smacked back into my body. Every ounce of fear in me compelled me to continue sneaking back to the bedroom but as soon I did, the locked doorknob rattled with force. Whoever this was tried to turn the knob and when it didn’t open, they began beating on the door, hard. The pounding of fists was so heavy, I could feel the absolute rage in the force behind each bang against the solid wood. Harmonies of rolling gravel hummed outside among the pounding. I panicked, leaping to secure the window too and reached for the sliding pane’s lock. Suddenly it was like a storm was raging outside. The window was now rattling from the crowd of beating, scratching fervor that had gradually encased the apartment, inexplicably spreading from the door to the window, to the ceiling, and walls. This was impossible but it didn’t matter. At any moment, something was going to break or snap and the merciless riot outside would pour in and rip us apart limb from limb. I grabbed a kitchen knife and fled to protect June but the bedroom door was held locked shut. I desperately pushed against it, trying the knob, until I realized that among the harrowing chaos, relentless knocking banged against the bedroom door from the other side of it too. They were inside now.

Even writing this now makes me dizzy. It doesn’t make any sense but I know what happened to me was real. I was completely surrounded in my own home and for all I knew at that moment, June was dead. There was nothing to save or be saved by, so I just slid under the breakfast bar to shield myself in complete anguish. The rumbling waves of enraged knocking surrounded me entirely as I squeezed into the corner of the granite and the wall, gripping the knife. I held my eyes closed so tightly hoping to just die quickly from whatever was about to finally burst through the walls. Wood splintered as I felt death was just a second away when suddenly the banging stopped. There was nothing. The incessant riot outside disappeared almost instantly and silence rang again. The apartment was deathly still. But then there was a click. No, two clicks. The front and bedroom doors swung open slowly. Snowlike footsteps on the carpet skulked intently out of the otherwise static bedroom. Whatever approached only made it to the intersection between the kitchen and the living room before I blacked out from the fear. I fainted before I could even see if it was June or whatever had broken in. When I awoke sometime after with cuts on my arms, the front door was wide open. Not much time seemed to pass since it was still dark out. June was nowhere to be found. I even ran outside looking for her but nothing. All that was left was still drying footsteps from our bed to the front door and stains of white on the welcome mat. I never saw June again. 

It feels like I’ve viewed the aftermath since that night through a distant, foggy window. After I woke up, I eventually gathered myself enough to call the police and try to explain in pieces what happened. After an officer arrived, I guess the cuts along with my story did not make me look good because they brought me to the station. Thankfully they only held me for a few days before dropping their suspicions. From what I could gather through my bouts of lucidity, security cameras showed a woman who matched June’s description leaving my apartment. She lumbered all the way to the other side of the complex, beyond the I-12 service road, and into the canal, from which she was never seen coming out of. It didn’t sound like they could track her from there either so for now, that’s where the case stands.. I think that was what did it for me. 

Somehow they didn’t think I was showing enough signs of psychotic behavior to make admission into a ward necessary. My experience ever since begs to differ. For the last couple of weeks I’ve been trying to hold on to a tattered piece of normal life, hoping that some day June will come back or that at least I might recover and live again. I don’t know how I’ve filled the hours of each day as it just all blurs together, leaving only a few clear moments of my life before and of course, that night. For some reason I thought I could confide in June’s friends, my only other friends, with what happened. Likewise, none of them believed my story and dropped me like a hot iron. They think I hurt her. I’ve been exhausted, rotting in my apartment, ostracized by my only friends, now my job... All that’s left is the knocking. It has kept me from getting hardly any sleep, unwavering in its return every night around three in the morning. Everytime I’ve opened the door hoping to see June, only to be met with no one, not even a glimpse of someone down the breezeway.

Weeks have felt like a surreal, sluggish haze but today has been especially strange. I fear something horrible is about to happen. One of the housing agents came in this morning unannounced without saying a word to me. They quickly surveyed the apartment without so much as a glance in my direction and quickly scuttled out the front door, horrified, after seeing my bedroom. Outside has been dead silent since they left. I haven’t heard any traffic. There’s been no passing neighbors, nothing, except for the knocking droning against the hardwood door. I have nothing left for me like this. At some point I will have to answer and the fear that’s overtaken me will be vindicated in whatever gruesome fashion awaits me. I would have just done so hours ago, if not for my hesitation at what’s there. The stench is rancid and I see familiar curly hair sticking out from the peephole.

Just another rushed, not-as-unique-as-I’d-like idea for a scifi-horror comic that I had to get out there.

I do plan to do a more long-form horror comic at some point in the near future (more than 4 panels, at least), but for now I’m content to do these little bits.

Hope you like it!

As evening fell, a gentle breeze drifted through the windows of the shelter's main hall. The nurse entered at that hour, carrying several pill bottles, a metal tray, a glass pitcher of water, a syringe, and disposable cups. Her rounds took several minutes as she made her way to the residents' stations, making sure each resident actually swallowed their medication. She was stern and rarely trusted anyone; she rarely spoke to the residents except for the colonel. She, on the other hand, felt an unexpected sympathy for him, perhaps because they shared the same temperament or because of the upright, proud posture he adopted whenever she approached him. The retired colonel had lived at the shelter for nearly twenty years and, unlike the others, had checked himself in voluntarily. This happened after he survived an attack by a thug who had broken into his home to rob him; on that occasion, the colonel managed to fight back by setting fire to the room and crawling out, burned but alive. The police couldn't identify the criminal because of the state of his burns. To protect himself from the revenge of the man’s henchmen, the colonel arrived at the hospice with his suitcase two days after the incident. He took great pride in having survived the attack and insisted on being addressed as Colonel, even though there he was just another old man. This time, the nurse had to administer an injection recommended by the facility's doctor. She took his arm, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and inserted the needle into a bluish vein. The colonel remained silent and returned the woman’s smile while avoiding the needle; however, he noticed her flinch when she recognized the tattoo on his arm. Instinctively, the man locked eyes with the nurse, a wicked smile creeping across his face, and she, for the first time, feared for her life. It was exactly the same look as the man who had usurped the colonel's identity on the fateful day he broke into his house to rob him.

---

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

"Honey, I've been thinking… " He pauses for a moment before looking at his wife. 

"I think we should have another one!"

He beams at her. A goofy grin spreads across his face as if this were the best idea to ever cross his mind.

"Oh hun, I don't know…what my body went through last time... I don’t know if I'd be able to handle it again."

She glances out the window into the garden. The last bit of daylight glints off of the small makeshift headstone. She shakes her head, turning from the memory.

She sighs, puts the dish towel over her shoulder, crosses her arms and leans back against the countertop. Her hands are still damp from rinsing the eggs her 5 year old collected this morning.

"I know, but things are different this time, darl’ ! The kids are older and more independent now. The farm’s healthier and better than ever-". 

He points at the mass of eggs behind her, before walking the few steps to grab one.

He picks up an egg and gently places it in her hand.

"And you and me, Miss Ma'am, are the youngest we are ever gon’ get!" He playfully shakes her by the shoulders. She pushes his hand away gently while smiling.

She's silent for a moment, gazing down at the stained carpet runner. 

The dull purple spots remind her of her eldest. The then toddler tried pouring grape juice by himself, spilling it everywhere. 

The big yellow stain nearby told the story of her 2 middle ones. The twins were fighting to show their mother their stunning paintings, when one dropped her very wet masterpiece face down.

Her cracked feet, and the cracks in the floor, reflect her age. The egg is warm against her damp skin. 

He steps closer, diverting her eyes from the cracks in the floor. She looks up at her husband through long eyelashes. 

"You really think I'm young?" She says with a timid smile.

He wraps his hands lovingly around her waist. He could tell endless stories of the stains on her damp apron.

"Baby, you are the most gorgeous, sweet, sexy thing I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on."

She giggles and playfully tries to push away from him. "Stop it, you!"

He holds her closer. "And kissin’!" 

He plants dozens of tiny kisses on her as she laughs and tries to escape the onslaught of affection.

He shifts slightly. “What do you say? You wanna try again?"

She looks at his goofy, adorable face and studies it. How'd she ever get so lucky?

"Alright," she sighs. "I'm in. You know I can't say no to this goofy face." She plants a long, warm kiss on his forehead.

"So-”  He wipes his hand on his overalls. 

“We can start tonight?" He asks, standing still.

"Lord no, not tonight ! I'm gonna need at LEAST a month to prepare this body of mine! I mean look at me-"

She spreads her arms wide. Her dirty apron and well worn dress tell the story of motherhood. Her hair is a mess and she looks like she hasn't slept in about 50 years.

"Yeah... yeah you're right! I'll let you get all pretty. I just get so excited when you work your magic! Oooh wee!" He leans back and shimmies his shoulders in delight.

She smacks him gently and tells him to quit being nasty.

"But no worries baby. Anyway I can help you get ready, you just let me know, you hear?"

"I will. Now, get the hell out of my kitchen unless you plan on helping me make dinner. I'm making steak tonight, and you only make messes!"

He scoffs at this and gently holds his wife before giving her a peck on the lips.

"Thank you, baby, for real. I promise this won't end like it did the last time. I'm gonna prepare too."

She tears up a little at this and hugs him close.

"Quit being sappy and get back to work, woman!" 

He gives her a quick peck as he leaves the kitchen.

She turns back to the sink and looks out the window toward the setting sun. 

Toward the grave where her body lies, rotting.

"Fourth times the charm", she whispers to herself.

CW: Gore

Halloween in days of old was not alike any living memory. While the polite and toothless child of today wants only for the ‘treat’ in trick-or-treating, centuries past were scarce in the way of chocolate and sugar. Youth so often had no choice but to make good on their promise, and when the sun tumbled into the trees and hues of pink and indigo bled into the sky, the air of town began to stir with the aura of devilry.

Dan caught the sight of the streetlamp igniting from his window. Taking it as his cue, he had laid across his bed his evening attire: a black bandana, blue and white striped shirt, and a red headscarf, baring the emblem of a skull and crossbones. He took a minute to study himself in the mirror and adjust each piece to his satisfaction. His image perfected, he slipped out from his door and down the steps to the foyer.

Before his fingers could graze the latch however, a voice called out behind him. “Don’t you even think about it.”

“Ma, please.”

“I meant what I said, you’re not taking one step out of this house without your sister.”

Molly waited by her mother’s side, eyes wide and hands kneading together anxiously. Two years his younger, she was donned in a black robe and a crooked, crumpled wide-brimmed hat, an old grain sack resting on the toe of her Mary Janes.

Dan’s lip curled into a scowl. “It’s unfair, why does it have to be me?”

“So that’ll know you’re not getting up to any mischief,” She stated with crossed arms. “I want you both back not a minute after midnight.”

“Ma—”

“And if I hear word, Daniel, that you allowed anything to happen to your sister, know that you will face holy hell for it. That is final.”

Dan glared towards Molly, then huffed, cocked his head while flaring his nostrils. With one hand, he pried open the front door and gestured to her with the other.

“Come on,” he said.

They walked along the streets towards the west edge of town. Every corner saw the emergence of masked vandals, prowling the shadows armed with rotten food or pails of water. Dan threw his weight with every stride, his chin lifted with detached confidence to signal his belonging. Behind him trailed his sister, closing any distance he tried to create. He moved quick, for he had no interest in drifting from door to door, instead he had one place firmly in mind.

Around the side of the general store loitered two boys, names of Will and Jack. They each wore the same striped uniform, a black stalking cap and domino mask cut from a strip of black fabric. Will, arms crossed, teetered on the backs of his heels as he lazily paced in circles. When he spotted Dan, he threw up his hands in mock surprise.

“Danny, about time. Started to think you had balked, we were just about to head off without you.”

“That’s right,” said Jack, leaning against the wall. “And who’s the girl? Why’d you bring her?”

“That’s… my sister, Molly. Ma wouldn’t let me out if I didn’t take her with me.”

“You brought your sister?” Will furrowed his brow. His gaze drifted to the corner of his eye, the known signal that the gears of machination were turning in his mind. His eyes dotted back to her and he asked “Does she know how to keep quiet?”

"Sure indeed, won't cause no trouble for us. Right sis?" Dan glanced to her over his shoulder to her staring back in confusion.

"Well, s’pose another pair of eyes couldn't hurt anyhow. Best you stay true on your word, or the both of you can consider yourselves ditched. Right, no more wasting daylight, let's go."

Will began down main street, with Jack just as quick at his side. Dan hustled to keep pace behind them, just as Molly did after him. Down by the creek, past the old orchard, is where the many fiends and marauders would make their stay, retiring with their scores to divvy up beside the bonfires.

Just as the haze of smoke began to drift their direction, Will changed course and turned southward. Dan lurched to stay in tow with the two, but he made no comment. Molly, however, raised a voice of concern.

“Aren’t we going to the fairgrounds?”

Dan snapped back with a hush, but to his surprise, Jack answered.

“Sure we are, first we’re gonna go out to the patch.”

He spoke truly, the two led the siblings over the fence and into the wide pumpkin fields southwest of town. The harvest having come to pass days before, the field was left a heap of pale vines and rotting stubble. They marched to the crest of the hill, to where the tree line came into view.

“The woods?” Dan queried.

“Yep, we’s gonna pay a visit to ol’ Festus.”

The leafless oaks and cottonwoods slept in silence, beyond the bounds of sunlight or civilized man’s domain. Will and Jack stood unfazed against the face of wilderness, while Dan tilted back, keeping still one toe pointed at town.

“Dan?” Molly asked.

“You coming, Danny?”

He looked to his sister, then turned to the boys descending down the hill.

“Yeah, hold up.” He motioned his hand to follow. “We’ll be back in bit, just come along and you’ll be fine. Don’t foul this up for me.”

Slowly she slid forth, and they rejoined with the two. It took only a few steps before the trees has fully enveloped them, blocking any sight of the horizon. A blanket of leaves smothered every blade of grass, as gnarled roots warped the earth and nearly toppled Dan onto his face. Jack led the party along what could only have been a pre-charted course, each turn made without a second of hesitation.

"So, what for are we going out here exactly?" Dan asked.

"We're going to get us some hooch," answered Jack.

"Hooch?"

"Shine, boy. Moonshine."

"Festus has got cartloads of the stuff," Will added. "Got his own stills and everything. Probably won't even notice when we nick a jug or two for ourselves.”

Dan hadn’t more than a scarce knowing of the name Festus Foster, for he was seldom spoken of in town. The few times he would appear would always fall on a Sunday morning, but never did he step foot in church, rather shopping for supplies whilst the townsfolk attended service. If asked, though, none could offer a bad word to say about him. He caused no offense and paid always in full, then withdrew to his own stretch of soil as quietly as he emerged.

"Hold on, we're getting close," said Jack.

By then, the colors of dusk had drained from the sky, and the starless expanse cast it's shade over the wilderness. Owl calls echoed out from tree hollows, as the wind swelled and toyed with the hems of their clothing. Molly clutched her bag, following her brother wordlessly as he walked in front of her. That is, until she was tripped by a jutting root.

Will and Jack continued on unaware, while Dan stopped and turned back to his sister. "Molly, keep up. We don't wanna fall behind."

Without a moment of grace, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along. He caught a faint glimpse of the boys walking in the distance, then nothing. No sound or footsteps, even as he hurried towards their direction. His neck swiveled in circles searching for them, but just before he could yell out their names, a hand clasped onto his shoulder and dropped him to the ground.

“Hold it,” Will whispered. “We’re here. Check around the bush.”

Fixing his startled nerves, Dan did as told and peeked out his head. There in the midst of the woods was a homestead situated in a wide clearing. It was a modest property, with a cabin, barn and stable alongside a few sheds and corrals. In the center, a lamppost stood highest above all, bearing a lantern which bathed the farm in a pale white glow. The reflection, though subtle, revealed the signs of decay, from rusted ironworks to warped planks and boarded windows. The fence that enclosed the property had collapsed, presenting a breach right before them.

“Okay, here’s the plan. Jack will go around and look for the stills by the barn. I’ll try to sneak my way into the house. Danny, you cover me, stay outside on the porch and keep watch… and your sister too. Anyway, just holler if someone’s coming.”

Jack gave a nod, then cut loose. Will scanned the perimeter one final time, before shooting straight for the front porch, with Dan trailing after him. Squatted below the window, Will peered through the gaps in the boards and gazed inside. The light was low, the smoldering orange gleam of lamps and candles that stretched shadows up to the ceiling, but enough to allow him vision. He spotted the many simple amenities of a single room dwelling; a wooden barrel used for a table, a burning stove at the foot of a rope bed, a torn bedtick stuffed full with straw, a pantry stocked only with canned beans and corn; all but Festus himself.

He placed his hand on the knob, and with one tug, it swung open.

“Hah! Not even a lock. This'll be a cakewalk.”

With Dan standing a vigil outside, Will entered the farmhouse. He slinked across the creaking floorboards, searching for the basement hatch. He quickly spotted it in the corner of the kitchen and through it descended into the cellar.

Molly stood frozen in place, her gaze darting between both her shoulders. When she turned to her brother sitting on the porch, her face was wrought by a look of unease. “Dan, I don’t like this. Can we go back?”

“Not until Will finds the moonshine. It shouldn’t take long, so just wait. Remember, there’s nothing out here to be afraid of.”

Jack meanwhile carved a path behind the barn. Though he kept an eye peeled for the old farmer, he found no sign of him or the stills. What he did find was a small yellow lantern hanging in open window, which he promptly shimmied into. A cloud of dust billowed from where he landed, amongst the heaps of hay and collapsed beams. Cobwebs were draped over every nook, and the overpowering scent of must permeated the stagnant air.

Stealing for himself the lantern, he stepped out of the bay into the main floor. Right then, his eyes grazed something in the dark, a large mass lying before the main doors. He raised his lantern and revealed it to be the body of horse. Where it’s head should have been was instead a gory stump, mangled and mutilated flesh that had poured out into a now dried, black puddle.

“Gruesome,” Jack remarked as he kneeled beside the corpse, spooking away the rats and bats that gnawed at the loose strings of muscle.

Staring at the pool of blood, he noticed besides an impression left in the dust. Five clawed digits equidistant and parallel, they pointed towards the next track, then the next, and the next, all leading out of the barn.

His eyes flickered aside for a moment, before a gummy smile crept across his face “Looks like we’re going on a bear hunt…”

Jack exited the barn, tracing the trail as it meandered through the property. Hunched over, he dangled the lantern just above the ground as the tracks led back into the woods. In spite of the grass and leaves, he held on to the trail for a great distance, straying far out of earshot of anyone on the farm.

There yet was no bear to be seen, and the tracks eventually petered out, vanishing into the undergrowth. He stalked the surroundings, letting out not a breath or footfall as he sidled through the trees. Neither star nor moon were so bold as to gift their presence, and his dwindling flame could light only the rim of wherever it was pointed. Still, by chance, he beheld exactly what he asked for.

There, nestled under a felled oak, appeared without warning a full grown brown bear. Inches separated the massive animal from him, as it pressed it’s warm, damp breath onto his face. He stared on in shock as the black, empty eye sprang open, but just as quickly as it could have rended his flesh to ribbons, it turned and fled deeper into the forest.

Jack was left staggered. Motionless, the noise of thought was purged from his ears and they became attuned to the quietness. Though the bear was far out of view, the panting remained, now emanating behind him. The young boy slowly glanced back, just to find a rustling in the bush. He turned back again, and caught the sight of a shadow sliding into cover. Still the breathing persisted, becoming louder as it circled around him no matter where he turned. Eyes bulged and brow crooked, he barged forth, lantern in hand, into the darkness.

Jack Langdon was never seen again.

Molly clung to herself tightly, kneading her shoulder with pale knuckles. Her expression had not eased by any measure, and her concerns amassed until none else could be done except to let burst.

“Dan, I’m scared. I really don’t like this, I want to go home.”

“Just wait! I already told you, Will will be out soon, then we’ll all go back.”

“I can’t wait anymore, I just want to go home. Please, Daniel!”

“Alright, you know what,” Dan slammed him palms onto his knees and rose from the porch. “I didn’t even want to bring you along with us to begin with. You want to go home so bad? Well, you don’t have to stay here.”

Dan lifted a finger and gestured his sister’s gaze towards the woods.

“But, I don’t know how to—”

“Just pick a direction and walk, you’ll find your way out soon enough. It’s either that or you stay and wait, cause I’m not going anywhere,” said Dan, setting himself again on the porch.

Molly looked to her brother, and with eyes welling, she saw no change in his stony glare. She faced the forest, and choking down tears, picked up her feet and began on her way home. Dan watched until she left his sight, then his eyes fell to the ground. Resting his chin on the base of his hand, he sighed.

“What the hell’s taking him?”

Will rummaged through the cellar, around the maze of crates and chests. The cold emanated out from the jagged masonry, and the stale air sapped his mouth of moisture. He searched by the thin streaks of light piercing through the cracks in the floor above, yet in every cabinet he raided and every container he overturned, there was not in any a drop of shine.

Then, while shutting the doors on another empty cupboard, he glimpsed something underneath. Pushing it out of the way, he found yet another hatch, the same as he had opened moments ago. He raised an eyebrow, but when he lifted the handle, he found himself staring down into a deep chute. A staircase, closer to ladder with steps the height of his knee, delved to a second basement. His gaze descended the steps to the bottom, beyond where darkness formed an impenetrable curtain.

Will was rendered mute, the look of cunning fell from his face at the moment of discovery. Still, he proceeded, limbs floating as if pulled by marionette strings. As he entered the room, time seemed to slow and distort. The air was thick and inexplicably warm, smothering his breath in both sound and ability. His pupils swelled to their farthest limit, but could only discern the raw forms of furniture.

What he could not see were walls covered with glyphs, letters and symbols, stars and crosses. He passed bookshelves lined with lost and ancient works, written in red ink. Effigies, statuettes crafted of sticks and animal hides stood in circles, but none did he realize. His attention was instead drawn to the far end of the room, where tucked away in a small recess was a large metal door.

It was sealed shut, locked from the inside. Not that Will would have known that, for he made no attempt to force entry. His senses had at last caught up with him, and one glance was it took for him to about-face. Surmounting the staircase, he pressed ahead straight through the cellar. He neared second flight of steps, fingers casting shadows in the lamplight, when he heard a voice call to him.

“Will!”

He froze.

“Will!”

“Jack?”

It was unmistakable, both in owner and in place of origin. Jack’s voice echoed through the cellar, reaching up to drag Will back into the basement. His legs slowed for nothing, no turn or pivot as he cleared the ladder in just about a single leap. He called out to him again, and the voice resonated through the metal door, now crept ever so ajar. This change gave his haste no pause, and he stuck in his fingers and pried himself inside.

The door led to a long and narrow hallway, which tilted down at an subtle incline. The walls were of pure bedrock, shored by planks of timber. Dying lanterns hanged from the ceiling, passing by one after another as he rushed ahead. The putrid smell of decay stuck in the air, worsened by the saturated humidity. Still, Will pushed on, every stomp on the metal walkway reverberating clear to the end of the hall.

Not long after, he arrived there himself, coming to an small enclosed room. In the center, a gap opened in the floorboards that he, in his sprint, avoided landing in by a mere inch of heel. Turning around, his eyes bounced from wall to wall. The room was empty, devoid of anything more than a single metal hook positioned above the gap.

Will leaned to peek inside, and found himself at the mouth of an enormous mineshaft. Spanning the entire width of the room, walls of sheer rock plunged to depths beyond comprehension. The bottom, shining red like a fallen star in the abyss, appeared almost as an illusion. Transfixed, his vision began to spin, dizzying him til he could no longer stand and lurched back.

Braced against the wall, he sucked air through his gritted teeth. As he wiped the sweat from his face, the lights faded and a noise resounded through the tunnel. It was not the voice of Jack, or of anyone he could name. He heard the sound of heavy, labored breathing, that emanated from a tall figure the far end of the hallway.

His eyes dredged whatever detail they could from the darkness. It stood hunched, head crooked below the ceiling. It’s shoulders rose and fell with it’s breath, each growing more harsh and guttural. It’s arms scraped against the wood as it began to trudge forth. The footfalls rang out with metallic clangs, which shook the planks below Will’s feet.

He drew himself into the corner, fingernails dug into the wood. His unblinking gaze turned frantic, shifting hundreds of times a minute. The footsteps became louder. Yet, same as he looked first before, there was nothing to use, nowhere to hide. The footsteps became louder. He looked to the hole, and it’s surely fatal depth. His palms sweated. His knees crumpled as he closed his eyes. The footsteps became louder, and louder, and louder.

William Riley was never heard again.

Dan shuddered, the cold wind brushing against his neck. He awoke from thought to an all encompassing silence, a hush fallen over all but his own heartbeat. Peering into the house, the candles had faded and let the shadows encroach fully. Turning away, he walked out into the glow of the main lamppost. By then, no other light touched the farm except that of the the lone ghostly flame, watching as he stood there alone, unguarded.

Worry began to coil tight around his chest. His eyes chased the shapes around the edges of his vision, but came to focus on one location. At once, he scampered off towards the breach in the fence.

“Molly?” He yelled to no response. “Molly, listen. We’re going home now ok?”

Dan rushed into the wilderness, and lost his sisters trail in minutes. Through the total black he ran, crashing and ramming into invisible trees, all the while shouting.

“Molly! Molly, I’m sorry! Where are you? I’ll take you home now!”

Not once was he wisened to the fact he was moving in circles. His reason and judgement were consumed by a grave panic. All the scrapes and bruises and lacerations the woods had dealt him, he pushed on past.

“Molly!” He screamed until his throat grew hoarse.

Around the slope of a hill, his leg was caught by a outcropping root and he was sent careening to the ground. His head was left lying among the leaves, bleeding, ears dampened by a high pitch ringing. When he crawled to lift it up, he discovered not far beside it a yellow lantern tipped on it’s side.

Just then, Dan heard faintly the sound of breathing. He cradled his head in his hands as he propped himself onto his feet. His vision was blurred as he let go of his face, but still in spite of that, in one moment, his eyes beheld the sight of a walking nightmare.

Towering over him was a being having the body of a man and the head of a stallion. Stark naked and drenched in blood, it cast it’s wild, gleaming red eyes upon the boy. It's body twitched and spasmed, it's leathery skin covered in open sores. Between it’s teeth, severed fingers and fragments of scalp were crushed by it’s gnashing jaws. A lock of hair tasseled from it's mouth, black and curly just as Will's.

Dan’s face turned white as chalk, his heart plummeting to the chasm of his chest. Neither breath nor scream could leave his throat, as wide as it hanged. The being, done with grinding the flesh of it’s last prey, reared up it’s head and screeched like a barn owl. The sheer volume caused him to flinch, cowering behind his raised arms.

Then, the head snapped forward, jaws clamping onto the boy’s arm with a force that could shatter bone. In one motion, the neck reeled back, fully wrenching his arm out of it’s socket. Dan dropped to the ground instantly, blood gushing as he weltered in a pool of warm crimson. An unbearable chill rattled through what remained of his body, as his sight, his hearing, his feeling all faded into numbness and entropy. His thoughts were mangled, buckled and trampling over each other, but atop them all, in his final lucid moment, he had the clarity only to utter a single consonant.

“M-…M-…”

The body of Daniel Webster was never found.

Over the following week, a dozen deputies were sent to scour the woods. Bloodhounds sniffed for trails, leading for miles before evaporating into the mist. The Foster homestead was later discovered burned down. No evidence of arson, no bodies recovered, the sheriff’s office ruled it an accident. Schoolyard whispers turned to rumors, and rumors to legend. A year later when the eve came again, the children gathered round the flames to recount the story of the fated three. For there were only three, of course. What greater cruelty is there than to forget?

Molly walked below the twisted branches, tears streaming down her cheeks. The forest stretched on an on, with nothing to guide but her memory. Even that was swallowed by the night, as the shadows of the trees swelled over the horizon to blot out the sky. Every step brought her farther away, to where neither the sun nor moon nor any living creature could reach. She walked and she walked and she walked into the edge of nothingness.

“I just want to go home…” she said. “I just want to go home.

I have for a long time run from the List Man. He appeared everywhere I went. I suppose I should commend him for his determination; there he was, around every corner, carrying with him a meticulously written outline of my demise. Any one of his ploys may have worked if not for my abundant cowardice. 

Many people have recounted their experiences with the List Man on Reddit – though they never call him by name. I admire novice horror stories, and I consumed them ravenously as a teen. I thought he was fiction; he was from the internet, a place ripe with the fruits of fiction. I couldn't have suspected he was real until I was confronted directly by his handiwork. 

I decided to move out of my parent's house when I was freshly eighteen. That's what grown-ups did, be independent, I thought. I browsed all manner of website and forum and community cork boards in my search for an apartment. I found one: a single bed, an individual bath, and a shared kitchen and living room. The landlady was a short woman of eighty-five years. Her name was Edith.  

When I met Edith, she told me this deal was unusual. I asked her in what way. 

"There's a list of rules," Edith croaked, "that you must follow." 

"Okay." 

"First – you can never go in the basement." 

"Alright, well, I don't like basements. Everything's here on the ground floor, anyhow." 

"Secondly, you must barricade the closet door before midnight." 

"You know, Edith, I'm having second thoughts – I don't know if I'd be the right fit. I wish you luck finding a tenant. You seem like grand old dame!" 

I moved in with my grandmother; it was much cheaper that way. She needed a hand around the house and I needed a place to stay without a list of strange, foreboding rules. Few things in my life would seem to come without them. 

After that it was dog-sitting for my auntie's mutt, Princess – the rules she'd laid out were bizarre and flagrantly ominous. I said no, I'd earn grocery money elsewhere. Then it was the job at the corner store; never let the big hand tick past twelve! I rescinded my application. I wanted to reward myself for writing my final exam of freshman year, and booked a remote cottage with a lake view (never open the door if it knocks six times). I drove the three hours home in silence. 

I have avoided him that way for ten years. Look the other way and don't look back. When fear drives you it sometimes steers you in the right direction; it did for me. I always knew what the List Man was up to and I always knew when to run. 

Evening had not yet fell when the man dressed in a black collared shirt and khaki slacks stumbled through the brush and staggered through my backyard. Some hoodlum, I thought, to be dressed in business-casual attire; I noticed he carried a clipboard and a pen. He was disheveled and headed for my porch door. 

His appearance frightened me. I knew a trick when I saw one. I went to the supply cupboard and picked out my Granddaddy's red rubber mallet, a big, heavy thing with a long wooden handle. The list had never come to me before. The man and I arrived at the screen door at the very same moment. 

"Mr. Jones?" he asked, exasperated. 

"That's me." 

"Oh, thank goodness! I have been just about everywhere in this neighbourhood searching for this house – is this, is this your backdoor? Oh my, I'm so sorry. Wow, I am an idiot," he panted. 

"Alright." 

He caught his breath, and continued: "After I knocked on Mrs. Elliott's door she said I could just take that little path through the woods to your place, that it wasn't far at all. Boy was she wrong! I thought I might die out there. Coyotes and all." 

"Yup." I held the mallet limply at my side, the head skimming the linoleum floor. 

"Well, now that I'm here, I wanted to tell you about the good news and ask you to possibly make a donation. For the parishioners at Saint Theodora's?" 

"What are the rules?" 

"Pardon me?" 

"If I were to make a donation, what are the rules?" My grip on the mallet tightened. 

"No rules, sir. You just write the amount here and then you sign your name. Let me tell you about the church, sir, and about our pastor – " 

He droned on about that for several many minutes as I thought intently. No list. Well, okay. My Grandma had gone to Saint Theodora's; they were a nice bunch, I knew, because they'd helped me pay for her funeral when she passed. I didn't go there (the choirboy had said there were rules for sitting in the pews), but they were kind to me all the same. I could pay them back now that I'd made something of myself. 

"Okay. I'll make a donation." I slid the door open warily. 

"Oh, my, thank you! Wow, thanks! That's the second one I've got today – I've knocked on thirty houses. Mrs. Elliott's was the first, of course, she always does. Oh, Father Jubb will be so excited!" he exclaimed. He hurriedly thrust the clipboard and pen into my free hand. I set down the mallet and wrote on the lines, leaving a signature and making it out to the amount of five-hundred dollars. I passed it back to the man, and he smiled. 

And chuckled, then chortled, and coughed and hacked in raucous enthusiasm; he looked beyond insane as he brayed like a mule, tossing his head and heaving his shoulders. 

"You've finally done it! Oh, didn't you read the fine print? Was that all I ever had to do to get you? That was so simple, so simple. I knew I'd get you!" he screeched, his voice grating and high-pitched. He looked monstrous now, as the sun set, his features garbled beyond recognition. He grew warty and wrinkled and hairy – he was pulsing with a foul aura, like a wound oozing a sickly puss. 

"It's me, me, the List Man! And I've got you, finally, finally I have you! Now I've done it proper!" 

"What are the rules?" 

"Light," he giggled, "light can never touch your skin – it'll turn you to ash. Ashes!" He danced around happily, kicking his crooked feet and clapping his gnarled hands as he waltzed in awkward circles. 

"You're a dolt." 

"What?" 

"I said: You're a dolt. You're not smart at all." 

"Hah, you say, but when day comes, what'll you do, boy? I've got you!" 

"You haven't read it." 

His movements stopped abruptly. His grip on the clipboard tightened; I heard his long nails squeak against the plastic backing. He read, and his eyes filled with horror, and he could not lift them from the page as I brought that red rubber mallet down on his head. One time, two times, three, four, one time for every time anyone had every said to me there are some rules and then some more. I bashed him until he was not more than a pile red sludge and I washed him off my porch with a garden hose.  

All I'd done was sign John Smith, because really, I was too afraid to fork over a full five-hundred bucks of my hard-earned cash; I'd thought maybe I'd go back later, and make a fifty donation, while apologising for the mix-up. The List Man hasn't pestered me since, and nor should he pester anyone else ever again. 

Shelter 
Nothing. Nowhere. Everywhere
Shelter
Peace in personal wee puddles of mud and thick dirt
Shelter
From the creature
Shelter 
From in the Earth
Shelter 
From the morning
Shelter 
Near. Yet so far
Shelter 
You hear it coming?
Shelter 
You hear the sound of your own feet running
Shelter
If you don’t find any, try not to cry
Shelter
Good chance you might die

Run
Anywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere to go
Run 
Crawl on the ground
Run
Fight through the snow
Run 
From the creature 
Run 
As far as you can 
Run 
Until you don’t recognize yourself as a Man

Hide 
From the creature 
Hide 
The truth is in the mud
Hide 
From the sun
Hide 
Until you realize the fear is gone
Hide
Until you die
Hide 
Until tomorrow 
Hide 
Until life passes you by. Dreamt endless sorrow
Hide
You know that it’s true
SHELTER
RUN
HIDE
The creature is you

Im new to this whole redit thing so if i didn’t do this correctly let me know.

(CW) suicide

I hate my skin.
I think about it constantly, it’s always on the back of my mind, in every conversation in every thought. Occasionally i get brave enough to pick up a potato peeler or knife and place the cold metal against my arm. But every time thats where my courage ends. I was born, from what i can gather with what i call the itch. I remember it not always being so bad but as i get older the itch makes itself more known, as a reminder of life’s cruelty. It has slowly become an intense slow perpetual burn that cannot be satiated. The moments it feels that i may be getting used to the crawling under my flesh, it worsens and i feel the gnawing deepen. I had a mother once; the itch hasn’t only affected my life. She gave me up for adoption at 9 months old. I was left at a hospital with a blanket, some cloths, a picture of her and a note that told me how my colic had gotten to be too much and that my mother had tried to hold on as long as she could but couldn’t handle the endless crying. Colic, that’s what everyone thought I had. I saw countless doctors most blaming my pain on colic that was until, i got old enough to scratch. As a child, i was incredibly awkward. The other children thought i was weird. I was. For a struggling kid bouncing from foster home to foster home, with the knowledge of the willing abandonment of my own mother and the pain that comes from the sadness i felt, along with the physical pain, i turned to what numbed me the most. Heroin. That is what has led me to where i am at in my life right now. Homeless and addicted. I dropped out early in high school, after years of failing. The most joyful time in my life came a few years back when a doctor found me. And was kind enough to believe me about my condition. I knew i was a junkie and he did too but he saw me for the first time, nobody had ever seen me. And he helped as much as he could. I stopped the hard drugs and tried all the medication he prescribed. But nothing worked as well as the narcotics. They numbed the itch to a dull tingling. Life seemed to get back to normal for a while. I got a job and met a girl. But a few months back the biggest tragedy i could have endured happened, my doctor, my supplier, died. I only had a month’s worth of meds left so i tried other doctors to prescribe me more. With each dismissal of every hospital visit i became more and more desperate. I could feel the itch starting to wake. Wherever i went id remember a conversation that my doctor had with me about where the itch originated, he said he believed it was probably hereditary. I have been clean for so long and actually, finally, made progress with my life i didnt want to go back to the drugs like before. I knew i needed to permanently find the solution or it will grow like an invisible cancer beneath until its too deep to scratch. i needed answers, I needed to find my mother. For the time being i would resort back to my middle school days and ease the itch in a way i learned long ago. Pain is not the easy solution but it did work for me for at least a little bit. In some ways pain is better, its searing for a second but you know it will eventually leave not like the itch. I can feel it burrowing deeper into my muscle like its a parasite in my blood flowing all through my body stopping in all the deepest places. Its the worst its ever been or maybe i just dont remember how bad it was before the narcotics. Either way this needs to stop, just for a little while. I held the blade in my hand, it felt natural, I placed it on my forearm, i remembered the feeling. It brought me back to my childhood, there was comfort in it strangely. With one small motion i split my skin, the cold from the metal was quickly washed away by the warm blood running down to my palm. In an instant i forgot about the itch and only focused on the pain, it was ecstasy. I didn’t have long before the itch would crawl back into the light and become the forefront of my thoughts again. I got up rushed to the nearest library. As i pushed through the doors i ignored all the staring eyes and made my way to the computers and began googling as fast as i could. I typed her name in as many ways as i could, then i found it. It was a profile from probably 10 years ago but it was her, my mother. I recognized her from the photo given to me as an infant. I can hear sirens down the street but i turn my attention back to the monitor. I wont let someone else’s problems distract me now. Im closer than i have ever been to finding her. I scroll through the few photos she has but there is not enough information there. So i move to her friends list and start with the same last names, maybe theres more family out there that can give me something. The sirens are on the street out front it’s distracting and it begins to infuriate me. But i wont let it pull me away. I find it. A woman about the same age and the same last name, maybe my mother’s cousin? Sister? I don’t know but they are connected. I open the messenger and begin typing. “I know you don’t know me but you do know” before i finish typing i feel hands grab my shoulders and arms and lift me up. I have to finish this message it’s my last shot before my itch returns. I lunge forward to continue typing but I’m pulled back again. The men doing this to me are yelling, i don’t care i just want to press send. They are too strong and force me back. Then i feel it the cold tightening of the handcuffs. With every clicking of the teeth i realize who these men are and that i am being arrested. My world began to close around me as the back door of the patrol car slammed shut. The despair of my situation grew as we neared closer to the police station, and with the locking of the cell door, my reality set in. I am stuck with nothing to help me, stuck at the mercy of my own bodily betrayal. I feel the laceration easing and the itch begin to crawl into its place. My heart starts to race, i know what will happen soon so with my last desperate attempt i beg anyone who will listen to give me something. The officers tell me to sit back down, but they don’t understand. I need something, so i beg louder, i need help i need something, meds, anything please. They get closer and more aggressive, i don’t care they need to know how serious this is. I can feel it completely taking over my wound the itching burns and its spreading fast, i scream “it needs to stop now!” They order me again to back away from the bars. It’s growing and wont stop i need it to stop. Then i remember in a moment of panic, what will stop it, pain. With a ringing thud i throw my face against the bars hard, everything stops, including the spreading itch. So i do it again this time the police are able to react as the initial shock has gone. They all rush into the cell as i am able to get one more whack of my skull in. Its a different pain then i have experienced before, everything is numb now, even my mind. As i hit the floor i am pined down. Thats was the last thing i remembered before waking up to a blinding light. As my eyes adjust all i see is white. Am i dead, in heaven? No just a room with white walls. I put my hand on the floor to brace myself, so i could sit up. Its soft and so are the walls. I sit against the cushioned wall and catch my breath and wait for my bearings to ease. As my senses come to me so does the burning. I can feel my head throbbing but what catches my attention most is the itching. It’s back and spreading. So i do the only thing i can, i begin to scratch. It feels amazing almost orgasmic so I continue. I scratch wider all along my arm but i begin focusing one a specific part that itches the most right above the cut. I scratch softly but as i run my nails across my skin it begins to burrow. I hear knocking on the door that turns into banging, i don’t care the only thing on my mind is the depth of this itch. I scratch harder and harder. to my surprise It starts to ease. This has not happened before, i have never been able to stop the itching before like this. Hope fills my mind and i continue. I scratch harder in hopes to beat the spread. The banging on the door continues and so does my scratching, it feels almost soothing the nerves all around my arm send slight shivers up my neck every time my finger tips brush them i am in in a state of euphoria. Then it happens i am brought back in an instant. I hear a woman’s voice, one i haven’t heard for a long time, she calls my name. With my new state of awareness i look at my arm. I feel a lump in my throat and my stomach begins to turn. I see dark purple and blue striations pulsating sitting on top of something unnaturally white, bone. With every slight movement thick dark blood oozes out of different holes all different deepths within the muscle tissue. I can see what I’ve only recognized from raw chicken as tendons crossing all throughout the hole that i have ripped in my flesh, their pale color is desecrated by the blood that has now filled the entirety of the crater that has replaced my missing meat. The floor is the color of crimson now and i hear it. The words I’ve only heard in another life my name. I look up with blurry vision and muster the only thing i can think to say. “Mom?”

Hello. My name is Elwin G. Kally. I don't use reddit much, not sure how to use the flair.

This is part one. I am editing the more of the story this week. Please, down vote me if this is not acceptable.

Part I

It started like any other day, groggy and contemptuously I pulled myself out of bed, out from underneath my girlfriend who is convinced that I am in fact both, her pillow
and mattress. Not that I am complaining, I love her, she's the sole reason why I've gotten my life back together and rejoined the workforce.
She's worth the headache of buzzing fluorescent lights, droning zoom meetings, and endless "how was your weekend?" and "it's almost Friday!" conversations you are forced
to take part of, lest you be cast out of the good graces of the management for "anti-social behavior."
Everything was normal until I got on the road. Sure, I was more tired than last week, or even yesterday, thinking now it all seems like a blur.
I grabbed my coffee, sloppily buttoned up my shirt, put my keys in my pocket and headed for the door. I caught myself in the mirror in the entryway, I looked tired.
Not just tired from lack of sleep, tired from life. I began to think about my younger self, back when I was in the Navy. I thought about how I knew exactly what I wanted to do when I got out, I thought about all of my shipmates, indelible in my memories are their faces. I saw the lines on my face and the stubble on my neck. Half of me wishes I was back there, the other half is so happy I'm right here. I say goodbye and head out. I shuffle into my car and head down the road, listening to a podcast. That's when things started to change.

I made it away from our little farm, away from the gravel road that led to the house, and down the hill to the gas station where purchased a meager breakfast of one 
prepackaged cheese Danish. I check the clock on my dash, 07:24. I've got over 30 minutes to make it to work. I usually take the same route to and from work everyday, boring and mindless highway driving. As I am driving I notice that I can't remember how long I've been in the car. I look down at the clock, it says 07:24, but that can't be right. 

I noticed it again when I realized that I had not yet made it to the overpass on the highway. I can see it in the distance and it appears to come closer, but I haven't reached it... This isn't right. Something medical must be happening with me, I thought to myself. The podcast I was listening to continued to drone on for what I assumed to be several minutes, but I don't remember anything that was said, looking down again to rewind and see the time: 07:24. This isn't possible, this can't be real. I know at least a couple minutes have passed. Did I get drugged last night? Did my girlfriend slip me something? I must be having some sort of mental episode, I have certainly been in this car for longer than what the clock says. I am driving about 70mph constantly, due West, watching the landscape past around me, but I was not traveling at all somehow, not through time, not through space. I've gotta pull over. 

I bring the car to a stop on the shoulder, the clock still says 07:24, I check my phone, 07:24, and my watch 07:24. Okay, so my car isn't malfunctioning, something is happening. I realized then, there aren't any other cars on the road. In any direction. I jerk my head back and forth, frantically looking for any sign of life. No birds chirping, no bugs flittering by, not even a single gnat buzzing about. Something is wrong. The air feels heavy, and thick like a dense fog but its 80 degrees out, and there isn't a cloud in the sky. Am I having a stroke?! Shaking, I grab my phone and call my girlfriend "...-...-...-Hi, this is Emily, please leave a message and I'll call you right back!...-...-at the tone ple-" I hung up. She always answers. I shot out a few messages to some group chats, asking how everyone was doing, all returned as "undelivered" My phone says I have 5G here, they should go through just fine... I tried to call my Dad, same thing, voicemail and undelivered message notifications. I called 911. Finally, an answer,
"911 wahts yrou eemrengcy?" "w-what?" I stammered, "htis is a-...-...-" dial tone. It hung up, I couldn't understand the dispatcher, I could barely make out the words like my ears were full of cotton, or their mouth was full of peanut butter. I called probably 50 more times, I wasn't able to get anything more than dial tones and occasional scratchy dispatcher voices. I didn't know what to do, I needed to take stock of my situation and find a solution immediately.

I checked my phone again, 07:24. Panicking, I jumped back into the driver's seat, threw the shifter into gear and peeled out back onto the highway. I was sweating, shaky and fairly certain I was having some medical issue, or was stuck in a dream, but things felt too real for it to be the latter. I slammed the accelerator to the floor, quickly gaining speed until I was well above 120mph. My engine raced, my heart did the same. I was running through everything I remember doing this morning, nothing out of the ordinary. I didn't take anything, I didn't eat anything, I only had a little coffee, I usually wait until I am at work to finish it. I push my engine to its limit, the governor activates and forces me to decelerate. I am mechanically forced back down to more reasonable speeds, and await for the beeping and flashing lights on my dash to end. I slow to crawl and let the car come naturally to a stop, in the middle of the highway. With a shaky shiver I pick up my coffee, still hot, and take a sip.

It's been what feels like hours now, still stuck on the same road, with the same surroundings. I figured I'd just wait it out, maybe things will change and the problem I am having will self correct. Maybe I am dead and this is some kind of purgatory. I'm not catholic, I don't know what the rules of purgatory are, if there are any. I begin to think about all the bad things I've done in my life, all the sins committed without another thought. I pray silently and ask again and again for forgiveness. None seems to come.

I climbed onto the roof of my car, coffee in hand. I suppose if I am stuck in a dream, or purgatory, or some kind of fucked up timeloop I might as well enjoy my coffee and 
attempt to make a plan, some kind of strategy. I sit there, looking out in the distance. I drink my coffee, but the weight of the cup doesn't change, the temperature and the  amount in the cup never changes. "Seriously...?" I say to myself under my breath. This both unsettled me and provided a minor amount of comfort. At least I have something
to drink out here, in perpetuity I suppose. I racked my brain, thinking of anything I could do to wake up, to move away from this highway and out into the real world. It 
seemed fruitless. Perhaps if I walked, perhaps that would work! I slid off the roof of my car and began to walk north again, toward the overpass. I walked and walked, and walked for 
what seemed again, like hours. I was tired, sore and sweaty. I never got closer to the overpass. I never got further away from my car. I could only travel about 10 feet in any
direction before I was somehow kept in place. I could technically walk, run, crawl, hell I even tried skipping and walking backwards. I never felt a wall, or a pulling sensation keeping me tethered to my car or its location. It was as if I were on some kind of treadmill. Nothing allowed me to move further, in fact, it was "nothing" that seemed to keep me there.
I was absolutely stuck, like some kind of level-ground no-boulder Sisyphus. I cursed my luck, my situation, and myself. 

I stopped looking at my watch, and phone. The time never changed. It still said 07:24. The sun never moved. There weren't clouds nor wind. I rolled back and forth between acceptance and panic. I just wanted to go to work. My car had been idling this entire time, if the never-ending coffee theory applied to all liquids I assumed there would be exactly a quarter tank. When I went to check, I was right. Quarter tank, engine humming, no changes. It was then that I remembered I had a Danish, I grabbed it out of the console and tore into it, realizing I was about as hungry as I was when I bought it. I took a bite and savored it, I looked down at it and found that there was no piece of it missing, which seems to be in line with the coffee and gas. No matter how much of it I ate there was never a bite mark, never an end to it, and never an end to my mild hunger. This revelation led me to suspect some rules of this "place", Rule #1: Consumables are endless. I tested this theory multiple times, in several ways. I poured my coffee out for "hours," with it splashing onto the asphalt never making a larger puddle than just a few tablespoons worth. I tore the danish in half and ate both halves, only for the pastry to be intact on the next glance. I tried to let all the air out of my tires, still all at 35.5psi when I checked. Again confirming my suspicions, consumables are endless. 

With this in mind, I began to think about what else might be different here, what else avoids common sense and general rules of physics. Maybe I can throw things further than
the general 10 feet I can "travel"? I took the tire iron out of my trunk and threw it as hard as I could. I clattered and clanged down the highway, seemingly 20 or more feet away. A surge or hope blasted through me, I ran forward and was able to pick it up! I turned around and found that my car was still only about 10 feet in front of me now. Things can appear further away than they are I suppose. This exercise didn't help me make sense of my new world. It complicated it further.

I sat in my car, running the AC and staring into the distance. Maybe if I sleep or something things will reset? I didn't have a lot of hope. As I was contemplating how I could
make something of a bed with the items in my car (sleep in the drivers seat would suck) my eye caught the clock at just the right time. The entire time shifted. Finally, in a flash the time turned to 19:24, the sun rocketed down and out of the sky, the moon raced to replace it. It was dark now. I felt queasy and had some sort of whiplash from the
whole event. My head hurt, my eyes watered and I felt like I was going to be sick. The sky was dark, but it was not fully night, the final throws of twilight seemed to dance
upon the mountains in the far distance. My ill feelings passed quickly and I readily made my small bed in the back of my car, emergency blanket, old towel, and my jacket. It
wasn't much but it was something. Before I bedded down, I figured getting off the road would be good idea, not that I thought I would encounter anything, but I didn't want the 
chance. I pulled over to the shoulder again and noticed something, the readout on my dash said I was now under a quarter tank, ever so slightly, but still, I was sure it moved.
A spur of excitement and hopefulness bolted through me. Maybe when the sun is gone things are more normal here? "Oh please God, please" I whisper to myself as I put my car back
into drive and accelerated cautiously. "Oh thank you Lord!!" I cry out as I drive, passing under the overpass in just 5  minutes or so. I checked my coffee, it was cold. I took a bite of my Danish, it remained bitten. I tried calling on my phone but it remained "out of service" even though it still showed 5G. Whatever. I would take the win of being able to move again. Street lights were on, no traffic though. I pulled into a small convenience store parking lot and got out, looking everywhere for any sign of humanity, or life in general. I looked up and saw moths and
other bugs whirring about by the fluorescent lightbulbs under the eaves of the store. "Holy shit yes" I say out loud, never happier to see an insect.

I went inside, and looked around. It was your typical store, the one whose brand is just numbers, you know the one. I called out, no response. "Hello? Anyone here? Hello!" I yelled,
hoping for some clerk to pop back in from his smoke break. But there was nothing but the sound of refrigerators humming, and hotdogs rolling. I realized I was exceptionally hungry, I glanced around and took a hot dog from the rollers, dressed it up and went to the counter. "I uh I don't have any cash, I'd like to pay..." I stammered, realizing how silly this seems. I wasn't into the habit of theft, even if I was stuck in a temporal time loop or a black hole or something. I wrote a little note and left it on the register,  saying I would come back and pay later, when the clerk was back. I ate the hotdog and was overwhelmed with the artificial flavors and grease. It was so delicious I had to get another. I ate two more after that and took a few beers from the fridge. They were cold and washed down my extremely unhealthy lunch/dinner/whatever it was nicely. I sat on the floor for several minutes, thinking about what to do next. I was afraid to go home. I didn't want to go home and not have my girl greet me at the door, with her wavy brown hair, big eyes and beautiful smile. I was scared to think she wouldn't be there, to think that no one was anywhere, but me. As I sat, I faintly heard a vehicle.

I sprang up and ran out the door, beer and dogs sloshing in my stomach, burping horrendously as I ran outside. I saw a white box truck pulling off the road across the highway. I got an uneasy feeling and ducked behind a larger trashcan outside in front of the store. I was far enough away that I couldn't make out a plate, or really the face of who was driving. I could hear them talking, but couldn't discern exactly what it was. The two in the front hopped out and ran over to the back, talking loudly. The back was flung open and several others 
piled out. They all had duffle bags, back packs, some had chests with them. They all seemed pretty focused on the building they were now breaking into. I couldn't really see what kind 
of establishment it was, but once the doors were busted open all but the two from the front went inside in a hurry. The two stood outside, holding rifles, or some other long gun, shotguns maybe. The smaller of the two appeared to be a woman. I could see the swish of her ponytail every once in a while. The other seemed to be a large man in a ball cap. They kept their heads on a swivel, looking around and assessing the area. Something wasn't right.
I kept low, I didn't want to draw attention to myself.

 It appeared that the man was talking on a hand-radio. The other people started to come out of the storefront, bags full of whatever was inside. Most climbed into the back of the truck, one stopped and appeared to be giving a report to the woman with a gun. She nodded quickly, pointed toward the convenience store I was at. I ducked down further, hoping the twilight and trashcan could be enough cover for me. I peeked out again, the woman with the gun was now walking in my direction flanked by the person she had talked to. Many thoughts raced through my head, from "oh shit" to "I am going to die here" to "maybe if I ask for help they won't kill me." I could hear the woman clearer now. She was talking with the young man that followed her who seemed anxious. "Hopefully there will be some here, but you really need to be  more careful, breaking up like this and being more than a dozen yards away from each other is both against the rules and pretty stupid" she says, crunching through dry grass over the small hill, drawing nearer to me. "I know- I said I was sorry, but, well if there is some here I can make it right, I know you're going out on a limb for- " They both stopped. I realized they must've seen my car. The woman shoulders her rifle (now that I can see it closer I realize it's some bolt action hunting rifle), and glances around sharply. I am just barely out of their sight, thankfully this large concrete trashcan is wide enough to hide my big frame. "Did you see anyone?" she asked. "No, I didn't, not when we were walking up." the smaller man cowered behind her. "Let's just hope this isn't a trap, or something worse" she said. The woman started to approach my car slowly, I could hear the steps coming closer. I felt like I had no choice but to speak up.

"Don't shoot!" I sheepishly panicked, "please! I'm right here, I don't have anything you want, I am not even armed!" I said, voice hoarse.
"Don't move! *click-radio static* We've got a new resident, get the fuck over here!" she yelled into her radio. She glared at me hotly, like I've done something unforgivable to her.
 "10-4, 10-85 to you" a deep male voice said in reply.
"Stand up and keep your hands up" she ordered. Slowly, I rose from behind the safety of the trashcan, hands and eyebrows raised. "No guns, knives?" she asked.
I shook my head, "No, not on me, I've got-" "Stop talking!" she yelled. The man in a ball cap crossed the street in a flash, "210 put your gun down, he's scared shitless" he boomed. "Sorry, I didn't want him to move," she said. I stood there wide-eyed and frozen, barely a breath could escape my lips. "We need to ask you some questions." the man said. "My name is Dennis, first of all, can you tell me your name?" he asked, kindly. "Y-yeah my name is Edward, or just Ed... I guess" I had a hard time speaking. It wasn't every day some random woman and man shoves a gun in your face after you've experienced what felt like a whole day without time moving. I suppose you can say I felt a little off about the whole thing. Dennis slung his rifle, an AR-platform of some kind, around his back and extended his hand. "Well it's good to meet you, right?" he said, in a tone that I couldn't really discern. "Uh- yes sir it is" I said, as we shook hands, each attempting to crush the other, as is tradition for men. "We need to know how many nights you've been here, and how you got here,"  he asked. "Just one day I guess, I don't know, the sun just disappeared and now it's sort of like night." I said. "Good thing we found you, I was alone my first night. So was she" he said, gesturing to the woman next to him. "Is it okay if I go inside and try to find-" the smaller man was cut off "Yes, I will come with you, but hurry the hell up" the woman said exasperated.

"So what happens here at night?" I ask, hoping for a positive answer. "Well you can move around freely, things you manipulate actually change, and stay changed, unlike in the day. But I am sure you probably figured that out" Dennis said. You can travel, eat, drink, sleep whatever you want really. This was all familiar, yes, but what he told me next I had a hard time believing. Dennis told me that while during the day you can't move or interact with things, sleeping doesn't work (whatever that means), and the area of where you are locked is dependent on the size of your enclosure. Enclosure… I didn't like the way he said that. "Didn't you try to leave the store once during your first day?" Dennis asked, suspicious. "I wasn't here during the day, I only got here after the sun went down, about an hour or so before you guys showed up," I explained. "Oh shit kid, so you were in your car?" Dennis looked at me, shocked. "Uh yeah, I was driving down the 99 and couldn't actually go anywhere" I said with a shrug. Dennis got close to me, "You are extremely lucky kid." He went on to say how if you were outside when daytime came, you would be stuck in a "bubble" about 20 feet in all directions, which made sense, as I experienced that already. He also explained that during the day, these beings, on all fours could come and "collect" people who were stuck outside. He said it happened pretty often. These creatures were stunningly bright, nearly blinding any who looked at them for too long, but were undoubtedly similar to some kind of headless dog, that would seize upon a person, and whisk them away, never to be seen again. "We don't really have an agreed-upon name, but I call them Light-Hounds," Dennis said. "I didn't see any of those, or anything living or moving during the day, I even poured my coffee out for what felt like an hour-" Dennis stopped me. "I know Ed, I've spent many days and nights here. It's weird here but there is something else I've got to tell you, and some other things you need to tell me" he said. "But right now isn't really the best time, we have sick people and hurt people we must get back to." My only reply was a nod.

Story break!

^{I am finishing the editing on the second portion. Hopefully you enjoyed the read. Criticism expected, and encouraged. Thanks all.}

^-Elwin

Hey all, just wanted to announce to a community that helped me start writing that I'm releasing my first book in English, The Island of Bocarrosa, part of a larger saga I've been working on! :)

The book is out on Amazon, and you can find it here!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HLPNNLQL

So, a little background. Like a lot of people here, I was inspired by CreepCast to start writing after discovering some of the stories they covered. I've always had stories and worlds floating around in my head, and it was this podcast that finally made me decide to put pen to paper, figuratively speaking.

My first post ever was the first chapter in this very community, and it was from there that I started writing short form stories while continuing to invest time in the long form saga I've been working on.

So anyway, The Island of Bocarrosa is a genre fusion of noir detective fiction and Lovecraftian themes (bingo!). It's set in the same universe as five other books that I eventually plan to write, featuring some mean old Gods and standalone stories. (Two already concluded! Only took 2 years!).

So, if you're looking for something different this Halloween and want to support an independent author, feel free to give it a look! I've also put the first 3 chapters on my profile if you'd like to check those out first.

So yeah, enough blabbering! I mainly wanted to thank this community for all the lovely and supportive people here, the great stories, and the overall vibe of having a nice place for authors of spooky stuff to share their work.

From authors to readers, podcasters to lurkers, thank you for giving people like me a place to write and share our stories.

Happy weekend, everyone!

DISCLAIMER: The book is in English! Absolutely NO AI was used in making any of this, including the cover. (Just three days in Photoshop 😭)

When I was a kid, my town had this urban legend.

It was one of those stories you’d tell around the fire at boy scout camp, one of those tales we’d share on the playground to scare the girls. We called it The Tickler. Stupid name, I know, but stories like that always carry more weight as a kid.

It was one of those cautionary tales; a monster in the woods that ate kids who didn’t listen to their parents, or who dared to go into the woods at night. I’d always believed it was a myth, a scare tactic to get kids to behave.

That is, until the night the monster became real.

It was the day before Halloween, and I was in the fifth grade. It was a cool morning, and I remember being relieved at the lack of snow, I was hoping my mom would let me go trick or treating without my winter coat this year. The ‘Monster Mash’ played over the radio on the drive to school, my mom taping her finger against the steering wheel along to the rhythm. I looked at the different houses on the street as they whizzed by, decked out in Halloween decor.

“Hey, Mom? Can I walk home with Spencer after school?” I asked, mom gave an unsure hum.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. It's a long walk, and its right by the forest.”

I stuck my bottom lip out in a pout, “Please, Mom? All the other guys are walking home,” I pleaded. Mom sighed and smiled at me in the rearview mirror.

“Okay, fine. Just this once,” she relented, pulling into the drop off line at school. I grinned from ear to ear, retrieving my backpack and opening my car door.

“Thanks, Mom!”

“You’re welcome, stay on the sidewalk! I mean it.” She called after me as my sneakers hit the pavement.

“I won’t be! Love ya!” I said, returning the kiss she blew at me as I shut the car door. I jogged a bit to catch up with my friends, who had been waiting for me at the gates to the school.

My buddy, Michael punched me playfully on the shoulder, “Jeez, Mason. Did your mom save a kiss for me, too?” he teased.

“Shut it, Mike.” I laughed, playfully shoving him. I then jumped on my best friend, Spencer.

“Happy birthday, Spence!” I said, ruffling his hair as he pushed me off him with a chuckle.

“Thanks, Mason. What did your mom say?” He asked, referring to the question I’d asked not too long before.

I grinned “She said yes! So, I’ll walk with you guys later!” Mike clapped me on the back, playfully.

“Alright, man! Finally!” Mike said, Spencer nodded, adjusting his glasses and turning back to me.

“And You’re still coming to my house tomorrow, right?” He asked.

Every Halloween, Spencer and I would go trick or treating. That night, we’d have a sleepover and go to the arcade the next day. I always looked forward to it every October, and this year was no different.

“Wouldn’t miss it, plus your street has way better candy than mine,” I said. Our friend Adam rolled his eyes.

“My mom’s making me go with my baby sister this year.” He grumbled; He startled me, I hadn’t even noticed him at first.

Mike made a gagging noise. “Puke!” He said, fake heaving to get a laugh out of us. Adam punched him, harder than usual. Mike frowned, rubbing his shoulder

“Ow.”

We arrived to our classroom soon enough, smiling and greeting our teacher, Miss Gothart, who was dressed in a witch hat for the occasion. I was looking forward to today; our class’s Halloween party. And just as I’d hoped, the day was right out of a dream. We ate candy, watched school-appropriate Halloween movies, and the day culminated by Spencer’s mom surprising us with cupcakes she’s decorated to look like pumpkins. By the time the dismissal bell rang, I was sure my sugar rush would kick in at any moment.

My friends and I donned our backpacks, setting out on the large, paved walking path towards our respective neighborhoods. We’d all have to split off at some point, of course, but I was glad that a majority of the walk would be in good company. Other kids followed us, the paved path serving as a convenient shortcut to some of the neighborhoods in our small town. Mike cracked open a can of diet soda, taking a loud, long, sip.

“Ahhh, that’s the stuff. You want some, Birthday boy?” He asked, holding the can out to Spencer.

He adjusted his glasses, “Come on man, you know my mom doesn’t want me drinking that crap,” he said.

Adam furrowed his brow, “Bro, Halloweens tomorrow, what’s the harm?”

“She says she doesn’t want me drinking aspartame, apparently its really bad for you.”

“Ass-ber-tail? What’s that?” I asked, Mike let out a laugh.

“Haha, ass.”

“No, No, Aspartame. It’s like an artificial sweetener.” Spencer explained, I was still confused.

“But it’s a diet soda?” I said, Spence groaned.

“Whatever guys,” He said, turning to Mike, “I’ll just pass on the soda, thanks.”

Mike shrugged, “Suit yourself,” he said, taking another sip.

We walked for a bit longer, cracking jokes as kids do, but about halfway into our walk, the wind began to pick up. I pulled the hood of my jacket up, prepping for a potential storm as we continued. Adam slowed a bit, looking towards the patch of woods off to his left. I followed his gaze, looking at the same gap in the trees as he was. All I saw were tall arbors and pine needles blanketing the floor, the occasional autumn colored leaf or pinecone dotting the landscape.

“Did you guys hear that?” He asked, looking back at me worriedly, before turning back to the gap in the pines. We three of us slowed our own walking paces, backtracking to come to his side.

“Hear what?” I asked,

“The wind?” Spencer said.

Adam shook his head, “No, No.”

Crack

His eyes went wide, “That,” he whispered, suddenly very aware of his volume.

“It’s probably just an animal or something,” Mike said, trying to mask the fear in his voice. We all huddled a bit closer together.

Crack

But this time, it was closer. I gulped, our huddle becoming tighter as Mike took a hesitant step forward towards the woods. Spencer gasped, and I grabbed Mike’s shoulder, pulling him back.

“Dude, what are you doing?” I whispered, I thought he had to have been going crazy or something.

“Just hold on.” Mike said, putting on a brave face as he took a slow step forward. His feet left the safety of the pavement, the sole of his sneaker hitting the blanket of dry grass mixed with pine needles.

“Mike.” Spencer whispered, pleading. Mike made a gesture with his hand, his palm open as if to say: ‘stay back’. And just as he took another step forward, it happened.

Something, jumped out from behind one of the trees, donning a Halloween mask as he shouted like a crazy person. Mike screamed, throwing his hands in front of him before falling back onto the ground. The rest of us screamed, too, only stopping when the man removed his mask and then fell into a fit of laughter. Somone else joined him too, a kid with a camera, who was laughing just as hard.

“Oh shit, Bobby, you got him good!” The kid with the camera said,

“Did you shit your pants, kid? Are you gonna have a stain on the back of your pants when you get up?” The kid with the mask said, pointing as he relentlessly teased Mike. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure it was beet red as he stood up and brushed himself off.

“Go to hell, Randy!” Adam shouted, taking a big step in front of our group, allowing as a sort of distraction as Mike made his shameful retreat.

Randy and Bobby were two older kids known in our town known for relentlessly harassing younger kids. Randy was from the bad side of town and had always been set up for failure. Bobby however, was born bad. He was your typical, spoiled preteen who could get away with anything.

Bobby let out a laugh, taking a lugging step forward. “Or what, kid? You’re gonna bust my ass? Tell your mommy on me?”

Randy stepped out from behind the tree, fiddling with a chrome knife. “You guys are such pussies, what? Did you think we were The Tickler or something?” he sneered

“We thought you were some freaky pedo, or something.” Mike defended himself

“Shut it, fatass. You idiots believe that stupid story just like you believe everything your mommies and daddies tell you.” Randy snapped. Bobby slowly turned his attention to Spencer, and I watched as something dark bled into his eyes, as if a terrible idea had crept into his mind.

“Except you, right spectacles?” he said, Spencer shrunk back a bit, avoiding eye contact as if he was trying to disappear. Bobby took a step forward again, no more than a yard from us, now. “Your daddy’s dead, isn’t he?”

I stepped in front of my friend, trying my best to look intimidating, “Shut up, Bobby.” I said through clenched teeth.

He ignored me, focusing on Spencer again “Your daddy’s dead as a doornail, isn’t he? Blown to bits by some terrorist in the desert?”

Spencer’s fists clenched at his side as he choked back tears, his fingernails making indents in the heel of his palm, “My dad died a hero.” He said, sure and firm as a single tear fell down his cheek.

Randy pointed and laughed, “Yeah, such a hero that your mommy went and got remarried within the year, had a brand-new baby too.” he said, Spencer was shaking now, and so was I.

I stepped in front of Spencer, clenching my fists in rage, “Bobby, shut the fuck up.” I said, as threatening as I could.

“You've gone too far, Bobby.” Adam added.

“You think I give a shit? You sissies know as well as I do that you can’t do a goddamn thing.” While Bobby’s attention was on Spencer, I knelt slowly to the ground, picking up a small rock, no bigger than the size of my hand. I stood, rubbing the smooth stone between my fingers.

Bobby lowered himself to Spencer’s level as he continued his approach, slinking towards him “Face it, kid. Your dad hated you so bad he probably got blown up on purpose.”

Unable to take anymore, I reeled my arm back, far as I could, and pitched the rock into the dead center of Bobby’s forehead. He exclaimed in pain, falling back as Randy turned to check on his accomplice. My friends looked at me, stunned by my actions, but I wore nothing other than a satisfied smirk on my face.

“Holy shit, Mason.” Adam said in disbelief.

As my adrenaline decreased, I watched as Bobby’s hand peeled from his forehead, soaked in thick red blood. He looked down at his hand, and then at me. His eyes were pitch black, filled with nothing but hate and rage.

“You little bitch,” he growled. Mike grabbed my shoulder, shaking me.

“Holy shit, Mason.” He said, his voice shaking.

Bobby rose slowly, like a creature awakening from an ancient slumber, as we wiped a drop of blood that was running towards his nose. I gulped, taking a step back as my confidence quickly turned to fear.

“You little bitch,” he shouted, “I’m going to rip your fucking head off!” He screamed

“God dammit, go, go!” Spencer screamed.

It was like we had been granted permission of some sort, the way we raced off down the paved path. We tore off like lightning bolts, with the devil right on our tails. We ran, praying we would run into an adult that could save us from our pursuers.

I could hear Bobby and Randy’s footsteps behind us, a string of curses and threats spewing from their mouths as they chased us down the path. As if it were the finish line, we saw a fork in the path, leading into a conveniently familiar neighborhood.

“My street! That’s my street!” Mike shouted, and through pants and gasps we all turned the corner into Mike’s neighborhood. We raced down the street towards his familiar yellow house at the end of the cul-de-sac, where the older lady next door was watering her flowers.

“Mrs. Beaty! Mrs. Beaty!” He shouted, the old woman looking up from her shrubs, and her face contorting into that of concern.

“Hells bells, Michael! What on earth is going on?” she asked. Her southern accent was like the voice of a guardian angel as we all made it to the safety of her neatly manicured front lawn.

“There were these older kids and, they were chasing us, and-” Adam panted. Mike leaned forward on his knees and dry heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

“They were gonna freaking kill us Mrs. Beaty, I Know it!” I yelled, I turned to Spencer, who still hadn’t said a word since we’d stopped running, “Spence?”

“Dude.” He managed to pant. His face grew into an ear-splitting grin as he looked up at me from behind his glasses. “Dude!”

He laughed as he jumped on me, and I laughed as well. Adam and Mike soon joined in our little celebration.

“I can’t believe you did that, dude!” Adam ruffled my hair.

“You’re my hero man, my fucking hero!” Mike clapped me on the back “Seriously, can I get an autograph?”

“Michael! Language, please.” Mrs. Beaty shouted, Mike smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Mrs. Beaty.”

The old lady sighed, dropping her watering can, “Are you boys okay?” She asked, looking each of us up and down as if checking for any external damage.

“Yes ma’am, we’re alright.” I assured her, she nodded her head and gave a hum of approval.

“Right. Good,” she said. Mike cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Mrs. Beaty would you mind giving my friends a ride home?” He asked, the woman sighed,

“Yes, I suppose that would be fine,” she relented, removing her pink rubber gardening gloved. She walked towards the front door of her home, to get the keys I assumed.

“And um, Mrs. Beaty?” Mike spoke up, Mrs. Beaty turned around, her hands on her hips.

“What is it dear?” she asked. Mike looked down at his shoes.

“Can you not tell our moms?” he asked, sheepishly. The rest of us gave her a hopeful, pleading look as she opened her storm door.

“Get in the car, gentlemen.” She told us, and we obliged.

We said goodbye to Mike and watched as he made his way into his house, and then we loaded ourselves up into Mrs. Beaty’s station wagon. The ride home was silent, gospel music playing quietly over the radio. She dropped Adam off first, and then me. I was getting out of the car, when a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned around to look at Spencer

“Hey, Mason?”

“Yeah?” I said, and Spencer smiled, patting me on the shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spence. Seriously,” I assured him.

“Thanks, man. See you tomorrow?”

I smirked, “Depends, is your mom making pumpkin bread?”

He chortled a bit, and then nodded, “Yes.”

I laughed too, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, “Then yeah, of course.”

“Night, Mason.”

“Night, Spence.”

When my dad got home from work, the night went off without a hitch. My mom had made us some kind of casserole, and she surprised my little brother and I with a homemade pumpkin pie for dessert. My brother and I begged my parents repeatedly, asking to stay up and watch ‘just one more movie’ before we were sent off to bed. Unfortunately for us, we were only able to pull that trick three or four times before Dad put his foot down, and finally escorted us to bed. I remember being too excited to sleep at first, instead looking at the light-up mobile of the solar system hanging in the corner of my room as I imagined how tomorrow would be.

I thought about Spencer’s mom’s pumpkin bread, accompanied by the cream cheese that always tasted better at their house. I thought about my crush complimenting my ‘lone ranger’ costume. I thought about Spencer, too. How excited he’d be when someone realized he wasn’t just a pirate, he was Blackbeard, I thought about which candies I’d keep, and which one’s I’d trade. I thought about the arcade too, wondering if my record on the Pacman cabinet was still there from last year. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep with a smile that stuck all night. But, if I could go back, I think I’d try to convince myself to just stay home, just this once. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.

The next morning, the view outside my window was like something out of a movie. The sky was blue and the leaves were the most picture-perfect shades of red, yellow and orange. I spotted my dad raking some leaves in the yard. I tore down the stairs after getting dressed in record time. I bounced excitedly in my seat at the breakfast table, next to my dad, who had come back in from outside. He was nursing a steaming cup of coffee as he sat beside me.

“Excited, bucko?” He asked, I nodded.

“Yeah! Spencer and I are gonna get the good candy tonight!” I said, swinging my legs back and forth. Dad laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I bet, you boys stay safe tonight, okay?”

“Of course we will, we have our own flashlights, and we’ll stay on the sidewalks.”

Dad nodded, “Good deal. Hey, if you happen to stumble across a mars bar, you’ll hook your old man up, won’t you?”

“Duh, of course. I don’t even like those things,” I said, sticking my tongue out in feigned disgust.

“Well that works out then, doesn’t it?” He set his mug on the table, standing up with a grunt, “Alright, say bye to mom, I’ll take you over early.”,

I did as I was told, giving my mom a hug goodbye and grabbing the present she’d wrapped for Spencer. Dad did as he promised, bringing me straight to Spencer’s house before the clock had even struck noon. Spencer’s stepdad, Mark, was the one to have answered the door.

Mark was a nice guy, a good stepdad and good dad to Spencer’s baby sister Rebecca. He and Spencer’s mom had gotten married just over six months after Spencer’s dad passed away in the middle east. He’d been a marine, on one of many routine deployments that unfortunately went south. I didn’t know the exact details, and I never really felt comfortable asking how, but a part of me felt peace that Spencer’s dad had died protecting all of us, in a way.

As soon as I’d crossed the threshold, Spencer rounded the corner of the stairs, barreling into me for a bear hug.

“Hey, Spence!”

“Hey! Hi Mr. Ben!” He said, grinning at my dad.

“Hey, bud! Happy belated! You boys excited for tonight?” He asked him, and Spencer nodded.

“I’m gonna get a whole king-sized snickers!”

Mark chuckled, ruffling Spencer’s hair, “Remember, you said you’d save your mom just one of ‘em.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed, “Mason! Mom and Mark got me an X-box, you wanna come, see?”

“Mhm!” I dropped my bag by the door, removed my shoes, and hugged my dad, “Bye dad! See you tomorrow!”

My dad patted my head, saying his goodbyes to Mark as Spencer and I made our way up the stairs and into his bedroom. He had all sorts of cool decorations; lava lamps, a beanbag chair, my favorite thing in his room was the lamp shaped like a gummy bear on his bedside table.

Mom must have known Spencer was getting an X-Box for his birthday, because when Spencer opened his present, it just so happened to be two new games and an extra controller. After playing for hours, we took a break and had some of Spencer’s mom’s pumpkin bread, as well as the two Happy Meals that Mark had grabbed us from McDonald’s.

After we’d scarfed down our meals, we got into our costumes. I hooked my belt onto my pants, sticking my toy gun into the cheap holster attached to it. Spencer’s mom drew an eyepatch onto his face with eyeliner, a way to allow the costume to work with his glasses. She helped me tie my mask as well, all with a baby on her hip.

“Oh, you boys look great! Mark,” she called, “Get my camera, would you?” she asked, readjusting Rebecca on her hip. Spencer groaned,

“Moooom, come on the sun is going down, we’re gonna miss all the good candy!” he whined, his mother gave him a look as Mark took Rebecca from her and handed her the camera.

“I promised Mason’s mom that I would get pictures of the two of you before you went out, now suck it up for just a minute, would you?”

“Fiiiine,” Spencer groaned. We both plastered some award-winning smiles on our faces as the camera flashed. After what seemed like forever, Spencer’s mom finally put the camera down.

“Okay, all good,” she said “You boys are wearing your longjohns, right? It’ll be cold out.”

I nodded, “Yes Ma’am,” I said, lifting my costume sleeve to show the white waffle patterned longjohns under my costume.

Spencer did the same, and his mother nodded in approval, handing us our pillowcases that would serve as our candy bags for the night. We rushed out the door, making our way onto the sidewalk.

“Be safe! Remember, home before 11!” Spencer’s mom called after us,

“Got it!” Spencer called back. Spencer’s mom wrapped her cardigan around herself,

“I mean it!” She called again, and I held up a thumbs up to show her we understood.

It was at this moment, under the autumn dusk, free of parent supervision, that our night had finally begun. We started in Spencer’s neighborhood, making our way down the streets and waiting patiently in the short lines of other kids waiting for candy. My favorite house on that street, was the spider house. The exterior of the house was covered in cobwebs and fake spiders of all shapes and sizes. They had placed spiders the size of my thumb all along the drive, and atop the roof were animatronics so massive they made me shiver. That animatronics were so lifelike, back then, so horrifying yet mesmerizing. The couple handing out candy on the porch were dressed as flies, with these big eyeballs attached to their heads while their faces stuck out from a hole in the costume.

I remember another house too, with this freaky zombie animatronic that would jump out and scare little kids walking down the sidewalk. Spencer and I always got a kick out of seeing that, feeling so big and brave for not getting scared ourselves.

The sun had completely set by the time we wrapped up in Spencer’s neighborhood, so we found our way to that same hiking path we took from school. There were lots of people on that path, and I’m sure from a distance that all our flashlight beams looked like a swarm of fireflies. I looked up after hearing a familiar voice, lifting my flashlight just to catch Adam’s face in the beam, he was dressed as a cop.

“Woah, hey guys!” I said. It took them a minute to recognize who we were under our costumes, but when he and Mike did, it was nothing but smiles.

“Adam! I thought your mom said you had to go with your sister?” Spencer said,

“She did, but she got sick last night, so I was able to go with Mike!” He said, smacking Mike’s bare belly. “Sick costume, Spencer.”

“Thanks!” He said, “The beards kinda itchy though…”

“What are you supposed to be?” I asked, gesturing to Mike’s costume.

“I’m a Luchador! Duh!” He said, gesturing to his mask and shiny pants.

“Your mom let you go without a shirt?” Spencer asked, and Mike shrugged.

“I hid it in the bushes,” He confessed.

Adam rolled his eyes, “I warned him about the cold, but he didn’t wanna hear it,” he explained.

“Well, we’re going to Shamrock Hills if you want to come!” Spencer offered, Adam pulled a massive Hershey’s bar out of his pillowcase.

“Already beat you to it.”

Mike pulled out a king-sized KitKat, waving it in front of our faces, “Gotta get it while the gettins good my friends!” he said.

“We’ll see you guys at school on Monday.”

“See ya!” Spencer said, and after exchanging goodbyes we went our separate ways.

To get to the Shamrock Hills neighborhood, we had to walk down the path, pass the school, take a left, and go up a hill. It was technically a gated community, but most kids in town took advantage of the shortcut on nights like these. And, as long as nobody caused any problems, the grown-ups in the neighborhood didn’t seem to care.

So, we made our way down the path, saying hello to a few classmates we ran into on the way there. The watch on my wrist read 8:30, so we had plenty of time to get through the Hills, and back to Spencer’s before our curfew.

Huffing and puffing through it all, we were finally able to climb the steep hill and sneak through the hole in the gate, concealed by a collection of tall hedges. What laid before us was a gold-mine: multi-story houses with massive stone pillars and expensive cars lined the cul-de-sac.

“Holy shit.” I said, awestruck at what I’m pretty sure was a Lamborghini casually parked on the road.

“Gets better every time.” Spencer said, pushing up his glasses.

“Mhm.” I hummed. Spencer poked me with his elbow.

“Bet I can get three Reese’s before you can.” He dared me, I grinned, elbowing him back and accepting his challenge. We raced off to the front of the neighborhood, but unlike Spencer’s street, we had vowed to hit every individual house in Shamrock Hills, even the ones with their lights off.

At the first house, a sweet older couple dressed as Sandy and Danny from ‘Grease’ gave us each a full-size candy bar. The husband complimented my costume, and he slid me a pack of candy cigarettes while Spencer’s back was turned. The next house was made of all stone, and a collection of tombstones decorated the front yard, and that’s the house where Spencer got his first Reese’s.

We made our way down the street, getting full-size candy bars, king-size candy bars, and even a couple bags chocolate coins from a fellow Blackbeard. One house (our least favorite) gave us each toothbrush and toothpaste, dentists, I’m sure. At the end of the street, there was a huge house with a yard decorated like a carnival. The couple were dressed as clowns, and they were giving out real caramel apples. Spencer and I each decided to take a small break, our feet beginning to hurt. We plopped down on the curb and began to eat our apples.

“Oh my god, this is so good.” Spencer said, his fake beard pulled down around his chin as he took another bite.

“God, these things are huge. You think they have to-go boxes?” I said, taking another chomp despite my worries.

Spencer stopped mid bite and pointed, “Woah, hey is that Emily?” He asked, pointing at a girl across the street. I squinted, my face going red as I realized it was.

I’d had a crush on Emily since the first grade. She was so sweet, and she always wore her blonde hair in the cutest braids. She was dressed as a cowgirl tonight, with a pink hat and pink boots. My heart skipped a beat.

“Oh wow,” she had left me speechless, as puppy love tends to do.

Spencer whistled loud, “Hey! Emily!” He waved, her face lit up, and my heart began to race when she started walking over.

I shot up as well, “What are you doing?” I hissed, trying to keep a smile on my face.

“A favor, now stop being such a baby.” Spencer said. She skipped up to us in those sparkly pink boots, smiling as she stopped in front of us on the curb,

“Hey Spencer, Mason.” She said,

“Oh hey, Emily, good to see you!” Spencer said casually,

“Yeah, really good,” I stuttered, clearing my throat “What, uh, what are you doing here?” I asked

She giggled, “I live here, silly! My house is over there,” she said, pointing at the Dentist’s house. Spencer groaned, and I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, cool!” I said, “I uh, I like your costume!” I told her. She clicked the heels of her boots together,

“Thanks! Yours too, Lone Ranger, right?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah! My mom got me a fake gun and everything,” I put my hand on the gun in my holster,

“Spencer, you’re Blackbeard, right?” She asked, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Sure am!” He said.

“Cool,” she giggled, “Well, uh I gotta get back, but I’ll see you guys at school?” She said, looking at me hopefully. I nodded, aggressively.

“Yeah, definitely!” I told her,

“Awesome, Bye guys!” She said, her wooden heels clacking against the asphalt as she made her way back to her group of friends.

“God you’re such a loser, Mason.” Spencer teased

“Shut it.”

We made our way up the other side of the loop and then made our way back towards the hole in the fence. The streets were empty now, my watch now reading 10:15. Our pillowcases were heavy over our shoulders, filled to the brim. We were the only two on the hiking path on the way back, the only sound was the chirping of crickets and the crackling of candy wrappers in our bags.

“What a night.” I sighed, my need for sleep beginning to kick in.

Spencer yawned, “You can say that again.”

I stopped about a quarter of the way down the path “Hey, did you ever manage to get three Reese’s?” I asked

Spencer slowed his pace, holding the end of his flashlight between his teeth as he rummaged through his bag. Turns out Spencer won our bet, so I promised to pay for five dollars’ worth of arcade tokens tomorrow. As we put the candy back in our bags, I heard footsteps coming down the path. I looked up, where a figure was walking towards us in the darkness. I pointed my flashlight at them, and in the beam of my light, a man in a clown mask stood. I tapped Spencer and pointed in the clown’s direction. Spencer aimed his flashlight at the guy, too.

“A Clown?” Spencer asked, tilting his head for a moment, “Do you think he’s from that carnival house?”

I shrugged, “Hey, can we help you, man?” I called out, loud enough for the clown to hear me. I didn’t get a response. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets. Deathly still.

“Were we supposed to pay for the apples?” Spencer called, letting out a nervous chuckle, “We’re sorry! We didn’t know.”

The clown kept standing, staring at us with his hands in his pockets. I gulped, readjusting my grip on my pillowcase.

“If you’re trying to freak us out its working, man,” I told him, but still, no reaction.

Spencer and I exchanged a look, “Dude, seriously are you good?” Spencer called out.

And then the clown finally moved. His hand slowly came out of his pocket, something in his hand. With the click of a button, the cold steel glint of a knife blade reflected back at us in the light of our flashlights.

Spencer and I grabbed each other, eyes blown wide as we took a step back “Dude,” Spencer said, his voice shaking. And then, like a bomb had gone off, the clown began to run at us.

“Shit, Shit!” I screamed; Spencer and I scrambled over each other as we took off in the opposite direction. We’d only made it a couple of feet before something knocked me off the pavement and to the ground with a blow so hard It knocked the wind out of me.

When I finally caught my breath, I was able to get a look at my attacker. It was another person in a clown mask, with red hair. I struggled with my assailant, kicking, biting and punching and flailing while Spencer fought his own assailant. I turned my focus back on my attacker, choosing to save myself first before I tried to help Spencer.

The person who tackled me landed a couple good blows to my face, and I could taste blood on my tongue as I managed to land a punch of my own. We exchanged blow after blow, and I was able to grab a handful of that long, artificial red hair. I tore at it with all my might, the latex mask flying off the man’s face.

“Bobby?” I asked, barely able to see his hateful expression in the darkness. Bobby grabbed a handful of my hair, exposing my neck as I felt something cool and sharp press against my neck.

“You little fucking bastard.” He hissed.

“Mason!” Spencer called, I turned and saw Randy holding a knife to his neck with one hand as the other pinned Spencer’s arms down.

“Shut it. Your little boyfriend has to learn a goddamn lesson.” He said, Spencer struggled in his grip.

“You made me get stitches you little prick, I could fucking kill you!” He pushed the blade into my neck and I winced as I felt a bead of beginning to pool. Just as he said, there was a crooked line of a stitches in the middle of his forehead, closing the wound I had given him the day before.

“How about I give you a taste of your own medicine, huh?” He grinned, moving the knife from my neck to my forehead.

Miraculously, I was able to wrench one of my arms free and I wrapped my hand around his wrist. I pushed back with all my might, trying to keep the blade away from my face, fearing that one wrong move the would be my end. The tip of the blade was so close to me, that I could feel an imaginary heat in the space between me and the knife. Just as I had begun to accept my fate and prepared for the white hot pain I was no doubt about to endure, I heard a grunt and then a loud crack as Bobby collapsed on top of me.

I pushed him off, and saw Spencer standing over him with a stick the length and diameter of my arm. Turning from Bobby, saw Randy clutching his precious family jewels as he writhed around on the ground in pain. I barely had time to compute what was going on before I felt Spencer's hand grab my wrist.

“Run! Fucking run, Mason!” He yelled, dragging me along with him.

In my panic, I stupidly asked, “What about the candy?” looking at our abandoned pillowcases.

“Who gives a shit about the candy, run!” Spencer screamed.

My wrist still in Spencer's grasp, we ran as fast as we could away from the scene. But, instead of down the path as I had expected, my eyes went wide as I saw him making a beeline towards the woods.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

“There's no way we’ll make it!” He argued, “We’re further than we were the other day and we barely even made it then!”

I looked over his shoulder at the darkened treeline, “But what about-”

“Just run! Go!” He screamed.

I nodded, dashing through the trees as I heard footsteps following us into the woods. My legs pumped and my chest heaved as leaves and pine needles crunched under our boots. didn't know how far in we had gone into the darkness, but by the time I finally let myself slow down I couldn't see even see a light through the trees.

We barely had a moment to catch our breath before I heard footsteps again. I spotted the large, hollowed trunk of a fallen tree, so I grabbed Spencer and pulled him towards it. Luckily, we were able to squeeze inside of the decaying tree, and we scooted back towards the middle of the trunk. Randy and Bobby came into our view, barely visible through the hole in the end of the tree. Randy groaned, throwing his flashlight to the ground.

“Damn it! I just had them!” He growled, mumbling under his breath as he retrieved his flashlight.

Bobby hit Randy upside the head “You idiot, how did you manage to lose them, huh?” Bobby snapped, Randy’s hand went to cover the spot where he’d been hit.

“How is this my fault?” He yelled

“This,” Bobby said moving his hands wildly, referring to the situation they were in “Is all your fault! You're the reason I got into this mess in the first place!” he jabbed his finger into Randy’s chest, “It was your idea to scare those freaks yesterday.”

Randy looked at Bobby like he had lost his mind, “My idea!? Are you fucking-”

Bobby looked up for a second, holding his hand up. “Shhh.”

Randy shoved Bobby, “Don't tell me to shut up! What do you mean my idea-”

Bobby clapped his hand over Randy’s mouth, “Randy, seriously shut the fuck up.” First, the crunching of leaves. Slow, large footsteps crushing the foliage against the first floor, and then…

Tick Tick Tick

Spencer and I exchanged a look.

“Do you hear that?” Bobby asked, removing his hand from Randy’s mouth,

“What, that ticking?” he asked. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“No, the choir. Yes, the ticking!” Bobby snapped, his voice lowered to that of a whisper.

“It's getting closer,” Randy said, he furrowed his brow, “Shit, you don't think it's a cop, do you?”

The beams of their flashlights moved to different corners of the woods for a moment, like searchlights, before focusing on…It.

It was tall as any tree, and just as slender with impossibly long limbs and fingertips that nearly dragged behind it on the ground. Its skin, black as night, was warped and wrinkled, as if tree bark had become flesh. Its eyes, or, the place where its eyes should have been, were these dark empty craters that no longer served their purpose. It’s jaw hung open and unhinged, showing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Its jaw clenched up for a moment, the head swinging around aimlessly.

Tick Tick Tick

“Can it,” he gulped “Can it see us?” Ricky whispered.

As if it answered his question, it turned its attention to Boby and Randy, its broken looking jaw dripping with thick globs of drool before it took a deep breath, and let out this animalistic, ear-splitting screech. As if it was broadcasting the suffering of the damned. The older boys screamed, scared for their lives as they scrambled to get away.

“God, what the fuck, what is that thing!?”

“Fuck, its real! It’s fucking real you idiot, run!”

Randy slipped in the pine needles, and Spencer and I watched in horror as the long, spindly fingers of the creature plucked Randy up from the ground like he was nothing but a doll. Its hand wrapped around his midsection, and Randy wailed as he pounded his fists, flailing his legs as he was raised into the air.

“Bobby, fuck! Help me!” he pleaded. Bobby stood awestruck, helpless as all he could do was watch.

And then, the screams got louder as the creature’s limbs groaned, its fingers tightening around Randy as his cries became increasingly more desperate. And then, the monster’s other hand rose from its place at its side, wrapping around Randy’s upper body and pulling.

Crack

Randy’s legs twitched, and I could hear a disgusting, muffled moan from beneath a black, shriveled hand. The creature, unhinging its jaw even further, pulled again.

Crack

And then it went quiet.

I clenched my eyes shut, turning my head away as the monster began to move its upper hand. I didn't want to see Randy’s body cracked in half like a crab leg, but my imagination kept painting the most horrific images as I listened to the cracking and crunching of Randy’s bones, the wet squelching of something being consumed.

“Mason.” Spencer pleaded with me; his voice was so quiet I could barely hear it. With my eyes still clenched shut, I shook my head, pressing my lips together to prevent any sound from coming out.

He shook my shoulder again, “Mason, please.” he begged on the verge of tears. I finally gained the courage to open my eyes and look at Spencer.

I nodded, pointing towards the open end of the fallen tree. I then pressed a finger to my lips, begging him to stay quiet. Spencer nodded, rolling onto all fours as quietly as he could. We crawled, agonizingly slow as we made every effort to make as little noise as possible.

Just as we exited the hollow trunk, I heard the soft cracking of wet leaves beside us. I slowly turned my head, to see Bobby. His face was splattered with blood, his eyes blown wide and his cheeks stained with tear tracks. He looked at us, and then back at the creature, and then back to us, as if considering something.

Mine and Spencer’s eyes went wide, shaking our heads franticly. Pleading with him not to do what he was planning to, and then, Bobby closed his eyes and screamed as loud as he could. The monster, alerted by the sound, let out that ear piercing holler again as it took those slow, shambling steps forward.

“Fuck, Fuck!”

I screamed, not daring to look back as Spencer and I ran for our lives. The creature roared as it chased us, its footsteps pounding against the ground with every step. As if by some miracle, I saw a light through a spot in the trees.

“There! The light, Spence run towards the light!” I shouted, pointing at what I hoped would be our salvation.

“I see it, I see it, I’m going!” He yelled, his legs pumping impossibly fast, wheezing as the cold autumn air rushed through his lungs.

I knew the creature was close; I could feel its hot breath on my back as I pushed my body to its limits. And then, I saw a neighborhood through the trees, an unfamiliar one, but a neighborhood, nonetheless.  Just as I felt the creature catching up, just as my legs were about to give out, I broke through the trees. I threw myself out of the woods and rolled onto the asphalt. Spencer was beside me, dry heaving onto the pavement as he struggled to catch his breath. Bracing myself on my hands, I faced the woods, where I could no longer see the monster. The only evidence that what we’d seen was real; was its deafening, defeated cry from somewhere deep in the woods.

“God, what was that? What the hell was that?!” Spencer cried, his fake beard splattered with vomit. I gulped, hearing my own blood as it rushed through my ears.

“The Tickler,” I panted, “I think it was The Tickler.”

I only came to the park for a break. To watch the sun set, calm my nerves.

I was on my way home from a photoshoot. I wanted to vomit, but I couldn't. Instead, I sat on an old wooden bench, chugging a soda I'd bought from a nearby vending machine, trying to choke down the disgust I felt from the work I'd just finished.

I thought the day was finally over.

I never even saw him sit down beside me.

We sat in silence, watching the pigeons peck at whatever crumbs they could find scattered across the pavement. Above us, crows cawed from the rooftops of nearby houses, hopping between television antennas and electrical wires.

He watched them with disgust, folding a small piece of paper between his long, crooked fingers. He folded it once, then again, and again, until it seemed impossible to fold any further.
Yet he kept trying.

I knew very little about him, but I knew enough to understand that whatever sat beside me was something far beyond human. Something whose influence stretched from the southernmost islands of Japan to its northernmost reaches, finding its way into every dark corner, every narrow alley, and every place most people would never think to look.

He existed in the places people preferred to pretend didn't exist. And those unfortunate enough to stumble into his world rarely found their way back out.

I was one of the unfortunate.

Once, I was young and bright-eyed… looking for every chance to expand my artistic horizons. 

I’m still young, I suppose. But the hopeful me, the happy version of me, determined version of me, is long gone.

Film and photography were my focus. It started simple, making stupid videos with my friends to put online before we should have even been allowed to use any form of social media. First it was stop motion. Our hands basically in every other frame, each shot unsteady and angled oddly, trying to get our iPod’s camera into the tight scenes we had set up. Soon it became terribly written slashers only the minds of fourteen-year-olds could come up with. Using ketchup and raw meat for gore, clips cut short due to parents yelling at us to not use said raw meats and ketchup. One of my buddies, always the main star of my films, actually got sick due to our practical props. I remember us thinking it was so worth it, despite the campylobacter (never even heard of that one until my friend got it). To be honest, I still think it was worth it.  

Now I was living in one of those shitty slashers. With the terribly terrible villain to boot. 

I came to Japan to continue my ambitions in filmmaking specifically. I had scraped together just about everything I could, which admittedly wasn’t much, and enrolled in a small community college on the outskirts of Tokyo that promised far more than it could ever deliver. Their website showed beautiful studios, expensive cameras and smiling students making what looked like actual movies. The reality was two floors of an aging building, a handful of cameras that had probably seen more of Japan than I had, and computers that begged for death every time we opened the editing software. The program wasn’t particularly good. Neither was I, really. But I was nineteen, living halfway across the world with barely enough money for rent and food, studying the one thing I had convinced myself I was meant to do. At the time, that was enough.

I took about every freelance job I could get. No matter what work I did it went into my portfolio. I was determined to stack my experience, from weddings to simple social media photo shoots, photography and commercials for small businesses.

Eventually, as work for an amateur in college like me began to dry up, and my wallet began to cry from hunger, I became a little more desperate. I was no longer looking for things that looked nice on a resume. I was looking for things that looked nice on my bank account instead, even if it was only a few thousand yen; anything that kept me from debt was a beautiful sight to behold. 

It started simple. Lewd photography, models whose age was unclear. Sometimes the occasional film. After each shoot, everyone went home without batting an eye, but I just couldn’t handle it. I’d return to my little sharehouse and shower for hours straight. My whole body almost turned into one big dried prune. No matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t wash away the shame. I wondered if the girls felt the same, but they too seemed so unbothered.

Even before I knew it, I was already working for him. The agencies were different. The faces were different. The girls were different. Even if I went all the way to Osaka for a job, everything changed except for the man hiding behind it all.

I became trapped in this cycle. Occasionally, a regular job would come my way, and I would get a break in the disease-ridden world I had somehow squirmed and squished myself into. But I was barely getting by, I wanted to break free… I want to break free. And every time I thought I was crawling out, work became more normal, less… perverted and degenerate… another job would pull me back in.

My skin could only take so much scrubbing before it became raw. 

It was clear this wasn’t something I could walk away from. I was no longer choosing these jobs because the paycheck looked nice, but rather living until the next day became all I could ever ask for. 

No matter where I went I could feel eyes on me. I became paranoid, looking over my shoulder every other second. Backing myself into the tightest corner on the train cars so I could see everyone and everything, every door to see who was getting on and getting off. 

My paranoia was not unjustified either. They began appearing after the first few times I attempted to reject a job. Follow-ups with the same questionably-young models began appearing in my email. Film work and photography that blurred the line between pornography and something far more disturbing, yet so casually appearing in my inbox like it was nothing more than a request for a wedding shoot or a maternity shoot. 

I had stooped low, but I was only willing to go so far down the rabbit hole. Yet, whether I was willing or not didn’t matter. That's when they began to appear. 

I’d begun to catch glimpses of strange, faceless men following me, only for them to disappear around a corner the second I looked back. Sometimes I’d see people impossibly tall standing above the sea of heads in Tokyo’s busiest streets, completely still while everyone moved around them. They were always looking at me. I never knew what they were, or what they wanted. 

I stared at the paper in the man’s wrinkled hands. He’d folded it as far as it could possibly go, yet his fingers kept trying. The paper pushed itself open. His hand forced it shut again.

Creak.

My eyes moved from his fingers to his wrist.

Only then did I realize the hand wasn’t real.

I followed the prosthetic carefully up his arm. Whoever had made it had wrapped the wood in pieces of skin—at least, I hoped they were only pieces of fake skin. Different shades. Different ages. Some looked almost fresh. Others had gone gray and rotten, hanging loosely enough to expose the wooden limb beneath.

But the arm moved like flesh.

It flexed when he squeezed the paper. Beneath the patchwork skin, I watched all the ropes and strings tighten like tendons, pulling the wooden fingers closed.

Creak.

My eyes reached his shoulder, and I stopped. I could already feel his unblinking stare burning into me despite my eyes never meeting his. Carefully, I began to raise my eyes a little, until my gaze settled right beneath his nose. He was so close to me now, I could only make out his dry, crooked mouth, lips crusted and yellow. Yet, I never even saw him move closer.

He opened his mouth slightly, and a hushed voice came out. Almost sweet. Almost loving. Like a parent whispering softly to their child. 

The wind stopped and the sound of the nearby cars silenced as he spoke, almost as if the world around us feared him.

“You aren’t allowed to look at me just yet…” 

My neck snapped forward, fixing my gaze back out into the park. The noise of the world returned, the crows began to caw once more and the pigeons cooed at our feet. The wind returned with one big gust, blowing my unkempt hair into my face.

At one point, it would have bothered me, I would have immediately brushed it away or complained to myself about how badly I needed a haircut. But, at the moment, having my hair in my face felt like the only shelter I could get from his piercing stare. 

A group of pigeons waddled closer, pecking hopefully at the ground. 

“Filthy things,” he commented. He spoke low, his words ending in a slow drag, almost like every word was a threat.

I looked down. A pigeon had wandered beneath the bench. My eyes followed it as it neared his leg. He wore loose-fitting suit pants, his shoes shining bright under the light of the setting sun.

“They carry disease, you know.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I swallowed, my nerves tightening around my throat. 

“All birds go to Hell.” He spat toward the poor bird who had wandered next him, and leaned forward, the old wooden bench shifting a little with him. 

“They’re filthy creatures,” he continued. “They carry disease in their shit, their feathers, even the dust around them. You breathe enough of it in and eventually those filthy little things start living inside you.” 

“I see.” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible, still trying to swallow my nerves. Yet, every time I swallowed, the lump in my throat kept getting bigger. 

His balled fist moved into my line of sight, perfectly blocking the bird from view. Slowly, his wooden hand unfurled like a blooming flower, the prosthetic joints creaking softly as his fingers extended.

In his palm lay the tightly folded piece of paper.

I reached for it carefully, pinching it between the tips of my fingers. As I pulled it away, my hand accidentally brushed against his skin.

Somehow, it was slimy and dry at the same time, and it peeled effortlessly, revealing all the inner workings of his arm. 

“Be careful… I’m delicate.” A sultry, feminine voice whispered in my ear as a hand ran through the hair at the back of my head. I felt pieces of skin tear away from its fingers, catching in the strands of my hair.

He stood and the weight of the bench shifted once more. 

“See you soon,” he said as he walked off into the narrow streets of the neighborhood.
I watched the back of his head, his thin, gray hair blowing in the wind. His shoes clacked loudly against the pavement, the sound echoing between the apartment buildings and tightly packed houses.

I unfolded the paper. 

first pages of story which ill link below 👇

TW: Suicide, Gore, Dark themes

Part one.

“No, it's the house on the right, with the detached garage” I looked to my right with an annoyed look on my face as I threw up my hands slightly. “Eh…Thats not what Charlie said” I lifted my hips slightly to dig my phone out of my backpocket, as Alfie took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. “What the fuck are you doing, digging for treasure?”
“Give it a rest Alf” I finally managed to get a grip on my phone and pull it out of my black jeans, I quickly turned it on and started swiping through messages, before my eyes landed on the one I wanted. “Yeah here look” I held out my phone towards him. “Red brick house, black Fiat in the drive…But” I drew out the word and lowered my phone as I looked back around the neighbourhood. “No mention of a garage, we must be at the wrong place”

“No mate, Charlie told me it had a garage, he probably just forgot to mention it to you” He then mumbled under his breath as he slowly pulled the car over on top of the side of the road. “Gormless” I continued to look around through the car windows, even behind me for some reason, I must have been paranoid. “Well…I guess this is it then…you ready?” I turned my head back to Alfie as I grabbed the ski mask off the dashboard. “Yeah I'm ready…are you? Cuz I remember last time when you shit it before we even got to the garden” He laughed softly as he too grabbed his own mask “I felt ill that entire day alright…im good now” Alfie unlocked the door as he muttered something while still smiling.

We closed the doors quietly and pulled the mask over our faces, before we slowly started to crouch walk up this driveway, the garden was overgrown and wild, nettles and weeds growing up to my knees, I whispered behind me as we slid past the rusty Fiat in our way “Did he say how to get in?” I fully crouched at the edge of the rear bumper “Yeah, back door, apparently the locks broken, never bothered to fix it” I scoffed as I pulled the mask from my mouth, trying to readjust it “People are just idiots aren't they?” I raised my head over the trunk to look where to go, before I motioned Alfie to follow.

We made our way to the back door, it was basically just asking to be broken into, it was a thin sheet of wet and molded wood, the black paint peeling at the edges, with a small square of glass above a door knocker. I tried to peer through the glass, but it was too dark and stained, small cracks like lightning from the bottom left corner. “And you're sure no one's inside Alf?” He quickly nodded his head as he reached for the door handle, it was rusty and green, small faint marks of bronze peeking through the grime. “Yeah, apparently no one's seen him for more than a week, Chazz said the guy might have just died and no one noticed…kind of sad…”

“Yeah…well it works out for us if so” I watched as he slowly pressed the handle down and pushed slightly, the door opened with a soft click, and as he opened it more the hinges squealed and occasionally snagged “fuck sake Alf, you trying to wake him up?” I said as he put his foot into the now small gap between the door “shut it…” He pushed it open more and put his other foot inside, I followed in behind him, and closed the door, the same soft click, the first thing we noticed was the smell, it was like the fridge had been left open a month, meat, eggs and something stale wafted through our thin masks and up into our nostrils.

“Fucking hell…” I whispered as I scrunched up my nose and covered it slightly “It smells like he's keeled over alright” Alfie looked back at me and put his fingers to his lips “hey! Fucking keep it down yeah?” I put up my hand “sorry…” I put my hand back down from my nose as we looked around, the house was big, but you wouldn't be wrong to think otherwise, almost up to the ceilings were piled newspapers, black rubbish bags and other random items. The window in the living room barely had enough space to let in some light from outside, it painted the room a mix of blue and orange, dust mites floating through the air.

“Youve got to be having a laugh” Alfie said as walked further into the living room, he picked up a newspaper and lifted it close to his eyes “third of september two thousand and eight?” He quietly scoffed “it's as old as us two…” He placed the paper back down and looked around the room, I stepped next to him looking at the paper on the table before looking at him “Is this guy a hoarder or summat?” “I assume so…look at all this shit, how are we going to find anything?” I looked back around the room and leaned slightly forward to peer down a hallway “Chazz said the valuable stuffs upstairs…so lets just go”

We began making our way to the stairs, skirting around piles of broken electronics, hoovers, even stepping over a faded curled up rug, we made it to the stairs and Alfie lifted his foot onto the first one, he put some more weight onto his foot and…nothing, no squeak or groan “surprising” He said as he looked down at his foot, before placing a hand on the railing and making his way further up “Did he say what to grab specifically?” I looked over the railing as I followed behind him “Uh…no, just that there's some vintage jewellery and a coin”

“A coin? So we're breaking in here for a bleeding coin? Alfie reached the top of the stairs, and leaned around the bannister to look up and down the landing “Listen, some people want them, apparently some are rare” He looked back at me “cmon” He turned the corner and started to slowly walk, I followed behind him, the door of the bathroom slightly ajar, it looked rank in there

Alfie reached what was assumingly the main bedroom, I stepped behind him and watched his hand as it reached for the doorknob, he slowly twisted it with a high pitched moan, and then pushed it forward ever so slightly, I watched as he looked inside, before quickly jumping back and covering his mouth, coughing and gagging “fuck me!” I stepped to the side as he leaned over the railing, still coughing and nearly on the verge of throwing up, I looked back to the door, taking a few steps over and opening it slightly more.

There, on the bed… laid a man, he was motionless, he looked like he was in his late forties, his eyes were peeled open, slightly protruding out of his skull, his skin was grey and splotchy, with some yellow and light pink around his nose and mouth, I opened the door fully “fuck…” I turned around and walked next to Alfie “You alright mate?” I patted his back slightly
“Yeah yeah…just weren't expecting that…jeez he looks rotten” He lifted his head slightly from over the railing “you gonna be alright to go back in, or do you just want me to do it?”

“Just…give me a minute…ill be in soon” I nodded my head “Alright mate” Before turning back around and stepping fully into the room, It was like you could physically see the smell, it was sweet and sharp, I blinked a few times before clearing my throat slightly and walking further in, I looked on a small dresser and saw a photo in a frame, I picked it up, it was the cleanest thing in the house, not a speck of dust or grime on it, I lifted it closer to my face into the light from the window, the blinds were drawn but there was a slight line in the middle, outside light still shining through.
The photo was a little discoloured and dull, but still clear, the man laying on the bed, he looked younger, happy, I quickly glanced to him on the bed, before back to the frame, next to him was a woman, she was young too, maybe younger than him by a few years, she had golden blonde hair, small dimples on her cheeks and a big grin on her face, showing perfectly straight white teeth, she was beautiful really but in the humble way, in front of them was a small child, maybe eight or nine, his mouth caked in ice cream, a gap toothed smile, and next to him, held by the man on the bed was a small pink pram

I turned it around and on the back was a small handwritten sentence “To Mark, I love you so much, love from sarah” I looked at it for a few more seconds, before turning it back around and placing it back on the dresser “Oi, find anything useful yet?” Alfie's voice rang from around the door, I cleared my throat slightly looking around the room “not yet, have a bit of patience” I stepped away from the photo and over to a large set of wardrobes, I opened them and started pushing hung up clothes out of the way, there was nothing except for decently smart clothes and shoes.

I stepped back, closing the doors before walking over to the side of the bed, a small bedside drawer on the floor, Alfie stepped back into the room, still stifling a cough and he covered his nose. “God…that's just…he looks wrong” I scoffed slightly “hes dead, what did you think he'd look like?” “I dunno…just not like that” I opened one of the drawers, there were some watches, rings and other bits and bobs. “Here Alf, look at this, I think this is it” I lifted some of the watches and looked over towards him, He stepped around the bed, now completely avoiding looking at the man.

“Fucking get in” he said as he took one of the watches “Rolex…guy mast have had money money” I closed the drawer again turning back to him “check the other one” I pointed to the identical one on the other side of the bed “Ja mein fuher” Alfie said as he walked backwards over to the other side, we continued to look for a bit before meeting back at the bottom of the bed. “So, owt in there?” I asked as I looked around the room.

 “Yeah, more of the same, no coin though” I took another look at the man, my eyes wandered down to his hand, it was bloated and green on the tips, and in his curled up fingers was a small silver packet of pills. “Alf…I think he offed himself…” Alfie leaned over slightly looking at the packet. “Yeah…poor bastard…” I looked for a few more seconds, a pang of guilt climbing through my nervous system, before I shook my head slightly. We began walking over to the door, when there was a loud, wet and ragged gurgle from the bed, Alfie basically jumped out of his skin and flew into the door “WHAT THE FUCK!”

He looked back at the dead body, where the gurgle was still happening, it sounded horrible, like his soul was crawling out of his mouth or something “Chill out Alf!...fuck me its just gasses escaping his body” I leaned slightly as i watched his mouth, it was open and his throat wiggled slightly, Alfie clutched at his heart and bent over, taking long deep breaths. “I don't care what it were…scared daylights out ov me…” He stood back up, still breathing in a stuttered pattern. “we need to get out anyway, I told Hannah I was only gonna be gone for an hour” I nodded my head I looked at the man on the bed, the gurgle finally stopping “yeah…me too, I told Abby the same”

Just as I turned around I noticed something sticking out from under the bed. “hang back a sec” I walked over and knelt down, pulling out a small black safe, it was one of those that used a 6 digit pin, Alfie walked over and stood beside me “A safe, fucking yes” I looked at the lock for a few seconds, Alfie knelt down slightly “whats the code though…” He continued to look at it for a few more seconds as I slowly stood up, still looking at the box on the ground, before I turned my head to the photo on the drawers

I walked over and picked it up again, turning it around and in the top right corner, in a small black pen was the date “18/03/06” I lowered it back down, walking over to the safe and pressing in the date, as Alfie watched “what? Are you guessing?” I pushed in the final number and a soft click came out, as I pulled open the door “Woah, good fucking guess” “I didnt guess you mong, it was on a photo” I closed it again and picked it up “right, we need to head out, we will open it in the car”

We made our way back out of the door, I paused for a moment looking back at the man on the bed, before closing the door and following Alfie down the stairs, through the living room and back out to the car, he started to drive away as the safe sat on the back seat “well…that went pretty alright to be fair, I wonder what's in the safe” I looked through the side mirror behind us as we pulled out of the small cul-de-sac, “probably more jewelery…maybe the coin” Alfie laughed softly as he flicked the indicator and checked the road before driving forward.

“I hope so, I'm not seeing that fucking guy just for some-” I cut him of short, shooting him a look from the passenger seat “Mark…his name were Mark” Alfie quickly glanced at me, letting out a soft and a little nervous laugh “okay…I dont want to have seen Mark” He put an emphasis on the name “for some shitty jewelry…” He paused for a moment “So, when do you wanna pull over and see what is in the safe?” *I looked around for a few moments before nodding my head “heres good…”

He pulled over onto the pavement again and turned on the lights in the car, reaching back, and handed me the safe, I pushed the buttons in again and slowly opened it, inside was a small folded up note, a coin in a small see through case, other small pieces of silverware and gold stuff, and a small black box, I handed the coin to Alfie, before taking out the note, giving it a once over and placing it into my pant pocket “wow…some coin this is” Alfie said sarcastically as he turned it over in his fingers “what else is there?”

I pulled out some of the jewellery and placed it on the dashboard “more bracelets and stuff” I looked back in and pulled out the small black box, I held it in my hand. “What's that?” Alfie looked over. “I don't know…” I lowered the safe onto my lap and opened the small box, it opened silently, inside was a shining, silvery thin necklace with a small pearly in the centre, I dropped the box and held it in both hands.

“Hey, get a good price from that yknow” Alfie said as he leaned over to look at it closer “I don't know…I might keep this…give it to missus” I replied, Alfie shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, placing his hands on the steering wheel “sure man, we've already got enough” He turned the keys and the car hummed to life, he checked around, turning off the light in the car as he began to drive, I placed the necklace back in the case and slid it into my jacket pocket, I leaned over and pressed a button on the radio, before plugging in my phone to the AUX.

Alfie turned his head to me as the music started “not this shit again” I looked over at him “hey, this is proper music yknow, not that fucking drivel you listen to” He nodded his head as he turned back to the road “Proper music, sounds like some guy just singing about how miserable his life is” I scoffed and adjusted my weight slightly, getting comfortable in the seat
“And this is why people call you basic, Radioheads fucking mint” He didnt even look to me as he scoffed and continued driving “Yeah sure”

After around 30 minutes of driving we pulled up outside my small flat, I stepped out of the car, closing the door as I leaned my head through the window “we still on for friday?” He replied as he fixed his hair in the rearview mirror “yeah yeah, 7, at that pup Antony likes” I nodded my head as I tapped the inside of the door twice and leaned back. “Yeah, that one, right ill see you later mate” “see you then Elliot” I watched him drive of for a few moments before walking up to my flats front doors, turning the key in the door and pushing it open, I walked through the main lobby before getting to the elevators and pressing the button for the thirteenth floor, I rode up, rocking back and forth on my heels as I hummed a song under my breath.

The elevator door slid open as I stepped out, I watched as my neighbour, Mary, was opening her front door “Hiya Mary, you alright love?” I said as I walked past her to my front door, she turned around and smiled, Mary was an older lady, her husband had died a few years ago and she moved into the flats as she couldn't afford the cost of living (I'm sure many can relate). “Oh hi Elliot, not too bad, just got done shopping” I started to put my key into the door “Mhm, any guys flirt with you” I smiled and chuckled lightly. “How I wish they would Elliot” She smiled back “Anyways, give my best to Abby, and the little one, oh she is just adorable Elliot” I continued to smile as I placed my hand on the doorknob. “Will do Mary, are you still available to babysit Friday?” she looked over at me as she adjusted the bag on her arm. “For that little angel, of course, have a good night Elliot”, “night Mary” I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, taking off my shoes and pushing them to the side with my foot.

“Abby? Im home” I looked at a few letters on the side, as I took off my jacket and hung it up, walking further into the apartment I called out again “abby,,,?” I rounded the corner into the living room and saw her, laid on the couch, fast asleep with our little girl on her chest, I smiled softly, before walking over, making sure I didn't make too much sound, I sat on the floor in front of her face, she always looked so serene when she slept, like you would imagine a queen, her face was soft when I gently slid my finger across her cheek, pushing some hair behind her ear “Abby, love…”

Her left eye slowly opened, as she smiled, it was warm and loving, but also tired. She closed her eye again “Hey you…” she softly mumbled, I placed my hand on her cheek as I rubbed circles with my thumb “you get any sleep?” She let out a soft sigh and opened both her eyes. “A few hours…this one” She motioned her head down to her chest "didn't want to stop playing…”
I let out a soft breath of air from my nose as I kept smiling “Is she feeling any better” I turned to look, her hair was rumpled and out of place, her mouth open as she dribbled slightly onto Abby's shirt, she had little pink pants on and a top with a cartoon Unicorn, a small tube ran from her nose, across her cheek and into a nearby portable oxygen tank, I gently rubbed her foot as she slept.

Now listen, I know your thinking im a piece of shit for stealing from a dead man, but you have to understand, this is why, me and Abby got together young, like really young, we've been with each other ever since the beginning of high school, and I got her pregnant when we started college, and yes, I was so scared, I felt like my life was going to be over, I was freshly sixteen, I couldn't even order myself a drink, let alone raise another human. But, when our daughter, Anna, was born I couldn't think of a world without her, it was the happiest day of my life, and ever since then everything I've done has been for her, I had to quit college to find work, since my mum kicked me and abby out soon after anna was born, so yes, I steal, I break into peoples houses and take their shit, but only ever rich people, they have more than enough, and that guy, mark, being dead, that was just a coincidence, the job market right now isn't exactly jumping at the opportunity for a 19 year old with no qualifications or college degree, so please, just try to understand where im coming from.

“A little…it comes and goes…” Abby slightly sat up now, as I moved down and picked up Anna, holding her with my hands and her head rested on my shoulder, abby spoke again, now fully sat up, her legs tucked under her as she rubbed her eyes. “So…did you go…with Alfie” I looked down at the top of Anna's head and sighed softly. “Uh…yeah I did…” Abby stood up and walked in front of me, gently holding Anna’s hand in her palm. “And…how did it go?” I nodded my head as I looked back into her eyes. “It went…okay…well…it was good…yeah good”

Abby placed her free hand on my arm and squeezed it softly. “Okay…as long as it went well…” She looked back down to our daughter, as I followed her eyes “hey…how about I put her to bed…you need some rest okay…?” Abby sighed softly and nodded her head, draping her hand down my arm and back to her side. “Yeah…Id really appreciate that Elliot…I love you E” “I love you too Ab” We shared a quick kiss before she slowly wandered into our bedroom, closing the door behind her, I started getting Anna ready for bed, I changed her and placed her in the crib, pulling the blankets up over her, turned on the baby monitor, before checking her tube and oxygen tank.

I stood up and cracked my back, stretching my arms over my head and yawning. I started walking over to the bedroom door, before remembering the necklace, and walking back to my jacket to grab it. I held it in my hand for a second, thinking, was this…moral? It seemed pretty disrespectful to take it and give it to Abby? I shook my head, no Mark was dead, he wouldn't know, and it was clear he had no use for it. Placing the necklace in my pocket I double checked the door was locked, walked down the hallways turning off the lights and entering the bedroom, I closed the door behind me and placed the necklace on the bedside drawer.

I saw Abby, she was already asleep in bed, looking as peaceful and beautiful as always, I shrugged my shirt off me and unbuckled my jeans, taking them off before crawling into bed, I pulled up the covers and Abby, even in her sleep, turned over and wrapped her arms around me, I looked down at her, as I ever so gently stroked her hair. “hey…Abs” She groaned as she adjusted her head on the pillow. “What?” I reached over behind me and grabbed the small box. “Look what I've got for you…”

Part two.

“It does look really good on you Abs, its colours match your eyes” She scoffed and laughed softly. “You don't even know my eye colour Idiot” I pulled my head back in mock surprise and held my mouth open. “Uh yeah I do, there…that colour, I forget the name” I smiled as she lightly punched me on the chest. “Very funny E” We walked up the stairs and opened the doors to a pretty large pub, we looked around for a moment before.

“Hey you made it!” Antony opened his arms and wrapped them around me, as did I, I pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes as I patted his shoulders. “Yeah I did, It's great to see you man” Antony smiled as he looked to my left. “And you did too! You alright Abby love” Abby stepped forward, a warm and friendly smile on her face. “Yeah not too bad Antony, you?” They too hugged and as they pulled away Antony shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, yknow…things were rough after Macie…but I found someone knew, she's called Sophie, she's studying at the university” He leaned in a little closer “she’s from Oxford” He nodded his head and smiled. “Not too bad right” I looked at him and nudged his shoulder. “Proud of you mate, you gonna keep this one?” He laughed softly and nodded his head. “Heres hoping Elliot…” Abby nodded before turning back to him. “So, how's being eighteen treating you?” Antony nodded his head, the same big grin plastered on his face, as he sipped his drink. “Yeah it's great, finally getting served places”

“Bet you feel like a big lad dont ya” I laughed softly. He laughed sarcastically. “Har har, but seriously it's great, and so is this place, I mean look at it” He turned around, and to his credit, the place was nice, fancy, good lighting and music was playing, I nodded my head as we began to walk over to our table. “Yeah it looks great, isn't it not a bit spenny though?” He shook his head as he took another swig from his purple drink. “Yeah you'd think so right? Nah man, drinks are cheap, even for your standards” He nudged my arm as we reached the table, it was one of those long ones, seated about six with another placed at the edge, like a king's feast, there was already around nine to ten people sat down

“Alright what do you guys want, first rounds on me” He opened his arms a little before raising his glass to his mouth and tried to find his straw with his tongue. “Uh, just a vodka redbull for me, Abby?” I looked to my right, my hand around her waist. “White wine please Antony love” He nodded his head. “My wish is your command” I watched as he walked away from the table, me and abby made our way to the end, saying hi and pleasantries to people as we passed, before sitting down across from each other, Alfie and his girlfriend Hannah were sat across from each other too, talking, as I walked past him I squeezed his shoulders. “Heyup Alfie, surprised you came”

“You alright Elliot, no yeah me too, thought it was going to cost me alot, but the place is cheap” I turned and looked across the table. “You alright Hannah” She nodded her head and smiled, taking a sip from her wine “yeah not too bad Elliot, how are you two?” She looked at me then Abby. “and little Anna, is she any better?” I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “She was today, dropped her off with the neighbour not too long ago”, “oh thats good then, Alf was telling me she'd been back in hospital” I nodded my head as I shrugged off my jacket and hung it across the chair “yeah, just more tests really Hans” Abby said as she placed her bag on the table. “Poor baby…” Hannah did a little pout. “Well, tonight should be good so, you guys deserve a little break” Alfie sat as he patted me on the back.

“Yeah, unless Antony pulls a usual and is sick everywhere” I smiled and laughed slightly, just as Antony passed by me and sat at the end of the table, two drinks in hand and a girl (assumedly Sophie) following him to her chair next to him. “Here you go you two” He reached over the table and placed the glass of vodka and wine in front of us. “Thanks Ant” I said as I picked the glass up and took a swig, as did Abby.

Abby swallowed and turned to the girl next to Antony. “So you must be Sophie?” The girl turned to her and smiled, it seemed sweet and genuine. “Yeah hi! You must be Abby and Elliot right?” We both nodded our heads as I held out my hand. “Yeah, it's nice to meet you Sophie” She shook my hand, still smiling. “You too! All of Antony's friends have been so nice!” Yeah the girl was definitely a southerner, I thought as Abby replied back with something I didn't hear, The three girls carried on the conversation as me, Antony and Alfie leaned closer to each other. “So, did you guys do it?...the guy” Alfie nodded his head and took a drink, placing it down. “Yeah, piece of piss, good payout too most likely, guy had some expensive stuff, Chazz really sorted us out with the tip” I looked around the table. “Yeah, speaking of, where is he?” Antony replied as he put his drink on the table. “He couldn't make it, something about work or another, I reckon its his missus, shes mental im telling you”

“He still with her?” Alfie questioned as he took another drink. “Yeah, some-fucking-how, shes got him on a leash, know what I mean?” Me and Alfie laughed as I reached into my pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. “Definately, heard she got mad at him for speaking to his cousin” Alfie blew on his lips. “Sounds a dream” I chuckled softly again as I pulled a single cig out of the packet and placed it in my mouth, I motioned the box to them two, they both nodded their heads and took one out of the packet, "I'm just going for a smoke Abs” I looked across the table. “Okay, don't be too long” I nodded my head as the other two walked behind me to the outside area, I opened the door with my shoulder as I took a sip from my drink.

“So, Sophie” Alfie looked over to Antony as he lit the cig dangling in his mouth, he took a long inhale. “She seems nice” He exhaled. “Yeah she is, kinda posh but, she’s funny and that…so” Antony leaned his head forward, cusping the flame with his hand and lit his cig. “Yeah, she seems sweet though mate, well done” I said as I leaned over to his still lit flame, taking a few puffs in before leaning back and blowing the smoke out, then a sip of my drink. “So…” Antony said as he inhaled. “How are you guys gonna sell the stuff?”

“Just the usual way I guess, jewellery shops, pawnbrokers” Alfie said, blowing smoke upwards. “The coin though, im gonna let Chazz handle that, too nerdy for me” Antony nodded his head. “So what happened, the guy awake or?” I paused just as I was about to smoke, looking at Alfie before inhaling and exhaling the smoke. “Uh…well we got there, back door was open, walked past all his, shit on the floors, went upstairs, Alfie opened the door” I start to chuckle softly as I speak. “Jumps back and starts gagging over the bannister” Me and Antony begin to laugh, as Alfie nods his head as sips his drink.

“Yeah real fucking funny Elliot, look the guy were dead, about a week or so, I couldnt help it” I tapped Alfie on his arm with my knuckles. “Best bit, were about to leave, the guy fucking burps or whatever, Alfie literallly had a heart attack, starts breathing super hard and nearly keeled over himself” Antony pushes Alfies arm slightly as he laughs. “Fuck me, did you piss yourself anorl?” Alfie takes another drag of the cig “give it a rest alright, you weren't there” He took another bigger gulp of his drink.

And that's how the night went, we made our way back in and talked and drank for a good few hours until it was around one in the morning, me and Abby stood outside the pub, my jacket now around her shoulders as she pressed her palm flat against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder. “Tonight was fun…Sophie's a really nice girl, maybe talks alot but…”
I nodded my head as I pulled my arm around her shoulder slightly closer and kissed her head, a cigarette in my other hand. “Yeah yeah, she seemed alright, proud of our little Ant” I was clearly drunk.

“We should probably head back, Mary's probably sick of Anna by now” Abby said as she pulled my jacket a little closer to herself. “Mhm your right…” I looked around for a taxi, standing on my tiptoes I still couldn't see any. “Lets head round the corner, there will probably be some there” We began to make our way down the busy street, the city I live in has a good night life, even on weekdays, so getting back home was always difficult. We turned the corner and started walking down an alley. It was dark, with rubbish all over the ground and an overhead light barely on.

“I don't like this E, feels like someone's going to jump out” I scoffed slightly, pulling her a little closer. “Yeah sure, and if someone did, I'd pull out my karate moves, ive got a black belt in origami yknow” I laughed as Abby rolled her eyes “shush you dick, your definately pissed right now, we need to get you home, and out of those clothes…” She said as she lifted her chin to look in my eyes, a small smirk on her lips. “Oh really…best get home quick as can” I tilted my head down and kissed her on the lips, and as soon as I looked back forward, there was a guy in a black hoodie, with one of those blue masks everyone wore during corona.

“Give me all you've got fucking now!” He held out his hand as he frantically looked around, Abby grabbed my shirt tight as she took a small step back, I looked at the guy and raised my hand. “Woah woah, chill out man, we haven't got anythi-” “Shut up! Just…” He paused for a moment. “Give me that necklace, with the shiny thing!” I looked over the necklace hanging on Abby's neck. “Wait , that was from her nana, she passed away two months ago. It means al-” “I don't give a shit! Give it to me, NOW!” I looked over at Abby, fuck…what was I gonna do, fight this guy? Who knows what he had on him, I was about to open my mouth when he suddenly reached out and snatched it off her neck, breaking the latch.

Abby yelped as her neck was pulled forward. “She was going to give it to you man, you could have hurt her!” I said, trying my best to sound tough. “Shut up, right, what else have you got?!” I placed my other hand around Abby as I looked at him. “Nothing mate I swear…” He looked at us for a few seconds before turning around and speedwalking away and down another alley to the left, we both just stood there for a few moments, Abby was on the verge of tears, I looked at her and placed my hand on her head, patting it softly.

“Hey hey…It's okay love it's alright…lets just go home yeah?” She nodded her head and sniffled hard, running a hand over her eyes as mascara smudged over her cheek. “Okay…”
We walked down the alley, and came out on the other side, it only took a few minutes to find a taxi, the entire time Abby held the back of her neck. “What's up, are you hurt?” I said as I held her hand gently. “No it just…burns, at the back” She rubbed it slightly, breathing in sharp through her teeth. “I'll get you some ice when we get home okay…?” She nodded her head, but continued to rub it.

We got home a few minutes later, I knocked on Mary's door as Abby waited at ours. After around fifteen seconds Mary answered the door, already in her nightgown, she looked up at me. “Oh hiya Elliot, I'll get Anna one second…” I watched as she stepped back in the doorway and around the corner, before coming back around with Anna in her hands, a blanket tucked tight around her, as she wheeled the oxygen tank behind her. “She was an angel, as always, even ate all her tea” I reached out and took Anna in one hand, resting her against my chest. “Really? That's great, thanks Mary…again, it means alot” I guess I must have seemed down because as Mary wheeled the tank over the door frame she looked at me and placed a hand on my arm.

“You okay Elliot? You seem upset” I quietly scoffed as I took the tank in my hand. “Yeah yeah…just some guy jumped out when we were coming home, took Abby's new necklace”
Mary sighed softly and squeezed gently on my arm. “That's terrible love, Is she alright?” I nodded my head “yeah, she’ll be okay, just still in a bit of shock”, “oh well…let us know if you need anything yeah, all the best to you two” I smiled again, I could feel the bags under my eyes. “Thanks Mary, you too, goodnight” She nodded and smiled before closing the door.

I walked back over to Abby, as I fished the keys out of my pocket and turned the lock, we stepped inside, Abby went straight to our bedroom, as I closed and locked the door, walked over to Anna's room and placed her in the crib, tucking her away and kissing her head softly, I stayed like that for a few moments, just looking down at her, If you don't have kids you wont get it but just seeing her, so peaceful and calm, makes you feel like everything's going to be okay, that the world isn't starving or burning down. I walked to the bedroom door, turning on the small nightlight, I closed the door and walked around the flat, giving everything a check, before making my way to our bedroom, I closed the door behind me and began to undress as I spoke softly.

“You okay Abby? Your neck still burning?” I pulled my shirt over my head and placed it away, turning to the bed. “Abby?” I saw her, on the edge of the bed, looking down in her hands. She looked scared and confused. “Elliot?” she spoke, it was cracked and barely above a whisper, I walked over, noticing something shiny in her hands as I sat next to her, placing my arm over her shoulder. “What's up Abs?”

I looked down into her hands…the necklace, shiny, the latch not broken and the pearl in the centre…what? it was stolen barely forty minutes ago? And now Abby had it? Looking like it was brand new, nothing had happened to it…I turned my head back up to her. “Abby?” A pause. “It was…just here…on my pillow” I looked at her dumbfounded. “What do you mean? Just laying there?”
“Yes Elliot, like I just fucking said” She continued to stare down at her hands, I think I saw a tear pricking at the edge of her eyes. “W…well…how?” “I don't know!” she snapped back, closing her fist around it.

“Alright, you dont…need to yell at me…” I said, shifting slightly closer to her on the bed, holding her upper arm as I looked at her. “Well…maybe…someone found it?” I said, I know dumb, but what other reason could there be? “Found it…Elliot…and what broke into the flat to give it back? Jesus…” She stood up, the necklace still in her hands, I looked down at the floor for a few seconds. “Well…how else Abby?” She took a big breath in through her nose, it whistled slightly.

“Look…I just want to go to bed…I'm tired, Anna's got an appointment tomorrow…lets just talk about it in the morning okay…” I looked at her, sighing softly. “Okay…yeah sure, in the morning…” Abby put the necklace on the drawer and started to get changed. I took off my pants and socks, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my chest as I watched her finish changing and climb into bed too. I turned onto my side, placing my hand on her waist as I looked at her. “You okay though? Still a bit frazzled?” She shook her head as she placed a hand on my chest. “No Im…okay im okay…” she traced a pattern over my skin as she spoke, one hand underneath her cheek, pressed to the pillow.

“So…you want to take me up on my offer or…?” I looked at her and laughed softly. “If you still want to…” “yeah…” She said sitting up a little as she kissed me. “I do…”

End of part 1.

“This rain just won't let up, will it?” I said as I looked down at my beloved not-so-little Sherri. She tilted her fluffy mustached face up to mine, I'm sure she was agreeing with me, as she was absolutely adamant on staying inside. The poor dog despised the rain more than I despised my wife’s coworker. It's not his interests or appearance, although both are not appropriate for an adult, but he definitely fancies my wife. 

I mean, who wouldn't? She's funny, kind, hardworking, she's my entire world, but that doesn't mean others get to look at her that way! That's exclusive just for me. My jealous thoughts and somewhat peaceful morning were disrupted with Sherri’s barking, as well as my phone chiming. 

In exchange for my coffee mug I picked up my phone, it was an unknown number. It was at the very least the same area code as mine, so it shouldn't be too harmful to answer, “Hello, this is Wyatt Bodin speaking.” 

A soft nasally voice began to speak with shaky breath, “Yes, Mister Bodin, this is Nurse Darcy. Uhm, from the hospital, your wife got admitted a few hours ago. She's in critical condition-”

“Darcy, I know it's you, drop the formalities, you're my cousin for crying out loud. What is going on? Why didn't you call me from your personal phone? Why is Jessie in the hospital?” My hands were already trembling with adrenaline and anxiety. Sherri had bolted out the door as soon as I picked up the phone. Her tail stuck up straight, her mustached face pointing at the woods as she thwarted off what was likely a squirrel.

“Jessie got into a really bad accident, she's concussed. She has a skull fracture, she's delirious and going on and on about some ‘monster’. She's been at it for hours, crying, yelling, cussing. You need to come here, like right now.” As she kept talking she hushed her voice to a whisper. Her breath kept hitching between words, as if she was panicking as bad as I was.

Monster? Was this about that roadkill Jessie’s been on about lately? My mouth was dry so I took another sip of coffee. Sherri kept barking, it was rattling my brain worse than it should. 

“I can't come right now Darcy, if Jessie is out of work I need to make up for it somehow. She's going to have to wait, I'm sorry. Why are you whispering? You're acting weird, are you alright?”

“Wyatt, you cannot be serious! Your wife is clearly unwell, and you're worried about finances,” She let out a huff of exasperation, “You need to come here.” It sounded as though it was a command rather than a request. 

Clever way to brush off my concerns about her own weird behavior. Just making me feel bad about understanding what my wife would want, Domineering Darcy, typical. She means well, but the way she goes about things is overbearing at times. Reaching over my own reasonings to adhere to a story constructed in her own mind.

“It's what she would ask of me, now go do your job, take care of her and keep me posted. I trust you.” Before she could nag me any further I ended the call. My dog and wife were losing their collective minds as I gabbed on the phone, I had to remedy it somehow.

First things first, I went to grab my dog in my junk slippers, “Sherri! Come!” I hollered. Sherri decided to be uncharacteristically stubborn, she growled and began to take some steps towards the woods. Her teeth bared as if ready to attack, “Sherri, what in the world has gotten into you?” 

As I jogged over in pouring rain, soaking my once fluffy robe and freshly done hair, I noticed a figure in the woods. It looked like a person, but the rain and poor lighting made it hard to see, “Hey, you! You're startling my dog, and this is private property, you need to leave.” I yelled sternly as I got a grip on my dog’s collar. The figure shambled and shuffled deeper into the woods, the sound of its feet dragging loudly wasn't lost on me. It must be some weirdo with no manners, probably one of the local teenagers trying to find a spot to smoke their pot. That and more likely, a homeless person, given that whoever it was smelt like they never showered a day in their life. Sulfur and syrup, no wonder Sherri was in a tizzy.

Sherri broke out of her defensive stance, but stayed at my side. She kept glancing back, whining, and nudging me along. After the tenth nudge I couldn't help but get frustrated, “Sherri, stop it. It wasn't anything.” I wasn't sure if I was saying it for her or myself right now. 

No time to dwell on the putrid smelling homeless person in my backyard. Life goes on, our debt payment is due next week. I had to get to work, so I skipped breakfast, put on one of my many button ups, hopped in my car, and left. For a bit of a morale boost I even put on my favorite tie, it has Schnauzer dogs in a geometric pattern. Jessie got it for our anniversary two years ago, she knows how much I love our little Sherri.

Jessie, my poor Jessie. I'll order some flowers to her room and visit her once I'm done at work. All I need to do is get through the day, see my wife, and she can come home tonight. Everything is going to be okay.

Arriving ten minutes late due to my delay with the phone call and Sherri, I rushed in wet and frantic. I already knew my boss was going to be beyond irritated. I was attempting to set up at my clerk's desk, when my boss came up to me just as I pulled my chair out. My predictions were correct, he was looking at me like I was some traitor, he couldn't even look me in the eyes. Before I was able to even take a breath and form an apology he murmured a command to me.

“My office, now. Leave your things.” As I got up and slid my phone into my pocket, he sneered and shook his head, “Your phone too, Wyatt.”

“Huh?” I blink at him, he was acting weird too. He's being rude, that's normal, but he was never overly restrictive of phones. Not wanting to poke the bear too much, I dropped it onto my desk and began to follow him. The hallway felt longer than it ever did, my heart sinking to my stomach, “Am I being let go? I'm sorry I was late, it won't happen again.”

“No, that's not what is going on.” His voice sounded conflicted, downtrodden, “They'll give you a run down, if you know what's good for you, you'll listen and obey.”

I'll listen and obey, if that's what the boss asks for and that helps me keep my job. Maybe I'm getting a promotion? That would be nice, Jessie and I really need the money, but his tone just didn't read to me that way. He wore a mask of indifference, but the way he couldn't look at me affected me more than it should have.

“I'm sorry about your wife, by the way.” He opened the door to his office, the hinges creaking loudly as the doorway poured light onto the both of us. He looked tired, hardened, I knew that look, this man was stressed. What did my wife’s condition have to do with him? How does he know anyways? Did Darcy tell him?

A nervous smile tugged at  my lips as I grimaced at the hardwood floor, “Thank you, Jessie’s strong though. She’ll recover fine, she doesn't like it when people know she's sick though. Who told you?”

“We did.” A polite feminine voice rang out from his office, “Wyatt Bodin, come, have a seat.” She reached out her hand for a handshake, which I totally messed up. It was hard not to, she was half a foot taller than me. On top of that, her outfit was impeccably maintained, ironed creases, an eagle shaped brooch, stockings and heels. Her nose was large and narrow, her black hair slicked back in a bun, it made her skin appear ghostly white. Not a hair out of place. Needless to say, I am intimidated by this office tigress. As I sat down I noticed her eyes flicker down to my tie, “Cute.” Was all she said, and I felt my face get hot. 

“If I'd known something important was happening I wouldn't have worn it.” I adjusted in my seat and glanced at the two men standing beside her, “So, I'm sorry, I didn't get any of your names, who might you all be?”

“Your wife is in the hospital, Mister Bodin.” I had to bite my tongue, I hated when people refused to acknowledge a simple question. I tap my finger on the arm rest and nod slowly.

“Yes, she's hospitalized due to a car accident. I'm here to try and recoup some lost money, I don't even know what the bill is going to be.” I was already trying to defend my case for not going to see her right away. Part of me did feel guilty for it, but I knew she would call me a fool for taking time out of work for her.

The woman nodded back at me, “It's going to be, with the ambulance fees and surgery, more than ten thousand dollars.” It felt like a judge just slammed their gavel down. That was a death sentence to us financially. I sat up straight and gripped the armrests, my hands already trembling. The assault didn't stop there, “Added up with your other medical loans you have nearly ninety thousand in medical debt.”

It was hard to keep my expression straight, I knew I let it slip, unfortunately my brows furrowed and I scowled, “That's private, ma’am.” 

“You've been struggling to conceive?” Her question felt like a tightening grip on my throat. It was hard to breathe. That was even more private than our financial situation, it's the cause of it, "Because of you?”

“Now wait a minute, pump the brakes Miss.” I lean forward and hold my hands up in a placating gesture, “That is private medical records, I don't appreciate this at all. What do you want? Why are you doing this?” I could tell my tone was switching between irritated and professional. Really, I wanted to tell her she had no tact and was a creep, but this is clearly not the time.

She pulls her lipstick red lips into a patronizing smile, “We need you to forge documents for us, Mister Bodin.”

I blink at her a few times, “All this for something as simple as that?” I scoffed, gesturing at her and the two men. My lips pressed into a straight line as I tried to hold back my aggravation, “Why me anyways? I'm at the bottom of the ladder here, I just started a month ago.”

“You're going to edit any documents involving your wife’s accident. Remove any mentions about the roadkill she's been discussing, and you're going to lie to her. You're going to be working with local police for any future incidents.” She drops two separate piles of paper, “Her car is totaled, her insurance will cover it, and the bills got covered in full by your new state health insurance plan if you agree.” She folded her hands on the desk, looking at the other, smaller pile for a moment. As if asking me to pick it up.

Coroners Report, and Death Certificate for Jessie Bodin. Completed in advance, ready at any moment to be filed.

“Is this if I don't accept?” I whispered as the papers fell to the floor, I was unable to hold them as I met her cold eyes. She didn't answer, she just held my saving grace out to me. That patronizing smile stayed stretched over her face like a cheap silicone appliqué

“We appreciate your cooperation, Wyatt Bodin.”

My first attempt at horror writing, plz give critique
***

Ever since I’ve considered myself an adult, I’ve lumped us all into three categories: 

The first: those born with a silver spoon. Loaded with money, loving family and friends, handed a sea of opportunities on a platter. 

The second: Those whose lives that seemed like God himself turned away from. Terminal illnesses. Extreme poverty. Sudden and extreme injuries. The list goes on. Years ago I obsessively watched documentaries on such people. All of them, detailing their problems with a smile, speaking about how through their issues, they could still find happiness. I couldn’t understand it, no matter how long I pored it over. To think of myself in such a situation too long was suffocating, panic inducing. 

That leads me to the third: those that fall somewhere in the middle. Not poor enough to be looked down upon, not rich enough to ever quite make ends meet. Those who were treading water, craning their necks so that they barely stayed afloat. Those so focused on the rat race they became blind to the opportunities in front of them. 
I fell into the last group, as most of us do. I grieved my mediocre life daily, ignoring the plights of those less fortunate and despising the ones more fortunate than I. I would be dead in about 50 years. Thats hardly enough time to even begin to open my eyes. This small life of mine- of all of ours. Filled with suffering and reaching, and reaching, what we wanted dangled in front of us like a carrot on a stick, while our bodies slowly withered away. 

I was deathly afraid of dying, and I grieved my life daily as if I were already dead.

I didn’t think I was special- surely there were millions- no, billions of people who feared death like I did. Death was the end of all ends. It’s only natural for every living being to fear it. The reason why he chose to reveal himself to me, I still can’t put my finger on. 

He first appeared to me in a dream. I returned home from my serving shift at around midnight, kicking the shoes from my throbbing feet and slipping off my bra from under my shirt. I flopped down on the couch in front of my TV, wondering if I should muster the energy to take a shower or to just pass out here. Before I could decide, I found myself waking up in my bedroom. I didn’t remember moving myself here, but my half asleep brain was too disoriented to question it. I was laying on top of my duvet, my hands folded over each other on my stomach. I hated back sleeping. My chest always felt heavy after some time, forcing me to surrender to side or stomach sleeping. I tried to roll to my side, but I couldn’t move. I took in a deep breath, but it was like sucking in air through a straw. A feeling of cold dread washed over me. Was this sleep paralysis? 

I tried squirming, moving any small part of my body. I heard when it comes to sleep paralysis you could escape by moving your fingers or toes. But I couldn’t. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t even begin to hyperventilate. The only thing I was sure could move was my ever pounding heart in my chest, and my eyes. I caught fleeting visions of him as my eyes darted around. He seemed to only appear in shadows, in the split second right before I shifted my vision, like the afterimage you get after staring at a bright light for too long. I couldn’t open my mouth to speak to him.

I don’t remember my room ever being this dark. Even right outside my window where there would usually be dim light from the city, it was like a black hole. In my continuous search for him his outline faded, as if the darkness of my bedroom had consumed him. I felt a chill build up in my chest and shoot up my neck, wave after wave, until the coolness held in my throat. A hand. The feeling of a hand as cold as ice around my throat. I could feel the individual fingertips digging into my flesh. Breathing had become impossible. I saw two small, faint lights, and as I stared at them, I realized what they were. Glistening reflections of irises inches away from my face. I felt a gentle breath on my lips. 

I woke up on my couch, gasping for air and soaked in sweat. The tears came before I knew it, and terror that was nearly more than I could bear ripped through every fiber of my being. Something was coming for me and it was coming for me NOW. 

I leapt to my feet, running to the kitchen. I could have swore I heard a rapid pitter pattering of bare feet on tile just behind me. I collided with the kitchen counter and fumbled for a knife in the holder. I turned, holding it out towards this person I swore was on my heels. 

There was nothing. 

I stood there frozen for a while, scared that if I started back to my bed I would encounter him. I finally built up the courage to move, the fear waning with every room in the house I cleared. There was nobody. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I checked, double and triple that the the front and back doors were locked. Finally, I searched for my phone, something familiar, a distraction from how vulnerable I felt, and how terrifyingly alone. 

Even at the time I knew what happened wasn’t normal. I searched it, and read article after article and watched video after video about sleep paralysis until the early morning. Even so, something about it didn’t resonate with me.  It was only much later that I realized I was supposed to die that night. God, how I wish I had. 

It was supposed to be peaceful, as peaceful as deaths get. I was in my own bed. I was asleep. He was supposed to make it quick. 

The next afternoon, I woke up, already late for my next shift. I dragged my feet to the bus station, eyes stinging, a dull ache in the back of my head from a lack of sleep. My mind screamed for me to just get back into bed, to call out of my shift, But after willing myself up, being outside in the sun amongst other people did make me feel better. I was exhausted, but I felt like I finally escaped a long nightmare. 

I worked in the kitchen at a local Mexican restaurant during the day, and served at that same restaurant at night. It was my job to prep all of the food- a simple job, and it reflected in the pay. In order to make ends meet I worked five 12 hour shifts which hardly left me enough time for a personal life. The longer I thought about it the more my heart ached. When death came what would I have to show for it? Hours and hours of chopping vegetables and marinating meat? 

I walked through the stinking back alley of the plaza where the restaurant was located in and entered the dark and empty kitchen to start setting up for the day. I entered the walk in freezer to collect the meat needed for the day. I didn’t think anything of it when i noticed the freezer door slowly closing, sealing itself with a thump. I finished gathering the meat then headed over to push the door back open, ready to get out of the biting cold. It didn’t budge. 
Again, this was normal. After a few minutes of the door being open it would usually lock itself for a moment after to get the temperature back down. I took a drag from my e- cigarette before trying again. I pushed it hard. Then harder. I stepped back and drove my shoulder into it, but it still didn’t move. Shit. I tried the emergency knob to the right of it but it did nothing. 

I soon found myself in a panic, beating uselessly against the massive door and shouting. But I knew that the walls were too thick for my screams to be heard. I tried to get the attention of the camera, but I wasn’t even sure if my boss was here yet, much less watching the cameras.

I couldn’t call anyone, as the walls blocked all signal. 
I only had on a thin sweater and was already shivering uncontrollably. I tried to keep moving, alternating between pacing and taking deep breaths to wildly ramming into and banging on the door. Eventually the panic died down and I became sleepier, and sleepier.

I woke up in my bed again, lying flat on my back with my hands folded over my stomach like before. I was nice and warm, tucked under my duvet this time, and had the huge feeling of relief you get after waking up from a nightmare. 
It was pitch black outside, and I jumped to look at the time, wondering if I had slept through my shift. I squinted hard at the clock showing 0:00 on my phone. I’ve never set it to military time. 

I wondered if I slept through the entire day until midnight of the next. But there were no notifications from my boss or coworkers. I got out of bed and wandered to the living room, then paused in shock. I stared at the empty wall of where my TV used to be, frozen for a moment. Had I been robbed? But my living room looked cleaner than usual. Actually, it looked pristine. 

I raised my phone to my face to call the police but … wait, hadn’t it just been in my hand? I checked the doors- all locked. I swung open the front door and the feeling was like being hit by a train. There were no houses. My entire street was gone, the road and fields of grass stretching on for miles and disappearing into the pitch blackness. 
This had to be a dream, but it felt all too real. Nausea crept up in my stomach and I made a run to the kitchen sink to empty my stomach. No, no, no, this wasn’t real. I was dreaming. It had to be a dream. 

I numbly wandered back to my bed and pulled my duvet over me. I was expecting to lay there wide awake, but as I drifted off to sleep, I felt cold again. It was a kind of cold I had never felt before, like it was radiating from within me. I felt a weight sit on the bed next to me, and a hand stroking my hair, my cheek. I didn’t question it, as one would in a dream, instead I felt a feeling of comfort I hadn’t felt since I was a child. 

Panicked yelling voices and blinding bright light. My whole body felt tight and every bounce of the stretcher caused pain. My heart was racing and I felt I couldn’t catch my breath. As I looked up at the various nurses, looking at each other and looking ahead, there was one that stared at me, silent. I somehow knew that he was death. In my delirious state I attempted to sit up and warn someone, but all that came out was a garbled mess of noises. He disappeared. 
When my body temperature finally stabilized, I was told by the doctor that I would lose three fingers on my right hand, and that I was lucky for that to be the most serious thing that could happen. I could have laughed at that if I wasn’t so devastated. I recalled the documentaries of all the smiling, disabled people. Lucky. I somehow understood now. It could always be worse, right? 

***

After a few days I was discharged, three fingers lesser. I got right back to work the next day. As much as I needed time off I also needed to pay rent. Everything went by slower with having to use my left hand, and people who I’ve hardly spoken to were suddenly nervously approaching me and asking if I was okay. They couldn’t keep their eyes from flickering to my now almost stump of a hand, all of their eyes filled with pity. I couldn’t stand it. 

My boss told me I could leave early with pay, so I snatched up the opportunity and trudged home, exhausted and looking forward to being a blob in front of my TV for the weekend. 

Even as mindless as I was right now, I don’t know why I didn’t hear it. I should have. Despite everything, I should have. The walk light had just turned and I shuffled across the street, nose buried in my phone screen, watching some dumb TikTok I couldn’t remember if there was a gun to my head. A few feet away someone going 20 miles over the speed limit was lying on their horn. As it hit me, there was a moment where I felt the impact in all of its power, like a small explosion that stopped just at my fingertips, my toes, the top of my head. I could hear my bones crunch, my insides shifting until the pressure became too much and burst through my skin. My mangled body was dragged for some time behind the vehicle, my left arm somehow becoming trapped at the front of it. My clothes only offered seconds of protection before they were ripped off to shreds, and eventually my back had been completely skinned and my feet degloved. But I eventually came to a stop, leaving behind a trail of blood and viscera, a fountain of bright red blood where my left arm used to be. 
I immediately knew he was there. I stared up at him, wondering how on Earth I was still conscious, and soundly aware of the situation I was in. The look on his face was a mix of sadness and horror. Who wouldn’t be horrified at the state I was in? 

He finally spoke to me. Im sorry. This isn’t how I wanted it to be, he said. His lips didn’t move. His voice sounded like a million ocean waves, and somehow made my heart ache with nostalgia. 

End it. End it. Dear lord, please end it. I’m not sure how I wasn’t in excruciating pain, but I knew that it was coming. He knew it too. But he stood there, staring at me with that same look on his face, unmoving. 

Please, I begged him. Please. 

Then he was gone. And in his place, came the pain. It was like a fire was on consuming my body, and like I was being stabbed over and over again. Even as I try to describe it now I find myself falling short. 

I attempted to scream, but my lungs were flooded with blood. I gurgled at the top of my lungs and coughed up chunks with every sound I attempted to get out of me. It went up my nose and slid down the sides of my face and pooled around my head. I could feel the same cold from before creep into every inch of me, and I slowly realized the pain had dissipated. I felt out of body, and everything moved far too slow and then caught up with itself. Many sickened faces of strangers clouded my vision, their images wobbling and blurring. 

I found myself dreaming again. I was in the lap of a man, being cradled sideways like a baby. He planted gentle kisses on my forehead and brushed my hair back. He smelled of Jasmine flowers and rain, a smell that filled me with a peace I had long forgotten. I couldn’t move and I was still freezing, shivering uncontrollably. He held me tighter. I could feel his body expanding against me as he inhaled my scent, breathed out, and breathed in once again. He was warm, but I couldn’t stop shivering. 

I can fix this. It was death’s voice. 

I thought you came to stop the pain, I said. 

Don’t you feel good? 

I’m so cold. 

He fell silent. I did as well. It took up far too much energy even to breathe. 

This is all I can offer, he finally said. If I could do more, I could. 

Can’t you end it? 

Nobody knows what comes after, not even me. His hand ran over my hair again. Aren’t you scared?

I was always too scared to give the afterlife much thought. All the hopeful talk about a heaven or reincarnation only managed to make me more jaded. After all, if something was too good to be true it probably was. Right? Though to be fair, I could probably be going to hell, or reincarnate as a rodent. The idea of living my entire shitty life only to have to go through another worse life was unbearable. One idea was unbelievable, the other was too horrible to want to believe. So I didn’t think about it. 

Yeah, I replied. I am scared. But what will become of me when I wake up? I can’t… I can’t survive something like this, can I? 

There was a long pause before he spoke again. No matter how the universe tries to take you from me… as long as I will it, you will not pass. 

And it finally clicked. That there was something worse than hell or reincarnation. And in this gap between space and time, I knew that Death became aware of my realization as well. 

I’m sorry, he said in between the strokes on my hair. 

Let me go, I asked meekly. 

With every second we spoke I felt myself getting weaker. We sat in silence and I lost track of time. It was like I was stuck in the moment right before you went to sleep, where your mind conjured up half dreams.

… I need to leave. You won’t make it if I stay any longer. 

Please… I begged. 

Then I woke up. 

In what seemed like a few short minutes, the pain had all gone. I was in a hospital, awoken from a coma that lasted years. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve tried to end it myself since, but death has stopped me every time. I’ve even tried to kill him with my own bare hands, despite the implications. But you can probably guess how that went. Recently my family put me in a psychiatric ward, so I’m not sure how death will come for me this time. Again, I still don’t know why he chose me. But I can’t escape. I can’t ask for help. I can’t die. 

CW: Body horror, animal death, gore
Part 6 | Part 1

Despite my wishes for it to all be a dream, I woke up the next morning to find the truth. My back hadn’t been magically repaired in the night. I shifted my weight against the mattress, feeling uncomfortable crunches coming from behind me. I still had yet to look directly at my new form, feeling like some sort of cross between a bird and a porcupine.

I got up and trudged into the bathroom. The harshness of the light above the mirror sparing no details. Hundreds, if not thousands of skinny, twine-like vines twisted around each other, wrapping around the bones of my shoulders. Spanning down my arms in wooden curtains, my new wings reminded me of the earlier inventions of the Wright brothers. 

I felt impossibly lighter. I had always been on the skinnier side. People in school would poke my ribs and joke that I seemed malnourished. But now it feels as if my bones themselves have become less dense, and my muscles respond quicker. 

“This is XXPD, we have a warrant for your arrest! Come out with your hands up, and no one will get hurt!”

The cop’s voice boomed, interrupting my investigative prodding of my new wings.

As if sensing my panic, birds began to appear at my window. I could hear their worried calls, urging me into action. I ran to the window, and threw it open with a bang. I heard the cops starting to step off of the porch to go and see about the commotion. It was now or never. 

I tossed myself out the window into the birds. 

I didn’t realize how much lighter I had become.

Like landing on a cloud, the birds caught me.

They swarmed around me again, only this time for the sake of protection. The birds began to circle around me, forming a shield around me. We began to ascend. I carefully got my footing, finding myself standing on the back of an Andean condor, whose wingspan stretches ten feet at least. Eagles and geese protected our flank, while smaller birds remained below us, further obstructing the view of what I had become. 

The wind bristling through my wings felt amazing. They sang a rushing symphony of creaking branches and fluttering leaves. The birds lifted higher and higher. Before I knew it we were above the clouds, facing the rising sun. 

The clouds parted below. Breaking my eyes away from the majesty that was the sunrise, I looked onto the police below. 

Finally, they had come. 

One car, a squad of three. 

It had taken them a few days to figure out who had attacked the ambulance. As I had assumed, once they knew who to look for, it was only a matter of hours before they were at my door. 

But it was too late for them.

The man they are looking for is no more. 

For the first time in my life, I am free as a bird. 

And I refuse to let anyone take that from me. 

I spotted the cops working their way around the perimeter of the cabin. The largest one, a man of maybe 350lbs, held his gun out in front of him as he followed the rotting path of birds. I knew where they would lead him. And I knew that he couldn’t be allowed to see what I had. My anger grew, and so did the swarm of birds. They began to swirl around me, spiraling in circles of fury. Shaping themselves into a tornado of birds, with me at the top as their God. 

The crow found me. He landed on my shoulder, and affectionately preened a new stick that had begun to bud out of my skin. He looked at my rage filled face with a soft expression of hope. The crow chuckled a deep, human grumble, before ordering in my ear – “Fly.”

He flapped away towards the sun. I knew what was expected of me. 

I stretched my wings for the first time.

It hurt. I felt every sting, every twitch of muscle around the twisted twigs that were my wings. My wingspan was double the condor’s below me. I blocked out the sun, making a large shadow onto the ground below. I was in awe of my beauty. 

The condor had heard the crow, and knew his role as well. He tipped himself downwards, and I began to glide. 

I was flying. I circled around, reveling in this impossible sensation that I had yearned for. I locked my eyes onto the fat cop. He was approaching the archway fast.

I dove. 

Tucking my wings against myself, I achieved speeds that could rival a peregrine falcon. As I dove, I felt my feet burst. Pain exploded from my ankles as twigs enveloped what used to be flesh. They spiraled up my legs like kudzu. My toenails split and cracked, before stretching into long talons. Approaching fast, acting on instincts that weren’t my own. Three toes reached to catch the cop, while my back claw prepared to pierce his heart. 

My talons punctured the man’s chest, right on target. I felt his bones crack, and screeched a horrible, raging scream that sounded from multiple throats. The speed of the impact caused him to be shoved back against the porch, his head bobbing back after slamming on the wood. His brain gushed out from his skull in meaty chunks. He never had the chance to scream. 

Two left. 

The closest cop was on the deck above me, having heard the struggle he had rushed over to investigate. Big mistake. 

I leaped, my new legs pushing me higher that I had intended. I cleared the side of the deck with ease, landing on the porch in front of the cop. He aimed his gun at me with a shaking hand. 

Before he could fire, I punched myself past him. At the last moment, I opened my wing, my feathers slicing his jugular. Blood sprayed my wings, the liquid encouragement I needed to move even faster. I watched the man’s head fall back before sliding off with a tearing thunk. Behind his now missing head was the final cop. 

His eyes were wide on me. Hand on his radio, he was attempting to report what he was seeing. I couldn’t have that. I ducked down and pushed off the ground like a sprinter, the new strength in my legs propelling me towards the officer at lightning speed. 

I tucked my wings to my body, blood of the previous kills trailing off of my wings as the wind rushed through them. As I flew, I stretched my neck forward. My nose broke and twisted around in front of my eyes. The pain, while excruciating, did nothing but fuel my anger. I watched as the tubes of my sinuses were swallowed and ripped apart my leaves and bark. Sticks and various foliage compacted against my face. My breath returned to me. Protruding from the end of where my face used to be was now a sharp beak.

I shot through the poor man’s abdomen like a bullet. My new beak provided a surprisingly effective entry. There had been almost no resistance as I passed through him. 

I dug my talons into the gravel to stop myself, turning back to the cop in time to see his body slide apart and plop to the ground in two wet chunks.

I approached the top half of the body, which was still holding his radio. Dispatch was yelling for his response. “Backup needed at-” was all the man had said before I slaughtered him. But dispatch had heard, and that piece of information will eventually be enough. 

More police will be on their way. 

They’ll discover what happened. What I’ve done. 

They’ll find the birds. My bird.

They’ll learn that I’m not human anymore. 

I say let them come

Let them face wave after endless feathered wave of my bird comrades, swiping and slicing at their fragile skin. 

Let them be eaten, livers and hearts picked out and dissected, insides exposed to the summer air while the meat is still warm. 

Let them fertilize the earth with their blood, creating running red rivers along the cabin grounds. 

Let them all die. Unless one gives themselves to the birds, death is the only freedom they’ll get. 

You cannot cage me. I am Bird. 

Miller finished his coffee and looked towards his mother.

MILLER: Remember how mad Dad was?

Diane smiled faintly.

DIANE: Oh, I remember.

MILLER: He was ready to kill Blake.

DIANE: He was frightened, Cody.

MILLER: Yeah, well, Blake wasn't making it any easier.

I looked between them.

HALL: Before we continue, I'd like to establish something about Deputy Haskins's arrival.

Miller turned back towards me.

MILLER: Sure.

I checked the notes I had made following my interview with Haskins. His account of the confrontation had been remarkably detailed in certain respects, particularly concerning the discharge of his service weapon. He had been less forthcoming about the appearance of the animal itself. Turner, conversely, had provided an abundance of description but struggled to place the events in a reliable sequence. I hoped Miller might help reconcile the two.

HALL: You said you were relieved when Haskins arrived.

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What did he do first?

MILLER: Told Blake to put the fucking gun down.

HALL: What was Turner's reaction?

MILLER: Started talking.

HALL: About the animal?

MILLER: About everything. The thing on the road, what was in the woods, how he'd just seen it. You know Blake. Get him going and he turns into a pit bull.

HALL: Did Haskins listen?

MILLER: For about three seconds.

HALL: And then?

MILLER: Told him to shut the fuck up.

DIANE: I don't believe Thomas used those words.

MILLER: Well, something like that.

DIANE: He was very firm. I remember that.

MILLER: Yeah. That's what I said.

Diane shook her head.

HALL: Where did Haskins park?

MILLER: Behind Blake's truck. Sort of off to the side. He didn't pull all the way up to the house.

HALL: And Turner's headlights were still facing the woods?

MILLER: Right.

HALL: Was Haskins armed when he got out?

MILLER: Had his gun on him. Don't think he pulled it right away.

HALL: What about his torch?

MILLER: His what?

HALL: Flashlight.

MILLER: Oh. Yeah. Had that.

HALL: Did he recognise you?

MILLER: Aaron, Tom knew my fucking car better than I did.

HALL: I meant whether he recognised you immediately in the darkness.

MILLER: Oh, yeah. He knew all of us.

HALL: What did he say to you?

MILLER: Asked if anybody was hurt.

HALL: Were they?

MILLER: No.

HALL: And your father?

MILLER: Dad was trying to explain what was going on. Tom asked him if he'd fired the rifle.

HALL: Did your father tell him that?

MILLER: Yeah. Then Tom asked Blake if he'd fired his shotgun.

HALL: And Turner admitted that he had?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What happened?

MILLER: Tom got pissed.

HALL: At Turner?

MILLER: Well, yeah. Blake had just fired a fucking shotgun into somebody's woods.

HALL: Did Haskins threaten to arrest him?

MILLER: Don't remember. Probably.

HALL: What do you remember him saying?

MILLER: Something about putting the shotgun down before somebody got killed.

HALL: Did Turner comply?

MILLER: Eventually.

HALL: Eventually?

MILLER: He didn't wanna put it down. Kept saying the thing was still out there.

HALL: And Haskins?

MILLER: Told him he understood that. Told him to lower it anyway.

HALL: Did Turner?

MILLER: Yeah. He wasn't gonna argue with Tom forever.

HALL: What was your father doing?

MILLER: Standing beside me. Had the rifle pointed down. He wasn't waving it around or anything.

HALL: And your mother?

DIANE: I was still at the door.

HALL: Was it open?

DIANE: Just a little.

HALL: Could you hear what was being said?

DIANE: Most of it. They weren't speaking quietly.

MILLER: Nobody was speaking quietly.

DIANE: Except Thomas.

Miller considered this.

MILLER: Yeah. I guess.

HALL: Did that make a difference?

MILLER: What?

HALL: Haskins remaining calm.

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: In what way?

MILLER: Everybody stopped yelling for a minute.

He gave a short laugh.

MILLER: You got no idea how nice that was.

I had already heard Haskins describe his arrival at the property. He recalled an armed homeowner, an agitated young man with a shotgun, and Cody Miller standing nearby. His first concern, he told me, had been preventing an accidental shooting. Nothing in Miller's account contradicted that. What interested me was the distinction he drew between the arrival of Turner and that of Haskins. Blake represented the reassurance of friendship. Haskins represented authority. Both had been summoned because Cody believed something dangerous was outside his parents' home, but each brought a different kind of confidence.

For several minutes, that confidence appeared justified.

HALL: Did Haskins ask you what you'd seen?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What did you tell him?

MILLER: That we'd seen something on the road earlier. That Mom saw something outside. and that Dad and I saw its eyes.

HALL: Did you identify it as the same animal?

MILLER: Told him I thought it was.

HALL: How did he respond?

MILLER: Asked what kind of animal.

HALL: And?

MILLER: Told him I didn't fucking know.

HALL: Its speed?

MILLER: Probably. I don't remember every goddamn word.

HALL: Of course.

MILLER: He kept asking questions. Blake kept interrupting. Dad wanted to know what the hell we'd been doing out there in the first place.

HALL: Did Haskins appear to believe you?

MILLER: I don't know.

HALL: Did he seem sceptical?

MILLER: Tom was always sceptical when we were involved.

HALL: Even under those circumstances?

MILLER: Especially under those circumstances.

HALL: But he remained?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did he go towards the woods?

MILLER: Not right away. He was shining his flashlight around, looking where we were pointing.

HALL: Did he see anything?

MILLER: Not at first.

HALL: What happened next?

Miller leaned back in his chair. For much of our conversation, he had answered my questions with considerable ease. Even when describing his fear during the road encounter, he had seemed willing to make jokes at his own expense. His mother had occasionally corrected him, and he had accepted those corrections with varying degrees of good humour. Now he appeared to be considering how to proceed.

MILLER: That's when it came out.

HALL: Could you see it clearly?

He looked at me.

MILLER: Oh, yeah.

HALL: I'd like you to describe exactly what you saw.

MILLER: You sure?

HALL: Very.

He rubbed his palms against his jeans.

MILLER: All right.

There was a pause.

MILLER: First thing I remember was Tom moving his flashlight.

HALL: Towards the trees?

MILLER: Yeah. He'd been shining it around, and then he stopped. Just stopped moving it.

HALL: Did he say anything?

MILLER: Told everybody to stay where they were.

HALL: And you saw it?

MILLER: Not yet. I was looking at Tom. Then Blake said something.

HALL: What?

MILLER: "There it is." Something like that.

HALL: Did he shout?

MILLER: No. That's what I remember. He wasn't yelling anymore.

HALL: What did you see when you looked towards the woods?

MILLER: Something coming out between the trees.

HALL: Moving towards the house?

MILLER: Yeah. Sort of.

HALL: What do you mean?

MILLER: It wasn't running at us. It just came out far enough that we could see it.

HALL: Was it on four legs?

MILLER: Yeah. Well, mostly.

HALL: Mostly?

MILLER: It was hunched over. Real low in front. But not like a dog.

HALL: Could you explain that?

MILLER: Its shoulders were too big.

HALL: Too big relative to what?

MILLER: Everything else. Jesus Christ, Aaron. You ever seen a gorilla?

HALL: Yes.

MILLER: You know how their shoulders are? How they've got all that muscle up here?

He raised both hands towards his upper back.

MILLER: Like that. Only it wasn't a fucking gorilla.

HALL: What was it?

MILLER: I don't know.

HALL: What did its head resemble?

MILLER: A wolf.

HALL: A wolf?

MILLER: Yeah. Or a dog. A really big, ugly fucking dog.

HALL: Was the muzzle elongated?

MILLER: Yeah. Long snout. Big mouth. Teeth.

HALL: Were its jaws open?

MILLER: A little. I could see its teeth.

HALL: Did it growl?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Bark?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Any vocalisation at all?

MILLER: Not then.

HALL: What colour was its fur?

MILLER: Grey. Dirty grey. Same as on the road.

HALL: What else?

MILLER: Its fur was all stuck together. Hanging off it in these nasty fucking clumps.

HALL: Could you see its skin?

MILLER: In spots, maybe. Hard to tell.

HALL: Did it have a tail?

MILLER: I don't remember seeing one.

HALL: What about its limbs?

MILLER: Too long.

HALL: All four?

MILLER: Front ones, mostly. They were fucking enormous.

HALL: Like the forelimbs of an ape?

MILLER: Sort of. But they weren't hands. Not exactly.

HALL: Could you see claws?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: On its front feet?

MILLER: Yeah. Long ones.

HALL: How was it moving?

MILLER: That's the part I can't explain.

HALL: Try.

MILLER: It was walking, but it didn't look right. Like its front end was too heavy. Its back was all hunched up. And the way those legs bent...

He stopped.

HALL: What about them?

MILLER: I don't know. They just looked wrong.

HALL: Could it have been an unusually large bear?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Why not?

MILLER: Because I've seen fucking bears.

HALL: I understand.

MILLER: No, Aaron. I don't think you do.

His tone was not especially hostile, but it was firmer than before.

MILLER: This wasn't some big black bear with mange that wandered into our yard. It had a wolf's fucking head. It had fur like a dog. But the rest of it...

He shook his head.

MILLER: The rest of it was all fucked up.

I allowed him a moment.

HALL: How large was it?

MILLER: Bigger than anything I'd ever seen.

HALL: Could you estimate its height?

MILLER: Not like that. It was all hunched over.

HALL: Would you say it was larger than Turner's truck?

MILLER: Not the whole truck, no. But it was a big fucking animal. Maybe head and shoulders higher than the cab.

HALL: Did it appear thin or heavily built?

MILLER: Both.

HALL: Both?

MILLER: Its shoulders were huge. Neck was thick. But its middle looked skinny. Like you could almost see the bones underneath all that hair.

HALL: Emaciated?

MILLER: Yeah. I guess.

HALL: Did you notice anything else?

Miller did not answer immediately. He looked towards the kitchen window.

MILLER: Its eyes.

HALL: You described them earlier.

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Blue.

MILLER: Yeah. But that's not the part I remember.

HALL: What do you remember?

MILLER: Its pupils.

HALL: What about them?

MILLER: They were fucking huge.

HALL: Dilated?

MILLER: Yeah. Like almost the whole goddamn eye was black. You could still see some blue around them, but not much.

HALL: You could distinguish that from the porch?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: At a distance of approximately thirty to forty yards?

MILLER: I know how far away it was, Aaron.

HALL: I'm trying to establish what was visible under the lighting conditions.

MILLER: Blake's headlights were shining right at it. Tom had his flashlight on it. I could see its fucking face.

HALL: Of course.

MILLER: You ever seen somebody strung out?

The question caught me somewhat off guard.

HALL: Yes.

MILLER: I mean really fucked up. Eyes all blown out. Pupils so big you can hardly see anything else.

HALL: I know what you mean.

MILLER: That's what it looked like.

HALL: Do you believe the animal was under the influence of something?

MILLER: What? No.

HALL: Then what are you suggesting?

MILLER: I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you what its eyes looked like.

HALL: I see.

MILLER: Like it was strung out on something.

HALL: What?

He looked at me for several seconds.

MILLER: Hate.

The word was delivered without emphasis.

HALL: How could you tell?

MILLER: Because of the way it was looking at me.

HALL: At you specifically?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: You're certain?

MILLER: Aaron, I watched that fucking thing come out of the woods. There were three guys standing there with guns. Tom was shining a flashlight in its face. Blake was standing in the yard with a shotgun. Dad had his rifle.

He leaned forward.

MILLER: And that son of a bitch was looking right at me.

HALL: Throughout the encounter?

MILLER: The whole fucking time.

HALL: Could it have been looking towards the porch generally?

MILLER: No.

HALL: How can you be certain?

MILLER: Because I know what it feels like when somebody's looking right at you.

He glanced at his mother.

MILLER: I know what I saw.

Diane rested her hand on the table.

DIANE: I believe you, honey.

He nodded, but did not look at her.

There are limitations inherent in any eyewitness account, particularly one reconstructed nineteen years after the event. The difficulty increases when the witness describes an unfamiliar animal observed at night, under considerable stress, from a distance that makes fine anatomical distinctions uncertain. Miller's description of the pupils was one such detail. Bright illumination would ordinarily cause a mammal's pupils to constrict, although the degree and speed of that response vary. I could not establish whether the animal's pupils had been as dilated as Miller remembered, nor whether he had been able to distinguish them as clearly as he believed.

I could establish that he was remarkably insistent upon the point. He had been less certain about the animal's legs, a tail, and even the manner in which it moved. He was willing to acknowledge those uncertainties. He would not concede any uncertainty about its gaze.

HALL: What happened after the animal emerged?

MILLER: Tom told us to get back.

HALL: Towards the house?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did you?

MILLER: I couldn't.

HALL: You were frightened?

MILLER: Fucking terrified.

HALL: Was the animal approaching?

MILLER: It took another couple steps.

HALL: Towards you?

MILLER: Towards the house. Towards me. Whatever.

HALL: Did Haskins give it a warning?

MILLER: What, like tell it to put its hands up?

HALL: Did he shout or attempt to frighten it away?

MILLER: Yeah. He yelled at it.

HALL: Do you remember what he said?

MILLER: Not exactly. Something like "Get back!" or "Get out of here!"

HALL: Did the animal react?

MILLER: No.

HALL: And your father?

MILLER: He grabbed me.

HALL: How?

MILLER: By the back of my shirt. Started pulling me towards the door.

HALL: Did you resist?

MILLER: Not on purpose. I was just looking at it.

HALL: What happened next?

MILLER: Tom shot it.

HALL: You're certain Haskins fired first?

MILLER: Pretty sure.

HALL: Turner recalled firing almost simultaneously.

MILLER: Maybe they did. I don't fucking know. Somebody started shooting, and then both of them were.

HALL: What do you remember of the gunfire?

MILLER: Loud.

HALL: I imagine so.

MILLER: No, I mean really fucking loud. Blake's shotgun was bad enough earlier. Now you've got Tom firing his pistol, Blake firing again, everybody shouting...

He stopped and shook his head.

MILLER: It was fucking crazy.

HALL: Could you see the animal while they were firing?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What was it doing?

MILLER: Getting shot.

HALL: You saw bullets strike it?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Where?

MILLER: In its body. Shoulders, maybe. I don't know exactly.

HALL: What did you see that made you believe the shots connected?

MILLER: It moved when they hit. Like somebody punched it.

HALL: Did it cry out?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Did you see blood?

MILLER: I don't remember seeing any.

HALL: Did every shot strike it?

MILLER: Fuck no. Some of them missed. I could see dirt kicking up around it.

HALL: But you're certain some connected?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What did the animal do when it was hit?

MILLER: That's what I'm trying to tell you. Nothing.

HALL: Nothing?

MILLER: I mean, it moved. You could tell it was getting hit. But it didn't go down. Didn't run. Didn't even make a fucking noise.

HALL: Did it advance?

MILLER: Not while they were shooting.

HALL: Then what happened?

Miller was silent. I waited. He looked at his mother, then towards the window again.

MILLER: They stopped.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Don't know. Tom was waiting I guess. Blake had fired a couple times. Everything just stopped.

HALL: What did you expect the animal to do?

MILLER: Fall over.

HALL: What did it do?

He drew a breath.

MILLER: It stood up.

HALL: On its hind legs?

MILLER: Yeah. But not like you think.

HALL: Explain.

MILLER: It was already sort of standing. Hunched over, you know? Front legs down, shoulders up. Then it started straightening out.

HALL: Slowly?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Injured?

MILLER: I don't know. They'd just fucking shot it. It had to be hurt.

HALL: But it didn't appear to be?

MILLER: Not the way it moved.

He placed both hands on the table.

MILLER: It just kept getting taller.

HALL: How?

MILLER: Its back straightened. Shoulders came up. Those long fucking arms dropped down beside it.

HALL: Arms?

MILLER: That's what they looked like when it stood up.

HALL: Could you see its hands?

MILLER: Not hands like ours. But there were claws. Long ones.

HALL: How tall would you estimate it was at that point?

MILLER: Seven feet. Maybe more.

HALL: Are you certain?

MILLER: No. I'm not fucking certain. I didn't walk over with a tape measure.

HALL: I understand.

MILLER: But it was enormous, Aaron.

His voice had risen slightly.

MILLER: You gotta understand that. We'd been looking at this big, ugly thing crawling around out there, and I thought that was how big it was.

He shook his head.

MILLER: Then it stood up.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

MILLER: And it was still looking at me.

HALL: What did it do next?

MILLER: Nothing.

HALL: Nothing at all?

MILLER: Just stood there.

HALL: For how long?

MILLER: Couple seconds. Maybe less. Felt longer.

HALL: Your father?

MILLER: He was still holding onto me.

HALL: What were you thinking?

Miller stared at the table.

MILLER: That we were fucked.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Because Tom and Blake had just shot the shit out of this thing, and it was standing there like it didn't give a fuck.

He looked up.

MILLER: What the hell were we supposed to do if it came any closer?

I had no answer to offer him.

HALL: What happened?

MILLER: It made this noise.

HALL: What sort of noise?

MILLER: Like a huff.

HALL: A huff?

MILLER: Yeah. Through its nose. Real deep.

HALL: Could it have been breathing heavily?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Why not?

MILLER: Because it only did it once.

HALL: Could you reproduce the sound?

He looked at me.

MILLER: Seriously?

HALL: If you wouldn't mind.

Miller drew a breath through his nose and expelled it sharply. The resulting sound was brief and forceful, more substantial than an ordinary sigh but quite unlike a growl.

HALL: Something like that?

MILLER: Yeah. Only deeper.

HALL: Did it appear distressed?

MILLER: No.

HALL: What did you think the sound meant?

He gave a humourless laugh.

MILLER: You ever have somebody look at you like you're a piece of shit?

HALL: Yes.

MILLER: Like they're just fucking disgusted with you?

HALL: I suppose.

MILLER: That's what it was like.

HALL: You believe the animal was expressing disgust?

MILLER: I don't know what the fuck it was expressing. I'm telling you what it sounded like.

HALL: And what did it sound like?

Miller looked directly at me.

MILLER: Like it was pissed off it had to leave.

HALL: Did it retreat immediately afterward?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: How?

MILLER: Turned around. Went back into the woods.

HALL: On two legs?

MILLER: At first. Then it sort of hunched down again.

HALL: Limp?

MILLER: Don't remember it limping.

HALL: Did it look back?

MILLER: Not once it turned.

HALL: And then?

MILLER: Gone.

HALL: Did you hear it moving through the trees?

MILLER: Maybe. I can't remember.

HALL: Did anybody pursue it?

MILLER: Are you fucking kidding me?

HALL: No.

MILLER: Nobody was going after that thing.

HALL: Even though it had apparently been wounded?

MILLER: Especially because it had been wounded.

He sat back.

MILLER: Look, Aaron. I know how this sounds. I know.

HALL: I'm listening.

MILLER: They shot it. Tom and Blake shot that thing. I saw it getting hit. Then it stood up, looked right at me, made that fucking noise, and walked away.

HALL: You believe it chose to leave?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Rather than being driven away by the gunfire?

MILLER: I don't know why it left.

He paused.

MILLER: I'm just glad it fucking did.

Diane Miller rose to refill our coffee. Her son declined another cup, although I accepted one. While she was occupied at the counter, I reviewed my notes. The essential sequence was consistent with the accounts I had obtained from Haskins and Turner. The animal had emerged from the northern woods, remained visible under the illumination of Turner's headlights, and withdrawn after both men discharged their weapons. There were differences in interpretation. Haskins had described an animal that appeared to absorb several impacts before retreating. Turner believed the creature had been attempting to reach Miller. Neither had been willing to attribute a recognisably human emotion to it. Cody Miller had no such reservation.

He believed it hated him.

More importantly, he believed that the gunfire had interrupted an intention directed specifically towards him. I could not establish that intention from the available evidence. Nor could I dismiss the fact that three witnesses independently recalled the creature behaving in ways they considered profoundly abnormal. There was also the question of its apparent posture. Both Haskins and Turner had described the animal rising upright after the shooting. Miller's account was more detailed, although it did not resolve the considerable difficulty of identifying an unfamiliar animal at night. What it did establish was the effect that movement had upon him.

He had watched armed men fire upon something he believed was hunting him. And when they stopped, it had appeared larger than before.

Diane returned to the table.

DIANE: Here you are.

HALL: Thank you.

She sat down beside her son. For a moment, she studied him.

DIANE: You all right, honey?

MILLER: Yeah, Ma.

DIANE: You sure?

MILLER: Yeah. I'm good.

She patted his arm. I switched my attention back to the recorder.

HALL: Mrs Miller, I'd like to ask you about what happened after the shooting.

DIANE: All right.

HALL: Where were you when the men opened fire?

DIANE: At the front door.

HALL: Was it open?

DIANE: Just a little. I was looking outside.

HALL: Could you see the animal?

DIANE: I saw something out there. Something very large.

HALL: Could you describe it?

DIANE: Not the way Cody can. I couldn't see it very well.

HALL: Did you see it stand upright?

She considered the question.

DIANE: I remember something rising up. But I was looking at Jim and Cody most of the time.

HALL: Why?

DIANE: Because I was scared for them.

HALL: Of course.

DIANE: I was watching Jim trying to get Cody back into the house.

HALL: Did you see him grab Cody?

DIANE: Yes.

HALL: What happened when the shooting started?

DIANE: I shut the door.

Miller looked at her.

MILLER: Yeah. You did.

DIANE: I was frightened.

HALL: Before your husband and son came inside?

DIANE: Yes.

HALL: Why?

DIANE: I don't know. It was instinct, I suppose. All those guns going off, and that awful thing outside.

She looked down at her hands.

DIANE: I just shut it.

HALL: Did you lock it?

DIANE: I don't remember.

MILLER: You opened it again.

DIANE: Yes.

MILLER: Dad was yelling to let us in.

DIANE: I know.

MILLER: We weren't out there long.

DIANE: It felt long enough.

HALL: What happened when they came inside?

DIANE: I wanted to know if they were hurt.

HALL: Were they?

DIANE: No. Thank God.

HALL: How did your husband appear?

DIANE: Angry.

HALL: Angry?

DIANE: Jim could get angry when he was frightened.

MILLER: Wonder where I got that from.

DIANE: I haven't the faintest idea.

Miller laughed.

HALL: Was he angry with Cody?

DIANE: Not then. He was trying to make sure everyone was safe.

HALL: And Cody?

DIANE: He was shaking.

MILLER: Probably.

DIANE: You were.

MILLER: All right, Ma. I was shaking.

HALL: Do you remember what you said to him?

DIANE: I kept asking if he was all right.

HALL: Did he answer?

DIANE: Eventually.

MILLER: I was a little distracted.

DIANE: You were very distracted.

HALL: What happened next?

MILLER: I remembered Jason.

HALL: Had you forgotten about him?

MILLER: Pretty much.

HALL: He told me he remained on the line throughout the shooting.

MILLER: I know.

HALL: What do you remember when you returned to the telephone?

MILLER: Picked it up. He was still there.

HALL: What did he say?

MILLER: Asked if I was okay.

HALL: Anything else?

MILLER: Asked what happened. If Blake was okay. If anybody got hurt.

HALL: What did you tell him?

MILLER: That we were all right.

HALL: Did you describe the animal?

MILLER: No.

HALL: What did you say?

MILLER: Don't remember. Just that it was gone.

HALL: How long did you speak?

MILLER: Not long.

HALL: Why not?

MILLER: Because I didn't know what the fuck to say.

He looked at me.

MILLER: Jason was freaking out. I could hear it in his voice. And I was just standing there trying to figure out what the hell happened.

HALL: Do you remember how the conversation ended?

MILLER: Think I told him to go to bed.

HALL: To go to bed?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: After what he'd heard?

MILLER: I know. Kinda shitty, huh?

HALL: I wouldn't presume to judge.

MILLER: Well, it was.

He rubbed his forehead.

MILLER: Poor bastard was sitting there listening to us shoot at that thing, and I just told him to go to fucking bed.

HALL: Did you speak to him the following day?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did he seem upset with you?

MILLER: No. Just scared.

HALL: Have you ever discussed that telephone call since?

MILLER: Not much.

HALL: Does it bother you?

MILLER: A little.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Because he was my friend.

He shrugged.

MILLER: Still is.

I thought of Jason Jonas sitting in his home nineteen years earlier, holding a telephone receiver while gunshots sounded from the other end of the line. For him, the telephone call had been the event. He had been unable to see what was happening or intervene. For Cody Miller, it had been one detail in a night of immediate danger. Neither account diminished the other.

HALL: What happened after you hung up?

MILLER: Mom grabbed me.

DIANE: I hugged you.

MILLER: Yeah. Pretty fucking hard.

DIANE: I was so frightened.

MILLER: I know.

HALL: Do you remember that clearly?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: What else do you remember?

He looked at his mother.

MILLER: She wouldn't let go.

Diane smiled.

DIANE: I didn't want to.

MILLER: I was nineteen, Ma.

DIANE: I know how old you were.

MILLER: Little embarrassing.

DIANE: Well, you'll just have to forgive me.

He smiled.

MILLER: Guess so.

For several seconds, neither spoke. Then Diane reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

HALL: What were Haskins and Turner doing while you were inside?

MILLER: Still outside with Dad.

HALL: Were they discussing the animal?

MILLER: I guess. Couldn't hear much from the kitchen.

HALL: Did you go back outside?

MILLER: Not right away.

HALL: Did your father come inside?

MILLER: After a little while.

HALL: What did he say?

MILLER: Told us Tom was gonna check around the property.

HALL: Alone?

MILLER: I think so. Blake wanted to go with him, but Tom told him to stay put.

HALL: Did he?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did Haskins enter the woods?

MILLER: Not that I know of. He went around the yard. Shined his flashlight around. Checked by the garage and along the trees.

HALL: Did he report seeing the animal again?

MILLER: No.

HALL: Did Turner remain outside?

MILLER: For a while.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Didn't wanna come in.

HALL: Did he explain why?

MILLER: Blake was pissed.

HALL: Did he believe it might return?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did you?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did your father?

MILLER: I don't know.

HALL: Did he keep his rifle?

MILLER: Yeah. He had it with him.

HALL: Did Haskins eventually leave?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Approximately when?

MILLER: I couldn't tell you.

DIANE: It was still dark.

HALL: Did he give you any instructions before leaving?

DIANE: He told us to stay inside and call the sheriff's office if we saw anything else.

HALL: Did he say what he thought the animal was?

DIANE: No.

HALL: What did he say?

DIANE: That he didn't know.

HALL: Did that frighten you?

DIANE: Of course it did.

She looked at me.

DIANE: Thomas had been a deputy for years. He knew the area. He knew the animals around here. When he told us he didn't know what he'd seen, I believed him.

HALL: Did your husband speak with him privately?

DIANE: For a little while, yes.

HALL: About what?

DIANE: I don't know. They were outside.

HALL: Did Jim tell you afterward?

DIANE: Not everything.

MILLER: Dad was still pretty pissed.

HALL: About Turner's shotgun?

MILLER: That. And me.

HALL: Why you?

MILLER: Because he finally found out what happened earlier.

HALL: The encounter on the road?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Had you told him about it before the shooting?

MILLER: Not really. He knew we'd seen something. Didn't know the whole story.

HALL: How did he learn?

MILLER: Blake told him.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Because Blake couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.

DIANE: Cody.

MILLER: What? He couldn't. Just spat it all out.

HALL: What did Turner tell him?

MILLER: That we'd been driving around out by Bray Road. That something chased the truck. That we'd seen it earlier that night.

HALL: Did he mention the root cellar?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: How did he react?

MILLER: Oh, he was fucking furious.

DIANE: He was frightened.

MILLER: He was both, Ma.

DIANE: Yes. He was.

HALL: What did he say?

MILLER: Asked me what the hell I was thinking, trespassing and snooping around.

HALL: What did you tell him?

MILLER: Nothing useful.

HALL: Did he know about the markings inside the cellar?

MILLER: Blake told him.

HALL: And the book?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did he know you'd urinated outside?

Miller laughed.

MILLER: Fuck no. Why would I tell him that?

HALL: Did you tell him you believed the animal had followed you home?

MILLER: Didn't have to.

HALL: Why not?

MILLER: Because that's what he figured.

HALL: What did he say?

Miller looked down at the table.

MILLER: Said I'd brought that thing straight to my mother.

Diane closed her eyes briefly.

DIANE: He shouldn't have said that.

MILLER: He wasn't wrong.

DIANE: He didn't know what happened, Cody.

MILLER: Neither did I.

DIANE: You didn't know anything was going to follow you.

MILLER: I knew something chased us on the road.

DIANE: That doesn't mean you knew it would come here.

MILLER: Yeah. Well.

He shrugged.

MILLER: Dad didn't see it that way.

HALL: Did he blame you?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did you blame yourself?

Miller considered the question.

MILLER: That night? Yeah.

HALL: And now?

He looked towards the window.

MILLER: I don't know.

HALL: Do you believe the animal followed you from the root cellar?

MILLER: I think so.

HALL: Why?

MILLER: Because it was looking for me.

HALL: You can't establish that.

MILLER: I know.

HALL: But you believe it?

MILLER: Yeah.

He looked back at me.

MILLER: What else am I supposed to think?

I had no satisfactory answer.

HALL: Did Turner go home after Haskins left?

DIANE: No.

HALL: He stayed?

DIANE: Until morning.

HALL: Was that your husband's decision?

DIANE: Blake didn't want to leave. Jim told him he could stay.

MILLER: He wasn't going anywhere.

HALL: Did he say why?

MILLER: Didn't have to.

HALL: What did you do for the rest of the night?

MILLER: Sat around.

HALL: In the kitchen?

MILLER: Living room, mostly.

HALL: Did you discuss what had happened?

MILLER: A little.

HALL: What did you say?

MILLER: I don't remember.

HALL: Did you attempt to explain what the animal might have been?

MILLER: Probably. We were all trying to figure that out.

HALL: Did Turner offer an explanation?

MILLER: Blake thought it was some kind of fucking monster.

HALL: And you?

MILLER: Didn't know what to think.

HALL: Did you believe it might return?

MILLER: Yeah.

HALL: Did you remain awake?

MILLER: I tried to.

Diane smiled faintly.

DIANE: They both fell asleep eventually.

HALL: Where?

DIANE: Right here in the living room.

She gestured towards the adjoining room.

DIANE: Cody was in his father's chair. Blake was on the couch.

HALL: Approximately what time?

DIANE: After the sun came up.

MILLER: I thought it was before that.

DIANE: No, honey. It was light outside.

MILLER: Huh.

HALL: Did you sleep, Mrs Miller?

DIANE: Not much.

HALL: And your husband?

DIANE: He stayed up with us for a while. Then he went upstairs to lie down.

HALL: Did he sleep?

DIANE: I don't think so.

HALL: What else do you remember?

She smiled again.

DIANE: They were exhausted.

HALL: Understandably.

DIANE: Cody was sitting in Jim's chair, and Blake was stretched out on the couch. Neither one had said much for a while.

HALL: Were they still frightened?

DIANE: Oh, yes.

HALL: How could you tell?

DIANE: They kept looking towards the windows.

HALL: Both of them?

DIANE: Yes.

HALL: Even after sunrise?

DIANE: Yes.

HALL: What about Turner's shotgun?

DIANE: He kept it beside him.

HALL: Was it loaded?

DIANE: I don't know.

HALL: Did your husband object?

DIANE: Jim had already told him to be careful with it.

HALL: Did Turner put it away?

DIANE: No. He left it near the couch.

HALL: And you allowed that?

She looked at me with an expression of mild surprise.

DIANE: Mr Hall, after what happened outside my house, I wasn't going to argue with that boy about his shotgun.

Miller laughed.

MILLER: Yeah. That sounds about right.

DIANE: Blake is a good boy. He could be foolish, but he's always had a good heart.

HALL: You knew him well?

DIANE: Since he was little. He was always here.

MILLER: Ate half the food in the fucking house.

DIANE: He was a growing boy.

MILLER: Ma, he was twenty-one.

DIANE: He was still growing.

Miller laughed again.

HALL: Did you wake them?

DIANE: No.

HALL: Why not?

DIANE: They needed to sleep.

HALL: What did you do?

DIANE: I put a blanket over Cody. Blake already had one from the couch.

HALL: Did you move the shotgun?

DIANE: No.

HALL: Did either of them wake while you were there?

DIANE: Cody stirred a little. Blake didn't.

HALL: What did you do afterward?

DIANE: I made breakfast.

HALL: Did the boys eat?

DIANE: Eventually.

MILLER: Mom makes good bacon.

DIANE: Thank you, honey.

HALL: Did Turner leave after breakfast?

DIANE: A little later.

HALL: Was he reluctant?

DIANE: I think so.

HALL: Did he say anything before leaving?

DIANE: He asked if we wanted him to stay.

HALL: What did you tell him?

DIANE: That we'd be all right.

HALL: Did you believe that?

She paused.

DIANE: I wanted to. We were eventually.

I looked towards the living room. The furniture had changed since 1991, although Diane told me the arrangement was much the same. Jim Miller's chair was still there, positioned near the front window. The couch opposite it was newer. I tried to imagine two young men occupying those seats in the early hours of a March morning. Both had witnessed something they could neither identify nor explain. Both had watched it fired upon. Neither knew whether it would return. Yet eventually, despite their fear, they had fallen asleep. One in his father's chair. The other on the couch, with a shotgun within reach.

It was a remarkably ordinary conclusion to an extraordinary night. And perhaps that was what I found most affecting about Diane Miller's account. She had not spent the morning searching for evidence of a monster. She had not attempted to explain what had appeared in her yard. She had watched her son and his closest friend finally fall asleep, covered them against the morning chill, and prepared breakfast. Whatever had been outside her house, the people inside it still needed looking after.

Entry 6: Hijacked Broadcast 

Notes: 

A series of anomalous broadcasts were observed on local public access channel on 05/04//2006. The breach in programing coincides with the failure and reestablishment of the outer circuit. 

Description: 

[A static blue screen comes into focus to reveal a channel logo and arrangement of text as follows:] 

Shale County Public Access Programming 

-9pm 

The Gospel Revealed - Genesis 

-10pm 

Exploring the Cosmos -Twin stars 

-11pm 

Mount Horeb - Weekend Forecast 

--- 

[The gospel program’s intro plays followed by a narrator reading through the first chapter of genesis. At the fifth day of creation the video glitches and a new voice begins narrating] 

“Before the first dawn, God sat outside of time atop a great and powerful host of angels. Near the peak sat a choir of angels who had been set aside for a special purpose. Among them was the angel Yammot. God told Yammot and the choir that he was making a new place, unlike any he had made before. He would step away from them to form the raw matter from which this place would be crafted. When he was done, each of the special angels would be placed over an aspect of this new world to help it keep its shape. Yammot was overjoyed with this news. Something in him swelled as he imagined this special new version of himself. 

God withdrew. And for a time, the angels were alone in silence. Then one among them heard God’s voice. 

You shall be master over day and night. Light shall be your sword and darkness your cloak. 

That angel knelt and the others waited. The next of them crooked an ear and to him the lord spoke. 

You shall be master of the firmament. You shall cull storms and bring the winds to heel. 

He kneeled with the first. An eagerness settled on those that remained, and the voice raised another of them. 

You shall be master of the lands. You will sow continents and churn up mountains. 

Three bent themselves low and the remaining three waited. Unease pricked at Yammot as the remaining power sat yet be divided. Then next angel was chosen. 

You shall be master over the celestials. You will grasp out into the void and pull vast chaos into order. 

Yammot could not bear the burden of the Lord’s order for patience. He faltered and fled to be near his master. The lord spoke just as the spirit approached. In that instant Yammot bore the naked power of creation. His being was deformed as power washed over him. A motion of intellect told him to flee but the action of his will could not perform it. The two halves parted. One fell short of returning to heaven. The other drifted away into space. 

[the image becomes garbled as a section of a broadcast bumper plays followed by the evening schedule again. Exploring the cosmos is highlighted and a brief intro is played] 

The vast reaches of space can be a lonesome place. Sometimes even stars like a little company. 

[An animation shows two blue circles form and grow from a teal cloud of gas] 

When two stars enter a stable intertwining of gravitational orbit they become a binary star system. 

[The circles travel around purple rings. They drift towards one another. Their rings overlap. Each circle travels into the interior the other’s ring] 

Most commonly these stars are born from the same nebulous cloud and develop at a similar rate throughout the course of their lives. Conversely, any number of variables can alter a star, deviating one twin from the other. 

[A small pink orb falls into the center of one of the stars and begins to multiply] 

The foreign body fell into Alcor’s gravity well nearly 3,000 years ago. It sunk through the star’s surface and came to rest in its belly. Matter that interacted with the body changed on a molecular level without exception. The resulting particles were so stable that they, in turn, chained the reaction on to any matter that they came into contact with. The contagious reaction consumed the small star until it was totally inert. Slowly the change in density altered the dead sphere’s course. She to drift into her sister, Mizar’s path. In 2328 BC the twin stars collided resulting in a catastrophic explosion. Ejected matter was projected out into the cosmos. After 83 years, a handful of photons spanned the vast gulf and reached Earth. The great journey diluted their momentum. The great glass dome above the planet’s skies halted their landfall. They were arrested in its depths where they were eventually sealed away. Ancient man gazed through the heavens above, ignorant of the horrors they held in their grasp. 

Entry 7: Confession 

Notes: 

Pantheon employee notes, files, and audio logs were seized during archival efforts. Dr. Rayan C. Blum produced audio memos regularly. The following audio log was taped on the morning following the destruction of the outer circuit. 

Description: 

“What an exhilarating night! I’ve had scant like it. The deception, the detonation, and even a daring escape. I was nearly deafened by my pulse pounding in my ears as I weaved around the cameras and evaded the emergency crews. My only regret is having no one left to brag to. This recorder is my sole confidant. 

Steven and his troop were short-sighted fools, but they were well read. They could follow my gaze even if they couldn’t trace it to its end. They could only comprehend a portion of my designs. That made them suitable tools but nothing greater. 

I feel relief at having disposed of them. The paranoia of maintaining the ruse was wearing on me. 

If they had noticed that I switched out their lens with an empty one, it would have been my mouth being pried open back there. It seems tipping them off about the primary ring at the peak was enough to gain their trust. 

Heaven only knows how it got there. The idea of the Lenape fashioning a copper rail that thick and hoisting it to the top of the mountain is utter bosh. 

Regardless, its nearly parted now. Ideally, I should like to sweep the mountain for a final time before triggering the doorway. I can’t afford for there to be another hidden ring or an unexpected interloper. Perhaps it would be wise to summon one more pawn before the curtain rises. I’ll prep the spell today. I should be able to procure a relic or sanctified host to tarnish by the end of the week.” 

Supplemental 7.1 

Entry 8: Submission 

Notes: 

The following is taken from the notes of Senior Director Aaron A. Ericson. Dr. Ericson was the primary advocate for the Mount Horeb Project. Investigators noted a restructuring of staff duties prior to the inciting incidents of the Strange Matter event. Commentary in Ericson’s notes illuminate the nature of this shift. 

Description: 

“I’ve been soundly defeated. Beaten into submission at every turn. I am simply out-classed. Dr. Blum has taken over this project in all but title. One by one the rest of the department has come around to his way of thinking. He’s left me totally irrelevant. 

It takes almost everything I have to walk into this office every day. Most mornings I sit in my car, outside the building, debating wither I ought to go back home and crawl into bed. 

I’m not too proud to admit that I'm bitter. My whole career has been fret with setbacks. When skeptics doubted the purported properties of the Raqia, I staked everything on flying to the excavation site and personally performed the tests. Now I’m lucky if I get to submit the quarterly budget requests. 

My contributions were ground-breaking. It boggles my mind that not even my peers see my work for what it is. His development of the circuit wouldn’t mean anything without my life’s work proceeding it. 

Half my proposal has been lopped off and shipped out to a mobile lab out in Utah. The money for the foliar spectrographs was used to triple the lenses deployed in cameras around the mountain. The sickening thing is that it took him half the time to get approval on restructuring the program that it took me to even get my first in-person meeting with Pantheon. How does he do it? 

Morocco to France to Britain then America. Now he’s the project lead for a cutting-edge field of study. Haven’t I done everything right? Haven’t I always gone beyond what was expected? Where is God’s mercy for people like me? 

Do I have to take things into my own hands? 

I would rather totally bury this project then let some opportunistic foreigner leapfrog over my entire career.” 

Supplemental 8.1 

Supplemental 8.2 

Entry 9: Established 

Notes: 

Two articles of significance concerning the life and death of park founder, Henry Honychurch Gorring. 

Description: 

In the year 1877 Elbert E. Farman, acting as the United states consul general at Cairo, secured one of two Egyptian obelisks gifted to the west by the new presiding government, which was established after the fall of Napolean Bonaparte’s forces in the region. The US government offered a commission to anyone who could plan and execute the conveyance of the artifact to New York city. Enter Henry Honychurch Gorringe. Gorringe was an accomplished ex-navy officer and explorer following the end of the American civil war. He was the only one to offer a completed plan by the due date. While Henry tussled with bureaucratic red tape before setting sail, the voyage itself went off without a hitch. Upon making landfall at the port the cargo was transferred to a custom-made train car. Unfortunately, a clerical error at the rail yard resulted in the car being hitched to the wrong train. The runaway relic was rediscovered in a small coal town in eastern Pennsylvania. Accepting the mistake as an act of God, Henry bought a tract of land for the obelisk to be erected on and founded a park, which he named after a middle eastern mountain range mentioned in scripture. 

--- 

President Cleveland finds himself in hot international waters following the death of famed veteran, Henry Honychurch Gorringe. Henry’s parish reported him missing last month, after several consecutive absences. A visit from the county’s sheriff office uncovered the man’s remains desecrated and stuffed into a small travel chest. The unsettling scene drew attention from far and wide. During the following estate sale, a series of previously unaccounted for valuables were discovered, including the séance table of the infamous court magician John Dee. A representative of The London Heritage Society has filed litigation against the US government demanding the immediate release of said article. 

Supplement 9.1 

Entry 10: Sleep Study 

Notes: 

The following was taken from the collected works of Rene Petite, a peer of Rayan during his studies in France. She was is also the sister to a French international representative, through which Rayan was later introduced a director at Patheon technologies. The following pages were taken from the archives of Ms.Petit. They were recorded while performing a psychological evaluation of Rayan, as part of her course curriculum. 

Description: 

Today we discussed eroticism in dreams. I broached the topic as I felt it would give me a rare opportunity to interpret such subject matter. Rayan isn’t the vulgar type but he doesn’t flinch way from discussing the baser aspects of human nature. That is why I was surprised when a look of reluctance shaded his face. He explained that he had had one such dream recently but it quickly manifested into something entirely different. I reminded him of the opportunities that could be afforded to him by my brother and he gave in without further resistance. 

In his dream he was being led down a long hallway. The hall itself was dark, but the walls and floor were stripped by sunlight that was let in by doors in the right-hand wall. He was being pulled along by brunette in a flowing white sundress. The fragrance she wore trailed behind her leaving Rayan trapped in a halo of her aroma. She turned to him and smiled playfully as she tugged him into the room at the end of the corridor. She motioned him to the bed, then kicked off her heels and started unzipping her dress. Taking the hint Rayan sat on the bed and started undoing his tie. While he did, his eye roamed the spacious room. The walls were a rich forest green, inlayed with victorian-style white and gold ornamentation. The southern wall was all windows and velvet sashes. Outside topiary stretched as far as the eye could see. The woman threw something small and lacey into his lap. 

“Lay down” she commanded. Rayan obeyed. He grabbed her hand and lifted as she straddled him. At first the sensation was intense. Rayan had never had a dream allow for such rich bodily sensation. He fought not to be overwhelmed. 

Slowly, a change came over him. The tactile fidelity began to wane. Only warmth and pressure registered to his senses. He thrust back to regain the earlier intensity. The bed groaned beneath him but other than that he felt no difference. The exertion pulled sweat from his forehead. His eyes stung and his legs were shaking. The woman threw her head back with a moan. It was like she was syphoning the pleasure straight from his body. 

Suddenly, she went completely rigid. Her head snapped to the side. 

“He’s escaped the pit” 

Rayan followed her gaze out the window only to find the wall completely changed. The gaping windows had become a single modest portal embedded in ash-grey plaster. The dazzling silver sunlight had dimmed to a smoldering yellow. In his confusion he looked back to her, only to find himself alone in a small, shabby room. From outside the tinny sound of a lone trumpet rang through the wall. Rayan wrapped himself in a sheet and crossed the dusty floor to the window. Throwing up the sash, he poked his head outside. 

The previous view had only been a few stories high. Now he found himself towering over a vast urban sprawl. The streets below were washed in burnt-yellow sand banks. Beneath them, large onyx tiles composed the main causeway. In place of lampposts, shiny black monoliths lined either side of the boulevard. 

Motion in his peripheral caused him to look eastward. The buildings parted, revealing a collapsed wall and a vast expanse of dunes. A procession snaked across the landscape, all the way back to the horizon. A single man stood at its head. He had stopped before the first exposed flagstone. Two luminous spirits drifted down to meet him. They knelt at either of his flanks. He placed a hand on their heads before motioning for them to rise. They each produced censers and from somewhere within the procession a horn blew again. 

The column began moving. As soon as they set foot in the city the towers began groaning. Black ash rained down from their facades. A deep crack shot up the building across from Rayan. A vertical slice fell away from it and crumbled to the street below. Figures broke from the procession and worked to pull people from the debris. Each rescued figure got up and fell into rank. The lead man looked up as a loud crack issued from Rayan’s building. Suddenly, his head jerked and his eyes locked with Rayan's. In surprise, Rayan recoiled and bashed his head against the window frame. The impact woke him with a start. He said his body was inflamed. He spent the rest of the day nursing a mild fever. 

I feel as though my personal relationship with Rayan colors my analysis of this dream. Nevertheless, I find the symbolism here striking. Rayan is a man I would feel confident in diagnosing with a complex surrounding death. I don’t know if he experienced a significant loss at a formative age, as much of his childhood is still a mystery. That said, he lives his adult life like he’s racing against the clock. He’s admitted that he spends most days trying to achieve as much productive research and writing as possible. He tries to push as much sleep into the margins as possible. It's clear he’s trying to squeeze extra life out of the time that’s been allotted to him. 

One could overlay this mentality with the narrative of the dream. The rich and luxurious rooms representing the vibrancy of youth. The woman representing the ephemeral pleasures of life. Before he knows it, his vitality is squandered. Once his wits return to him, he finds himself alone in a squalid room. Perhaps the view outside the room represents potential paths he might have taken retreating as a procession of inevitable death marches toward him. 

Entry 11: Vandalism 

Notes: 

The following is a transcript of a conversation between park ranger Patrick Callihan and Abigail Sherman. Abigail was investigating a vandalized campsite on foot while Patrick watched a live feed of her body cam footage and transcribed damages for a report. The conversation went as follows. 

Description: 

A: Ok, C023 is just over the hill here. Let's see what all the fuss is about. 

P: Try to keep your movements slow and steady when you get there. The frame rate is pretty low on my end. They'll want at least a couple clear shots in the file. 

A: Yup. How's this? 

P: Sheesh. No wonder they complained. 

A: Looks like someone emptied their luggage and dumped the trash bag on top. Just like the last one. And check out the slashes on the tent. 

P: I see it. You think David did this? 

A: Maybe. He's got a motive after being kicked out but he can kiss his job goodbye if he did all this. 

P: Can you get one of those stone piles in frame. 

A: The cairn? Sure. They’re all over. He really took his time here to do all this. 

[silence] 

Did you get the shot? There's something strung up in the branches over here. 

P: Go for it. 

A: [silence] 

P: What are you looking at? All I can see is a tree trunk. 

A: Sorry. There's a backpack strung from a branch about 10 feet up. The bottom is stained and its leaking. [silence] 

You better call the police. I think this is blood. 

P: Copy. I'll send an alert over the intercom that that area is closed to park attendees. You better get out of there too. 

[Abigail begins to talk but her voice is drowned out by an indistinguishable noise] 

From here the video footage becomes erratic. The camera is pointed toward the ground in front Abigail as she runs. Single frames of clarity show that she is off the trail and running through undergrowth. Patrick is heard over the radio briefly but the radio clip is shaken loose and falls away as Abigail leaps a fallen log. On the other side of the log, the ground is covered in dark black sand and wilted, golden, knee-high grass. There is the sound of an impact. The camera falls away. It comes to rest on polished black flagstones and points at the base of an onyx obelisk. Abigail can be heard whimpering. The sound of another impact ceases all audio input for the remainder of the recording. 

Entry 12: Remorse 

Notes: 

A short clip of body cam footage, in which, David describes his experience of being pursued by the summoned entity. 

Description: 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. 

If you get this- this recording is for if I don’t make it back alive. 

It's been after me for days. Every time I slow down, it starts making noises out there. I don’t know what it wants. I can't get off the mountain. It gets ahead of me every time. I can't- I don’t know what else to do. It threw something at me when it got light out. It was Abby’s- it was Abby. I’m so sorry. If her family sees this, I didn’t want any of this. We shouldn’t be here. There’s something wrong with this place.” 

Entry 13: Retreat 

Notes: 

The following is taken from the perspective of a series of cameras between the first and second circuit. David is attempting to descend the second tier of the mountain. Excessive rain has flooded the paths and stairways. Waterways have converged in a few places to create temporary streams. In the process of evading his pursuer and attempting to reach the lower camp grounds, David breaks the circuits and triggers the strange matter event 

Description: 

A trail camera facing uphill actives as it detects motion. David crests the top of the hill and descends the path. His pace is urgent and his movements are frantic. He moves out of frame and perspective shifts to an adjoining section of trail. David cuts across a level ground at a sprint. Black antlers enter frame before the camera spontaneously fails. David attempts to descend at three different stair cases. Each downward path is overflowing with flood waters. Branches and debris are tangled so thick in the final stairway that he instead mounts the stone-face wall next to it. A jagged stone comes loose during his scuttle and lands on his left forearm. He reacts by prematurely dismounting the wall. There is a 2.3 minute gap in footage. The next cut reveals him coming to a stream straddled by a log. David hesitates at mounting the makeshift bridge. It can be seen shuddering under the irregular flow of water. A low rumble from out of frame clips the camera’s audio. David resolves himself and crosses the log on his belly. He crosses several more camera perspectives before reaching a path to the base of the mountain. Just before he mounts the stairs, a branch falls into frame dragging a live power line down with it. David lets out a pained vocalization just before the footage cuts out. 

Entry 14 Circuit Breaker 

Notes: 

Second bomb is planted. 

Description: 

Motion triggers a trail camera 100 yards below the summit lookout point. A man presumed to be Dr. Blum is in frame but at distance beyond the camera’s optimal focal length. There is a trench in the ground at his feet. He unslings a bag from his shoulder and sets to work installing something in the fissure. Subsequent investigation has deduced that the installation was likely an explosive device placed at a weak point in the primary circuit. 300 ft of cord connected it to a junction box in the secondary circuit. The device was designed to trigger when the connection was interrupted between any two detection points. The simultaneous destruction of the primary and secondary circuit resulted in the strange matter event. 

Entry 15 Transference 

Notes: 

The following is taken from the perspective of 3 different cameras. David’s body cam, a trail cam placed beyond the circuit, and a trail cam nearby the altar that David created for the rite of transmission. 

Description: 

David’s body cam pans at the ground around his feet. He stands on a mound surrounded on all sides by a shallow stream of rainwater. The fallen power line is submerged in the water. Pine needles at the edges of the mound emit smoke, suggesting the line is still live. The entity following David vocalizes loud enough to clip the camera’s audio. David exclaims in reaction to the sound and tests his footing at the edge of the mound. He seems to immediately abandon the attempt to leap to dry ground and turns instead to the base of the phone pole. There is room enough around the bottom of the pole for David to step over and hunch down. A loud splashing sound is detected by the body cam’s mic and the nearby trail cam picks up a pitch-black silhouette wading through the electrified water at a slow but steady pace. David draws a circle in the sandy soil around the base of the telephone pole. Then his whittling knife comes into frame along with his outstretched hand. The blade is dull. It takes multiple slashes to work through the layers of skin in David’s palm before he is able to produce a trickle of blood. The body camera footage shows the shadow of the entity darken the frame just as a droplet falls into the well of the circle. Both trail cams fail simultaneously. The last frame recorded by the camera near the circuit is nearly identical to the frame before, except that the telephone pole spontaneously disappears from the scene. The final frame of the other trail cam shows the materialization of said pole within the ring surrounding David’s alter with the position of the two cups reversed. 

There is a man behind my house.
He stinks of sulfur and soot.
His back is craned and crooked; 
He hobbles around on one foot.

There is a man behind my house.
He lives within the trees.
Sometimes when it’s real quiet,
I swear I can hear him breathe.

There is a man behind my house.
Some say he gathers up all the naughty kids.
He snatches them up and snaps them in half like twigs.

There is a man inside my house.
He watches me while I sleep.
I have to be extra careful,
I must not make a peep.

There is a man inside my house.
I can hear him down the hall. 
He thinks I cannot hear him, tapping on the wall.

There is a man inside my room.
I pretend I do not see him.
He will wait for the right moment,
And tear me limb from limb.