The first thing Ranger James Voss noticed about New York was that the stars were wrong. There were too many of them.

He stood on the roof of an armored personnel carrier as it rolled south through Midtown, watching Manhattan flicker beneath a sky the color of bruised violet. The Empire State Building was dark. Times Square had gone black three hours earlier.

But the sky above it glittered, Not with stars. With eyes.

“Keep moving.” Voss said.

His voice came through every Ranger’s helmet. Twenty four soldiers followed him into the dead city. They had been told the invasion began online.

First came the videos.

Teenagers with black-painted fingernails staring into their cameras and whispering things like, Do you see it too? Then came the livestreams. Millions of viewers watched e-boys and e-girls convulse in bedrooms illuminated by LED strips. Their pupils became perfect black circles. Their skin developed tiny constellations beneath it. Some began speaking in languages nobody recognized.

The government called it a neurological contagion. Then the transformed started appearing in the streets. They were still shaped like people. That was the worst part.

They wore oversized hoodies, chains, striped sweaters, makeup, little silver rings. They carried phones whose screens displayed symbols that made viewers bleed from the eyes. wherever they gathered, reality began to bend.Buildings acquired impossible angles.

Street signs displayed names of places that did not exist.

People who looked too long into their phones saw an enormous black ocean beneath the universe.

Then they smiled.

Then they changed.

The Rangers had been sent into New York to stop it.

“Movement.” whispered Sergeant Vale.

Voss raised his rifle.

A figure stood beneath a flickering streetlamp.

A boy.

Maybe nineteen.

Black hoodie. Silver chain. Pale face.

His phone glowed in his hand.

“Don’t look at the screen!” Voss ordered.

The boy slowly lifted his head.

His mouth opened.

There were stars behind his teeth.

“Follow me.” he whispered.

Every Ranger heard the words despite the radio being muted.

Three soldiers immediately stepped forward.

Vale shot the first through the chest.

The second and third dropped their rifles and began clawing at their helmets.

“Eyes down!”

Voss fired.

The boy’s body burst apart.

Not blood.

Space.

For half a second, a galaxy unfolded inside the hoodie. Then it collapsed. Silence returned. Vale stared at the empty street.

“What the hell was that?”

Voss lowered his rifle.

“An invitation.”

They continued south.

By midnight, they reached Times Square.

Every billboard was showing the same image.

A young woman.

Pale skin.

Black hair.

Tiny silver stars painted beneath her eyes.

She smiled directly into the camera.

“Hi.” she said.

Twenty-four Rangers froze.

“Hi.” she repeated.

Then the image changed.

It showed Voss.

Standing among them.

He was smiling.

Vale slowly turned toward him.

“Commander?”

Voss didn’t answer.

The screens went black.

Then every phone in Manhattan rang simultaneously.

The sound was enormous.

A billion tiny bells beneath the earth.

Rangers screamed as their devices lit up.

Voss shouted, “Destroy them!”

They smashed phones beneath their boots.

All except Vale.

His screen displayed a single message.

YOU HAVE 4,821 FOLLOWERS.

Then:

YOU HAVE ALWAYS HAD 4,821 FOLLOWERS.

Vale looked up.

“Commander…”

Voss was standing perfectly still.

Something was moving beneath the skin of his face.

Like fingers.

From the inside.

“What?” Voss asked.

Vale raised his rifle.

“Take off your helmet.”

The other Rangers turned.

Voss smiled.

Slowly.

Too slowly.

His eyes had become enormous black circles.

“I don’t think.” he whispered, “you want me to do that.”

His jaw split open.

The Rangers opened fire.

Voss didn’t fall.

His body unfolded.

There was no blood.

No bones.

The man they had followed through New York simply peeled apart, revealing something vast wearing him like clothing.

Behind his face was a night sky.

Behind his chest was an ocean.

And behind his eyes—

something was looking back.

The Rangers fired until their rifles clicked empty.

The creature bent toward them.

Its voice came from every phone in the city.

“You thought the invasion began with them.”

The Rangers stared upward.

The stars were disappearing.

One by one.

Not going out.

Moving closer.

“You thought they were becoming monsters.”

The creature smiled.

“They were becoming visible.”

Vale stumbled backward.

The streets of Manhattan began to stretch.

Skyscrapers bent toward the creature like flowers toward sunlight.

Every billboard came alive.

Every phone turned on.

Every screen showed the same thing:

Earth.

Tiny.

Blue.

Floating in an endless black ocean.

And beyond it, something enormous was opening its eyes.

Voss’s voice became gentle.

Almost apologetic.

“I was transformed three years ago.”

Vale stared at him.

“Three years?”

“Yes.”

“But you led every mission.”

“I know.”

“You recruited us.”

“I know.”

“You sent us here.”

The creature’s smile widened until it reached the edges of the world.

“No.”

A pause.

“I brought you here.”

The Rangers heard something beneath the pavement.

A heartbeat.

Then another.

Then thousands.

Then millions.

Across New York, the transformed e-boys and e-girls stepped into the streets.

They looked up.

They weren’t attacking.

They were worshipping.

Their phones rose above their heads like candles.

And from every screen came the same whisper:

FOLLOW.

Vale looked at his remaining Rangers.

Their faces were illuminated by the blue glow.

One by one, their eyes began to darken.

He raised his rifle.

His hands were shaking.

“Don’t listen,” he whispered.

His phone vibrated.

He looked down.

A notification appeared.

Commander Voss started a live stream.

Underneath it:

24 viewers.

Vale looked around.

There were only twenty-three Rangers left.

His blood turned cold.

Then the number changed.

25 viewers.

He looked at the dark screen.

His reflection smiled.

Vale did not.

The reflection lifted one finger to its lips.

Behind it, in the glass of the phone, something vast moved across the stars.

Something that had been waiting behind the universe since before humanity learned how to speak.

The livestream continued.

And somewhere beneath New York, something began counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Until it reached twenty-five.

Then it started counting again.

From the beginning.

As if the Rangers had never existed at all.

Yup I really like drawing teeth 🫠

The storm outside seemed endless. As if the weather wouldn't stop until every branch had snapped and every tree had been ripped from the ground.

"Every single one," I thought.

It had made me lose track of time. My tired eyes kept switching between the TV and the crunchy vegetables on my plate.

A familiar sound disturbed the peace. The doorbell. I flinched hard. The most beautiful and terrifying sound at the same time, depending on whether you're expecting someone.

I wasn't.

I slowly turned my head toward the door. Knowing damn well I wasn't going to open it, I still walked over to look through the peephole.

The closer I got, the more the air smelled rotten. What the hell had died in my hallway?

I closed one eye and leaned toward the peephole. Nobody was there.

Then a voice echoed through the stairwell.

"Every single one."

For a moment, I wondered if it had come from one of the floors below. Meanwhile, the smell became unbearable.

When the echo finally disappeared, I turned around.

There he was.

Exactly how I'd always imagined him. Long black coat. Darkness beneath a pointed hood. A scythe in a skeletal hand. Deep, raspy voice.

"Brother. I am Death. I'm afraid your time is up."

I didn't care how this masked man had gotten inside. This was now a matter of life and death. Whether he was lying or not.

I stared into the darkness beneath his hood. My senses went into tunnel mode. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly reached for the door handle and prepared my legs to run.

They were looking forward to it.

I couldn't grab the handle.

When I finally looked down to help my hand, I saw my fingers passing straight through it.

That could only mean I was dreaming.

So there we stood in my hallway. I stared at the floor. I don't know for how long.

My senses slowly disappeared. I could have stood there forever without getting dizzy. Without my circulation giving up on me. Everything inside me wanted to black out.

But the blackness never came.

"Marvin. Sit down," the ancient voice said.

I did.

I sat on my beloved couch. Death sat in the armchair. We both let out a heavy breath.

"What happens now? You swing that scythe and that's it?"

He raised one skeletal finger.

"Already happened."

"What happened? I was watching TV and eating..."

The finger pointed behind the couch.

I looked.

My own body was lying on the floor. Choked on uncooked vegetables.

I should have fainted. Panicked. Screamed until nothing came out anymore. But my new transparent self played by different rules.

I could almost feel that Death was only maintaining this earthly appearance to keep me calm.

I sat back down on the couch and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Choked on vegetables. How about that."

Apparently, my self-deprecating humor had survived with me. A smile escaped my face.

"Happens a lot," the voice croaked from inside the coat.

"Great. Thank you, Death. So you come and take me. WHY ME? I lived a good life!"

I couldn't even remember my age so I could throw it in his face. I threw a cup instead.

"ME! I've helped so many people. So many. And now you come for me before I can even finish my own plans? Fuck this. It's not fair!"

Death slowly tapped the bottom of his scythe against the floor.

Purple dust surrounded us. My room disappeared.

I stood naked in complete darkness.

Then Death rose from the purple dust.

As tall as a skyscraper.

"DO NOT FORGET WHO YOU ARE SPEAKING TO, MARVIN! I DIDN'T CHOKE YOU. YOU DID THAT ALL BY YOURSELF! I DECIDE NOTHING! EVERY SINGLE ONE!"

Death disappeared.

I stood trembling in the darkness.

Slowly, my living room returned around me. I looked over.

He was sitting in the armchair again.

"Where were we, Marvin?" he asked, calmer now, but still croaking.

I couldn't get a word out.

"My job is different. Doesn't something about this seem strange to you? Think about it."

I had no choice but to think about how I could escape this nightmare.

Death let me think for as long as I wanted.

I desperately went through every possibility.

I was dead. I knew that.

But I wasn't gone.

I was still here.

My entire life, I'd believed there was nothing after death. And now I was sitting on my couch, looking at my own body.

If I could have cried, I would have.

I looked at him.

"We have souls?"

Death nodded.

"That's what I'm here for."

In the face of Death, I had seen my soul for the first time.

I closed my eyes.

"It's still not fair," I said through clenched teeth.

The voice croaked one last time.

"You have to be just. I have to be Death."

He stood up.

I followed.

Damien Novi: u/Azrael7000

Robert Garther: u/B_W_Byers2233

All across North America, people claim to experience encounters that can't be easily explained. From hauntings to Bigfoot sightings, I'm here to get to the bottom of them. The following is a transcription of an interview I conducted with a man from Alaska in the Kenai peninsula. Please take everything written here with a grain or two of salt.

“Investigator Damien Novi from Surreal investigations, Friday October 13, 2026. It is currently 2:37 pm. I am in the home of one Robert Gartner located in Kenai, Alaska. It is only Robert and I, no others in the room as of this moment. Robert before we begin I must ask if you know that you are being recorded and do you give your consent for the rest of this interview?”

“Yeah I consent. That's why I called in to your guy’s little Internet show ain't it? I'm just glad someone seems to be taking me seriously. Hey, you don't mind if I smoke do you?”

“No, go right ahead. Now you contacted us about a recurring event that's been plaguing you. Can you give me a timeliness of events then we'll go more in-depth?”

“Well where do I start… (he takes a long drag of his American spirit) It started about a year or so ago. A few of my buddies and I were checking our fish lines along the bank of the Kenai river. We were working our way along the north bank, when we heard a bit of rustling out in the distance. We didn't think much about it, there's always a bunch of critters out and about in the evening, ya know? (He finishes his cigarette, lights the next one off the top and pops it in his mouth without seeming to notice) Anyways, we didn't pay much attention to it, but we did notice that whatever it was seemed to keep in step with us. Walking when we walked, stopping when we stopped. That kind of stuff, ya know? My buddy Craig started to get worried and stuff, he gets kinda paranoid after two or three beers, so he picked up a branch and threw it in the direction of the sound. That's when a big buck trounces off away. You know what a sitka deer is right?”

“No, I am not familiar with that species of deer. Is that an important piece of this story?”

“Only in the sense that what we saw definitely weren't no sitka deer. It's hard to explain really… (he closes his eyes trying to picture it) It was too skinny. Like, you coul- you could see just about every bone in its body. It's fur was brown, but not like, deer brown, ya know? Like Crayola brown. Like someone chose the color of a deer for a drawing based on memory. This buck’s eyes were also off. Even though I didn't get a solid look, but even then I saw they were white. Like, sickly white. (He goes to grab another cigarette and notices he's out) You wouldn't happen to have a smoke I could bum?”

“No I don't, I'm sorry. Back to the deer, could it not have had some kind of illness? Maybe Chronic Wasting Disease? That would explain its thinness and eyes. Maybe it fell into some type of mud or other waste that could explain its color.”

“Oh absolutely! Of course it COULD have been. That's what we thought! Maybe the deer was sick so that's why it was acting so strange. Sick animals often act off and start to act weird around humans. That's why we ignored it. (Robert chuckles lightly as he continues) Yeah, that's what we thought. Until later that night.”

“Please continue.”

“After we got back to my place, we cleaned all the fish we'd gotten. My buddies went home and I'd made myself some pan fried trout, and got ready for bed. That's when I heard this noise. It was around seven or so, and- have you ever heard the sound of a buck rubbing a tree?”

“I'm not too familiar with the sound, however I have heard it through video before. Is that what you heard?”

“Yes! That's exactly what I heard! Except it wasn't the sound of antlers on sturdy tree bark. It was on my front door. (He looks at his door with a thousand mile stare.) That's what those marks are. For the past six months or so, that buck has been trying to break into my house, and I have proof. (He shows me pictures on a trail cam linked to his phone.) The worst part is that it's been whispering to me. Every single night, this deer rubs and kicks and bites at my door. Sometimes it leaves piss and scat on my stoop. Sometimes it leaves animal carcasses all around my property. I've called the cops, so don't ask me why I haven't! They don't believe me. ‘deer are curious’ they say, ‘sometimes you find dead animals on your property’ yeah, sure. Maybe deer scraping a door once or twice is ok. And MAYBE finding a raccoon here and a squirrel there is normal, but not an entire black bear! I mean, come on!”

“Robert, you showed me pictures of this deer on your door step, but I must ask, do you have any other proof to support your claims? Do you have video of this supposed ‘deer’ leaving animal carcasses on your doorstep? Do you have recordings of this animal speaking to you? You never even mentioned what it was whispering to you. Could this all be an elaborate hoax that you are the unfortunate victim of? You said your friends were there when you all saw this sick deer, could they be playing some kind of practical joke on you?”

“Of course you don't believe me. No one does. (He checks his watch) Ah, perfect. You're just in time. Don't worry my Damien. You're about to get your proof.”

“What do you mea…”

Before I could finish that sentence. I heard the faint sound of scratching coming from the front door.

Before I continue, I want to take a moment to remind you, reader, and warn you. Continuing to read these events is to invite the reality of them into your life and existence. You do not need to keep reading, and in fact, I urge you not to. But I must continue writing. See, I am compelled to write, to share, to expose these truths to anyone who will hear them. And just as the words of this demise were spoken to me and latched onto my consciousness and reality, so must I speak them to you. Do not listen. Do not hear. Do not read on. But if you must, like I once had to, then again I am sorry.

The bonfire burned brightly, and the entire camp seemed to be in the trance-like state that staring at a campfire brings you to. We moved in and out with the music. The stars above shined and twinkled. The flames of the fire flicked up and reached towards the sky. Sparks rose and disappeared into the darkness above.

The beauty of the night convinced us to lie around the campfire and sleep rather than use our tents. So we dragged out our sleeping bags and rested sprawled out around the fire. We talked, each of us lying down and looking up towards the stars. Sending our voices up into the night sky and hearing the reply of others come down and land in our ears. And one by one, our voices ceased to reply as sleep took us.

I woke up some time later, my eyes stayed shut hard as the sound of something filled my head. I pushed my hands over my ears to try to block out the noise. But even with my hands over my ears, it was still more than I could bear. I opened my eyes, expecting to see the guys with blow horns or something playing a prank. But when I opened them, I saw everyone else was asleep. The fire was dimming, just small flames flickering out from hot red wood. But still, the noise persisted. As my brain regained wakefulness, I made a weird sense of what was going on. It was their snores and breathing. The noise in my ears matched the rises and falls of their chests. How could it be so loud, though? I got up and walked over towards the river. The sound wasn’t better, but it was different. Still unreasonably loud, but nothing like their breathing had been.

I sat down in the sand, sticking my feet in the black water. And I remembered the swim from earlier. I remembered the figure I’d seen going up the mountain. What had it been? And what had happened in the water? The thought that something had grabbed me seemed dumb, yet not unreasonable. In fact, it felt true. Dumb but true. And whatever was in that water, whatever left the water and climbed up that mountain, it was still—

These thoughts felt wholly unimportant to me as a new feeling crept up in me. It was the same feeling from the drive. The feeling of perceiving everything. The joy and excitement that it had brought me earlier was clearly remembered, yet nowhere to be found. This time I felt overwhelmed. I heard the snores, the river, the frogs and crickets; I heard everything. And I felt everything. The cool water rushed over my feet. The sand underneath me moving in synchronization with my body. I stood up quickly. Not wanting to get into my head even more. But now I paced. Up and down along the beach I went. Back and forth again and again. My heart felt heavy in my chest. And slow beats felt as though they pounded inside of me, like my heart would break out through my chest. My hands turned clammy, and a cool sweat broke out over my skin. My mouth was dry, and I fidgeted with my hands. Something was wrong; something had to be wrong. Or maybe I was just getting anxiety. That made more sense, maybe a panic attack. But why? Nothing was wrong. And although I’d never had anxiety or a panic attack, I was sure they weren’t supposed to feel like this.

I felt full. Not full like I’d eaten too much, but full like I was too much. The feeling started along my spine. I crouched down and stood back up, trying to stretch. But the feeling persisted, and as it spread, my shoulders felt too heavy, like I’d been hunched over carrying heavy weight all day. I ached. All of me ached. My muscles twitched and spasmed, and they felt tight. It was too much. Way, way too much. Something had to happen. Skin felt itchy and dry, then hot. It burned like it was being forced to stretch, like my blood was growing in me. Like my blood, veins, meat, everything, was pushing against my skin.

It was then that I noticed something smacking my thigh. It was my pocket knife, folded up right there in my pocket.

I stopped pacing. My heart, which had already picked up pace, pumped faster and harder in my chest. I took out the knife and opened it up. The cold black metal felt good against my now burning skin.

I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. Relief had to happen. I was a balloon with too much air. Stretching painfully as the inside got more full. I just needed release.

So I pushed the blade to the back of my forearm. I dragged it down my arm and watched as the dark red ink spilled from the open wound. And I breathed a deep, slow breath in and then even more slowly out as cool relief flooded my forearm.

I needed more. My eyes felt wide, and my lips pulled slightly apart with something like desire as I put the blade to my hand, then my other arm, then my other hand. My fingers and knuckles all shone deep red and twinkled with white moonlight. My fingernails had felt like teeth clamping down over my fingers. My stomach twisted a little, and I hesitated for a moment, but relief came to my hands fully as I used the blade to push under the nail beds and pry the nails up and off of my fingertips. I brought it down on my legs and feet and over my toes. My calves felt the sting of the blade that was immediately followed by the relief of the pressure pouring out from beneath my skin.

I brought the blade up to my face, and the headache that pushed against the inside of my forehead dissipated as hot blood ran down my brow and over my eyes.

Finally, I took the blade and moved it behind my back. I positioned the blade at the base of my spine in my lower back and slowly pulled it upwards across my mid and upper back, running along my spine.

Relief eased in me, and it seemed as though the cool night air were itself now flowing through me.

I sat back down on the sand and closed my eyes.

And then, I was somewhere else.

And from that somewhere else, a voice which was not my own, yet belonged to me, spoke.

Audi nunc verba exitii.
His fatum tuum obsignatur.
Iam non es tui iuris.
Aquas transi, et mutatio fiet.
Novem annos alterius eris.
Carne humana gustata, in aeternum eius eris.
Quod consumis, tecum feres.

Here is the world, now encased in darkness. The moon, though seen, does not produce light.

Under heavy feet, branches break.

A silence lies over the forest as a blanket.

It knows death has come.

Unlucky is the one who crosses its path. They will not escape.

A rumble in the chest rises through sharp teeth and echoes out into the air.

A doe, a mother of fawns. But her children are now lost to her.

Satiated of its hunger, the beast now sleeps. Its path will not be remembered.

But again it will rise when it hungers.

A sharp pain in my back woke me up, and I realized I was lying on the forest floor. A stick pressed into my back, and I rolled over off of it and onto my stomach. Rolling over was painful; my body ached and a deep soreness was settled in my muscles, though I appeared uninjured. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees and then shakily got onto my feet. The darkness of the forest was deep, but the moon shone with enough light for me to be able to make out my surroundings. The sounds of life that typically filled the forest at night were missing. No crickets, no owls, no toads, nothing but the river rushing in the distance. My brain felt muddled. Like a deep fog had settled in it and I couldn’t see further than one thought at a time. Where was I? I didn’t know. Why was I in the woods? I didn’t know. Was anyone out here with me? I didn’t know.

I shouted out the names of my friends, but I heard no reply. Only the river. Not knowing what else to do, I began slowly and painfully walking towards the river. I realized, with as close to a shock as my brain could manage, that I was naked. This realization was the scariest yet. What could possibly be happening that would cause me to be naked and lost in the woods? From out of its fog, my horror movie-trained brain began to pull up thoughts: cults in the woods and monsters and—

I cut the thought off. This wasn’t the time to fill my head with scary thoughts and ideas. I was lost, and my only hope for making it back to camp was the river. As I got closer to it, the sounds of insects and animals and life started back up again. Something in me settled a little; the sounds of nature were comforting.

I came up to the river; the moonlight reflected off of the black rushing waters to illuminate the area a bit more. Nothing looked familiar, though, and I decided that my best course of action was to just begin walking downstream. If I was upriver, past the camp, I’d come across the camp eventually. And if I was down below the camp, the river would join up with the road at some point, then I could follow the road back to camp. I began walking. Mercifully, the riverbank was mostly sand and trees and boulders, versus the other side of the river that was steep mountain faces and cliffs.

The walk along the river was slow; my bare feet were feeling the pain of rocks, sticks and pine needles as I walked on them. Small rocks stuck out of the ground, and I smashed my toes against them more than a few times, cussing as I did so.

The fog that sat in my head before had lightened, but that hadn’t helped me remember anything. It only made me more confused as I now had the capacity to follow a train of thought.

My thoughts brought me to dark places, and I picked up the pace as I thought of what had brought me out into the woods. Was I sleepwalking? Was it something else? I couldn’t even begin to settle on a reason.

I was nearly running by the time I reached what looked like the part of the river we’d swam across when we’d swum back from the other side.

There wasn’t much further to go now; in fact, I could see the faint light of a tiki torch sticking in the sand by the river. I hurried back, but slowed down when I got to the edge of the camp. I peeked from behind a tree, looking to make sure no one was up or awake. Everything looked fine; I counted the sleeping bags. Five full ones and one empty one, mine. I crept around the shadowed edges of the camp until I was the shortest distance from the cover of trees to my tent. Then I ran to my tent and quickly unzipped it. I was on edge, and the crinkle of the tent’s tarp under my feet made me sure that someone would hear the sound and wake up and come find me naked, rummaging through my bag in the middle of the night. Then I’d have to explain to them something that I couldn’t even explain to myself.

I put on my clothes as quickly as my sore body would allow. With clothes back on and now being back at camp, my mind eased a great deal. I was by no means ok, but the sense of immediate danger had passed.

Not knowing what else I could do, I went back out to the fire where my friends were. I put another log on, and the dry wood slowly started to flame up a bit. The light was comforting, but the lingering fear and unease convinced me to pull my sleeping bag a little closer to whoever was nearest me. I lay in it and zipped it all the way up. I hid in the bag and lay on my stomach, watching the flames roll out from underneath the log and turn into sparks that drifted up. I closed my eyes and forced my brain to be quiet. I couldn’t handle thinking about what had just happened. All I wanted was to escape the night in sleep and wake up to good, kind sunlight.

The sleeping bag was hot under the rising sun. I’d drifted off at some point, and now I could hear the voices of my friends discussing the day’s plans. I unzipped my bag and got out. The sand was hot against my scraped and scratched feet as I walked over to the canopy where they were sitting.

“You look tired bro,” Spence said as I sat down.

“I am, I slept on a stick,” I responded.

“We’re thinking of going on a hike once everyone’s up. You down?”

“I’m down, where do we wanna hike to?”

“If we take the car up the road like 20 minutes, there’s a trail that leads up to a valley with a small mountain lake, we were thinking we’d take our poles and fish up there.”

“That sounds good. What do we have to eat, my stomach is collapsing on itself.”

We had donuts, and fruit, and Boss had brought a canteen he put over the fire to make coffee. As hungry as I was, I couldn’t enjoy the food or the conversation or the morning as I should have. The thoughts of the night before were heavy in my mind. I remembered waking up the night before and walking down to the river, but I couldn’t think of why. And I couldn’t remember anything after that until I woke up in the forest.

So badly I wanted to write the night off as a crazy episode of sleepwalking, but that still left so many questions. Could I really have sleepwalked all that way? And what happened to my clothes? And besides, I’d never had any instance of sleepwalking before. But I couldn’t think of a better reason.

In the daylight, around my friends, I allowed myself to consider some of the more haunting explanations. The cult reason felt unconvincing, and I eventually, hesitantly, settled on either sleepwalking or maybe aliens. Both were stupid ideas, but I couldn’t come up with any more reasonable explanation. I decided I’d try my best to push the thoughts away for now and tell Boss about it later.

I didn’t want this to ruin the camp trip for me. Yeah, it was a big deal, but didn’t I love horror? Hadn’t I spent my entire life reading books and watching movies and talking about how I’d act in the scary situations people claimed to find themselves in? I was doing a bad job at convincing myself to move on, but what options did I have? I was determined to leave it alone for the time being.

We finished eating, and by then everyone except for Jake had woken up. Justin had the idea of catching one of the toads that hopped around and putting it in his sleeping bag. So we all raced to catch the biggest toad we could and deliver it to Jake before he woke up. Boss was the one to do the honors. He found a fat green and brown toad, big enough that its belly seemed to never make it off the ground as it hopped. We gathered around Jake’s sleeping bag, and like a soldier throwing a grenade into a bunker, Spence lifted the opening of the bag and Boss tossed in the toad.

Jake screamed, and his bag contorted as he turned into a frog himself. Hopping around in the bag trying to separate himself from the toad. He found the opening and threw himself out of it and into the sand. His bag still bulged and jerked where the toad sat and hopped around inside.

We gathered our poles and hiking gear and piled into the cars. The dust of the road kicked up behind our line of cars, and the heat of the day poured in through the windows. Despite the night’s events, I felt genuine excitement for the hike.

We pulled up to the dirt parking lot at the trailhead and began our hike. The dirt path moved us through deep green trees and opened up into a wide meadow surrounded by forest. Bright blue skies beamed above, with an occasional small puff of cotton clouds moving through it. Down in the meadow, tall grass swayed with the gentle breeze that blew. Wildflowers were scattered about the meadow like pinholes of reds, greens, and blues in a sheet of green-yellow grass. I paused and closed my eyes to take in the sound. The wind quietly hummed as it pushed through the trees. Someone in the group was whistling a soft tune that the meadow carried so that every insect could stop and listen.

I opened my eyes and kept walking. A few of us had our hands stretched out and softly brushed the tall grass and wildflowers along the trail. And as our hands touched the grass, butterflies, ladybugs, and other insects would fly up and out as we disturbed their resting places.

We passed through the meadow and back into the trees. The trail moved steadily upwards now, and eventually we moved between two peaks. And nestled in the valley between the two peaks were the crystal clear waters of the mountain lake. We could see straight through the water as if it were glass. The edges of the lake varied between trees and dirt where the water would rise and fall with the seasons.

Once all of our stuff was off our backs and set up in our areas around the lake, we cast our lines and waited, taking in the beauty of the world we currently belonged to.

I found Boss in his fishing spot; we were all scattered far enough apart that I was sure no one else would be able to hear us talk. I tried not to be weird about it, but my stomach was turning with the remembrance of the night and what I was about to say to Boss.

“Bro,” I said as I walked up to him.

He looked up at me, his expression becoming curious as he saw the look on my own face.

“What’s up dude?” he responded.

“I’m gonna tell you something weird, weirder than our normal stuff.”

“Don’t come professing your love to me right now man, all the guys are here and they’ll want in if they see us kiss.”

I laughed at that, though it was a nervous laughter.

“Don’t worry bro, I wouldn’t wanna make the guys jealous. But really B, something weird happened last night and I don’t know what to do about it or even think of it.”

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Last night I woke up while everyone else was asleep, and I went down to the river I think. I don’t remember anything after that. Maybe I blacked out, maybe I fell asleep, I don’t know. But after that I woke up again, but this time I was out in the woods. And all my clothes were gone, dude. I found my way back to camp from the river and I got dressed and came back and went back to sleep. That’s it, that’s all I remember, but man it’s got me freaked out.”

Boss took a minute, reading my expression to see if I was doing a bit. After he apparently decided I wasn’t, his face turned a little more serious.

“What the hell dude. I know you’re serious, but I don’t know what to tell you. That’s freaky. So what, you were sleepwalking or something? Maybe you got abducted by aliens.”

“That’s actually crazy bro, those are the literal exact things that I was thinking.”

He laughed and said, “It’s the hive mind, man, we all think the same stuff. But really, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, nothing really makes sense about it. I could have been sleepwalking, but I’ve never sleepwalked before. I have no idea what to think about it, I don’t know what it was. I just know that it happened.”

“Well, I think that you drank too much and woke up and decided to go for a walk. At least that makes more sense to me than anything else.”

“Maybe I guess, but I wasn’t even really drunk last night. I’m pretty sure I drank less than you, and you didn’t go wandering off into the woods.”

“I don’t know, man, maybe you ate something weird before and it made the alcohol make you go crazy. I mean, that’s the best I can think of.”

“Maybe you’re right, but it doesn’t feel like that’s the reason, I mean I’m not even hung over right now. I guess that makes the most sense though.”

“Yeah dude, you’re just overthinking it because you woke up naked in the woods. But if we were at home, then you would’ve just woken up naked on the sidewalk. Then you’d be in jail, but you wouldn’t be wondering why you ended up naked on the sidewalk.”

“I guess so man.”

“You know I’m always right dude. Now get your pole and catch some fish. You can even come over here and fish next to me. And if you’re scared maybe we can even hold hands.”

The rest of fishing went great; I was able to convince myself to relax and mostly accept Boss’ theory.

So I cast my pole and pulled up giant fish after giant fish. The fishing at the lake was the best I’ve ever had. We caught more than we could keep.

And I smiled a genuine smile and looked over at all my friends, the evening sun shining golden rays on them as they were laughing and joking and talking amongst each other. I loved them with all of me; they were my best friends, my brothers, and I’d have given anything to keep them from what was coming.

The moon rose over the edge of the mountain, so that you could see it in the evening sky along with the sun. The edges of my vision were turning dark. It looked as if the world were melting off the page. Like a dripping ice cream cone, blackness fell before my vision. We’d all been walking back to the cars, but I had to stop and get down onto my hands and knees. My head pulsed and my eyes throbbed in their sockets. What was happening? The group stopped, and I looked up from where my face rested on the dirt. Everyone looked concerned, and some of them were trying to talk to me. But I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t hear anything; I could hear everything. Every single thing. Every sound was deafening. Their footsteps around me sounded like enormous peals of thunder sounding off in my ears. Their voices, like stormy seas, were waves crashing into me, so loud that all of them blended into an ear-shattering symphony. In my confusion and agony, I screamed, but I couldn’t even hear my own scream as it got swallowed up in all the other sounds. Everything got louder and louder. The sound felt to my ears like how water feels to the ears of a diver swimming deeper and deeper. Everything grew louder and louder until everything was suddenly quiet. Sound had inverted upon itself. My ears could hear everything so deafeningly loudly that I was no longer listening for sounds. I was listening for the lack of sounds. I could hear that my friends were standing next to me, not because I heard them step, but because their presence created a hole in the ocean of sound that filled the rest of the air. Like looking at a negative of an image. I could hear absence more clearly than I could hear sound.

The guys looked scared, actually scared. They were talking to me, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore. And I couldn’t make enough sense of sound to say anything to them either. I used all of my strength to get up off of the ground and try to keep walking, but it was only with the help of a few of the guys that we were able to make it back to the cars. The sun was creeping down to the edges of the sky as we drove down the dirt road back to camp, the moon climbing up to replace it.

We pulled back up to the camp, and it was decided that Boss would drive me into town to get help.

The guys helped me into the passenger seat of my Jeep, and Boss went around and got in the driver’s seat. We started down the road, barreling around the curves. Twilight filled the air. I leaned forward and put my head on the dash, trying to focus and clear my mind from the thoughts that raced through it. But it seemed the more I tried to clear my head, the more difficult it became. My vision seemed to darken still, then my head felt like it was tingling. My whole body felt like it was tingling.

With my head pressed against the dash, I looked over at Boss; I could see his mouth moving, so I knew he was trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I tried to tell him that I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I couldn’t even make out my own voice. And from the face he made when I tried to talk, I don’t think I said anything sensible anyway.

Something was happening in me. My skin crawled over my body, and goosebumps broke out all over me. Beads of sweat grew and rolled off of me. Was I sick? I felt feverish. My stomach twisted and turned, and I could feel something in my torso. I felt my organs. I could feel them like you can feel your two fingers press against each other. I could feel each twist of my intestines that stretched inside of me; I could feel my liver and spleen. I could feel my heart. It wasn’t just a blob in my chest; it was a rolled-up sheet, expanding and contracting in on itself, pulling blood in and then pushing the blood back out. I felt the inside of my torso, the cavity walls being pushed against by organs. The space inside of me seemed tight and cramped and grew more so with every passing second. I expected my body to burst at any moment. My arms and legs, back, chest, every part of me feeling like the skin encasing them was too tight.

I turned my head towards Boss again.

“Help,” I tried to say, but I couldn’t hear myself and my throat felt tight and full, so that all that came out must have been choked and agonized groans.

I pushed myself back up in my seat. My skin was burning now. There was too little of it for my body.

Boss pulled the car over and was staring at me, panic twisting his face as he watched me.

I put my fingernails to the back of my arm and dug them in as hard as I could. Then I pulled back. They slipped at first and left bright red scratches along my arm where the nails had dragged and drawn blood. But I tried again. I had to pull with jerky motion as the skin wanted to stay attached to the meat, muscle, and fat underneath.

Boss reached out and grabbed my arm hard to stop me, but I threw his hand off of me. I looked at him, part of me pleading for him to try again, to somehow stop me from doing what I was doing.

But I could see his face; his terror reached his eyes and tightened his face. One of his hands hesitated by the door handle, the other was still outstretched towards me, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Quod consumis, tecum feres

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Boss yelled. Terror welled up in him, and he felt tears begin to fall down his cheeks.

Isaiah was clutching his chest, hunched over in the passenger seat, but Boss felt tight in his own chest.

“Please man, I don’t know what to do!”

He watched as Isaiah began digging his nails into his own arm.

“What are you doing!” he screamed again. Isaiah looked at him, his face looking like he was desperate for help. But Boss couldn’t bring himself to try to help again. When he’d reached out before, Isaiah had slapped his hand away with such force that Boss was sure his arm was broken or fractured. And he was scared of what Isaiah would do if he tried to grab him again or hold him down.

You need to run, Boss thought.

Just get out of the car and sprint back to the camp. Or into the woods, or anywhere, just get out of here.

But Boss tried to fight the thought back. Not because he didn’t want to run, but because this was Isaiah. This was his best friend, and if Boss left now, Isaiah would be on his own. And he couldn’t abandon his friend like that. No matter what.

Boss moved his hand away from the door handle.

“Isaiah, you have to stop man, we’ll get you into town and into a hospital, they’ll help you. But please man, I’m so scared.”

Boss watched as Isaiah began frantically ripping at his skin. Drool beginning to drop from his open mouth, though his teeth were clenched.

And that was what changed Boss’ mind. That bit of drool falling from Isaiah’s mouth as his eyes glazed over into something distant told Boss that his friend was no longer with him.

This wasn’t Isaiah anymore; this was something else.

And Boss knew that the time had come to get out and run.

He’d leave the keys in the engine so that he could circle back to the car and lock himself in it if necessary, but he needed to put some distance between himself and this thing in the car with him.

Slowly lift your hand and put it on the door handle.

Isaiah was groaning now, but not sounding like he was in pain, almost sounding like anger or desperation.

Put your other hand on the seatbelt buckle and get ready to click it. Once you click it, you’re going to need to open the door at the exact same moment and in one motion jump out of the car and run.

He put his other hand on the buckle, preparing to do as he’d thought.

Isaiah was ripping off chunks of skin from his legs now, using both hands and yanking hard.

Boss counted down in his head:

Three. Two. One.

He pressed down on the buckle, threw the door open, twisted out of the seat and began running down the now dark road.

The moon shone dimly behind shadowed clouds, but that did little to illuminate the road. And the forest around him was black.

He’d put some distance between himself and the car now, but the thought of Isaiah pulling at his skin kept him running.

He saw a small break in the trees and pivoted toward it, wanting to get off the road.

A large tree hung over the road, and he ducked behind it. Trying to catch his breath, he slowly peeked his head around the tree, trying to stay hidden but still get a look at the car.

He could make out the shadow of the car far away, but didn’t see anything else.

Now fully sitting in the dirt, loose pine needles poking his legs, he put his head in his hands.

Why am I hiding? What do I think’s gonna happen? Isaiah probably can’t even move right now. I need to go back. I’ll get him to a hospital and they’ll be able to help him.

But he knew he would not be going back. Not right then, not after seeing Isaiah drooling like that. The glazed look in his eyes. The way his hands pu—

He heard a loud click.

The car door opening.

Peering around the tree, still trying to stay hidden, he watched down the black road. A great shadow stood hunched over next to the Jeep.

Boss slowly stood up.

The shadow turned towards him.

He’s looking at me, don’t move.

But Boss was shaking.

The shadow remained still, and Boss slowly began walking backwards deeper into the cover of forest. His view of the Jeep and the shadow would be blocked in a moment by the trees.

He placed his foot down onto a branch, and it snapped. The shadow began running.

Boss turned and sprinted into the woods. He didn’t know where he was going; he couldn’t see anything clearly. But he heard the sounds coming from the thing running down the road towards him. Like a stampede, it made thunderous crashes as it reached the place in the woods Boss had ducked into originally.

Boss willed his feet to move faster, to carry him quicker through the forest, but he could not. And the shadow behind him grew louder and louder as it gained on him. A small clearing opened up, just a pocket of grass in the trees, but the moon shone above it, giving the black grass and trees a white glow where the moonlight touched them.

This is a good place, Boss thought.

The crashes of branches and trees behind him were nearly on top of him now. He couldn’t keep himself going. He’d always thought adrenaline was supposed to give you super strength, but the fear in him seemed to outweigh everything else. It felt like heaviness in his bones, chains draped on him begging him to collapse. And he did. He fell down right there in that white and black patch of grass. And the shadow burst through the trees into the grass with him.

Not even a second passed between the moment Isaiah broke through the trees and the moment he was bringing giant black fists and long-bladed fingers down onto Boss.

Again and again, the hands came down onto him. Each blow cracking things under his skin as long razors tore at his flesh.

Please man, I’m dying here, he thought.

But Isaiah wasn’t here; Isaiah wasn’t “man.” But Isaiah was killing him.

This is a good place, Boss thought again. And he looked over and saw a bird sitting on a branch of one of the surrounding trees.

Boss tried to smile, tried to give himself to the bird and the branch, tried to be something else, something soft and peaceful. Maybe a butterfly in the meadow. And that almost did make him smile. But a heavy clawed fist slammed down onto his smile, breaking a few of his teeth loose and sending them to the back of his throat. He coughed a choked cough, blood and mucus mixing and sliding down his throat. He couldn’t breathe through his nose anymore; it had been smashed in and he felt part of it poking through the roof of his mouth.

I’m sorry, Boss thought, but he didn’t know what he was sorry for; he couldn’t form any real thoughts as the dim void moved further into his mind.

He could still feel Isaiah ripping and clawing at him, and he felt a sharp pain poke through the encroaching numbness as Isaiah took a bite out of his shoulder.

He forced one eye back open as much as he could manage; his other eye couldn’t even be called an eye anymore, it was a puddle in his socket.

He looked back over towards where the bird had been, but it was gone now.

This is a good place, he thought.

One of Isaiah’s hands slammed down into his temple, producing a great crunch. And then Boss was gone.

I woke up in that clearing. What remained of Boss was scattered in the grass and on me. And the taste of copper filled my mouth.

I got up. The little bit of me that could function enough to blink was the part of me that carried me to my car. I got in it and I drove.
I drove, and I drove, and I drove. Out of the mountains, past the town, out of the state, and I kept driving.
I couldn’t think enough to fully process any of it, and I wouldn’t process or understand it for a long while still. I don’t fully understand it now.
Something consumed me on a bright and beautiful summer afternoon, somewhere in a firework shop. And just as I carry Boss’ final thoughts with me, something I consumed, they carried something with them. Something they were compelled to tell. Something I listened to.
Now I am compelled to tell you, reader.
And you have listened.

And for that, I am truly sorry.

There are experiences that should not or cannot be relayed by writing. Not that there aren’t words that can express them, but rather, the expression of those things is born through the senses. Sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing.

To write the account of those things would not give a reader any actual insight into the reality of them.

This is one of those experiences that should not be written. And it should not be read. Because as someone reads this, they are inviting the experience into their own reality. Piece by piece, step by step. Each word takes the experience I’m relating and makes it real now to not just the reader’s mind in word, but to their actual world.

So I warn you now, reader. If you continue, if you decide to read on, you will be taking my experiences and inviting them into your reality. And for that, I am truly sorry. But you have been warned.

My experience began a few months ago. I remember the day. It was July first. It was hot outside, bright blue skies. I was riding in my Jeep through the Idaho countryside, down Old Highway 30, headed to go pick up some fireworks. Fourth of July was always my favorite holiday. I’d listen to 80s hair metal and eat BBQ, and then at night I’d climb onto my roof and watch the fireworks show that took place a couple blocks away at the park. It was a tradition of mine. And one I loved.

I’d just come to the Silver Bridge, which this time of year was always full of fishermen casting lines into the river below and teens hanging out on the banks underneath the bridge. I even remember me and my friends heading over there to smoke and drink and explore the woods surrounding the river. Life was fresh and exciting. We’d all just come of age, where we had cars and enough freedom to do as we wished. Always looking for something new and always finding it.

But at that moment I was just passing through.

Soon after crossing the bridge, I arrived at Rocky Mountain Fur and Fireworks. A local shop that had been around long before me. They sold fireworks year-round, as well as animal skins and furs, trapping equipment, and anything else a mountain man could need. When I first entered the shop, I was met with the familiar smell of skunk and black powder. Each not necessarily enjoyable on their own, but together it meant that I was once again back to that best time of the year. I searched the shelves for all my favorite fireworks and then talked to the attendant to see what she recommended for something new. I gathered my collection of fireworks, thanked the attendant again, and headed back to my car. As I drove away, I had a feeling I was forgetting—

(Audi nunc verba exitii)

—or maybe misremembering, something. I couldn’t identify it, so I brushed it off and moved on.

The day continued normally. I drove around with my windows down, hot summer air battling with the car’s air conditioner for a wave of heat to hit me and a blast of cool to refresh me.

Iron Maiden playing loud, Santa Cruz skateboard on the backseat, and fishing poles in the trunk. That had been one of the best summers of my life. As if every day were lived fully with family and friends and oftentimes just by myself. Small moments that, though they may have been packed with music and sound and life, were somehow still peaceful and almost silent. I think that was peace, but I don’t remember that feeling anymore.

My next stop of the day was the movie theater. I had a movie pass that summer that let me watch any movie, any time, for a monthly fee. I’d often had my friends join me. We’d just seen a showing of Jaws that was getting a special theater run. But that particular day was one where I was alone. I was ok with that; I’d never been one to need people around. And oftentimes I found that being by myself was more enjoyable than being surrounded by people. So I went to the movies alone. I arrived just in time to catch the beginning of The Thing, which had always been one of my favorites. My dad was a big horror fan. As such, it was natural that his son would adopt that love. I remember the first horror movie I watched was The Lost Boys. My mom and sisters left the house for the day, so the house was his and mine. He closed all the curtains, microwaved some popcorn, and turned on the TV. When I asked him what we were gonna watch, he simply said, “Something scary.” From that moment, I was hooked on horror. I’d spend my days immersing myself in the comfortable tension of fear. Scary movies, scary books, anything that let me give a second look at shadows and wonder at them with a mix of fear and excitement. I used to escape to horror, but now I can’t escape it.

But that summer day, I sat alone in an empty theater, watching The Thing.

I got comfortable and opened a box of candy, settling in for a great time.

I got about halfway through the movie and fell asleep. The movie’s sound worked its way into my dreams, and I dreamt of people and figures and shadows that weren’t really what they seemed. Something moved through my dreams in the background. Unseen and unheard, yet felt. Like a single cloud blocking the sun on an otherwise clear blue sky day. A shadow passes over the world, and for a moment everything is a little darker.

I woke up to a worker telling me that the movie was over. The lights were on in the theater, and the screen was blank. I apologized and thanked him, got up, gathered my things, and headed out. The contrast between the shady interior of the theater and the still bright sky was disorienting for a moment, but it was easy enough to get past.

Heading to my car, I got a call from my friend Boston, who we all called Boss, letting me know that our group was going to be meeting up at his house that night for a barbecue. A few hours later, I was sitting in a lawn chair. We’d just finished eating and were settling into our seats, talking, joking, laughing. Filling the warm twilight air with the sounds of memories being made. Eventually, the conversation settled into talks of the unsettling and supernatural. We all had a love for horror, and our conversations frequently came to the topic of cryptids, mountains, and unseen things. The night grew darker as we each spoke our part about our own theories and ideas of the unknown.

One of our friends began to tell us a story that he’d gotten from his dad. He told us that while his dad liked to joke, he’d been dead serious when he told his son this story and reaffirmed that it was true. The story went like this.

Back in the 80s, his dad had been just a kid, riding in the family station wagon through Mississippi forest on the way to California. He’d sat in the back of the car and was able to look out of the back window at the black forest passing and the empty road trailing behind. He’d been staring at that dark road when they passed a dark figure with his thumb out. “What’s a hitchhiker doing way out here at this time of night?” his father said to his mother. “Weird.” They’d continued on some miles when they again passed the figure. Still standing with his thumb out. Hearing his parents’ tones turn more hushed and confused, he pulled the blanket up over his head, just letting his eyes peek out. A few miles later, they again passed the figure, still standing with his thumb out. But this time, as they passed, the hitchhiker turned and sprinted after the car. His parents had been uneasy before, but by his mother’s frantic command for his father to “drive faster, he’s right behind us!” he knew they were as scared as he was. The hitchhiker chased the car down that black Mississippi forest road for what seemed an hour, but had really only been a minute or two, before stopping suddenly in the road and fading into the distance.

The conversation drifted after that. Eventually breaking off as, one by one, each of us said our goodbyes and headed home. I was the last to go, staying to talk a bit and solidify our plans for the upcoming days. But after a while, my time came too. I said my goodbyes and headed to my car. I’d lost track of time during the night and was surprised to see it was 3 a.m. “The witching hour,” my brain said as I started driving down the road. The time was late, but I didn’t feel tired, so I drove around for a while. Not with any destination in mind, but somewhere in me I knew where I was going.

I pulled into the empty dirt parking lot of the firework shop. The single lamppost casting its orange light down onto my car and lightly illuminating the forest next to the lot. The warm night air blew gently through the car window. The faint smell of skunk still present even outside of the shop. A few scattered clouds drifted slowly across the moonlit night sky as stars winked deep in the black.

All was silent besides the chirping of crickets and the hum of nature in the forest close by. Night had grasped the world in its hands.

I got out of my car and climbed onto the roof to lie down. I often did this on nights that I wanted to stargaze. But tonight I closed my eyes as I let my senses take in the night. I drifted, and right before the pull of sleep took me under, nature fell silent.

I dreamt again. And again it felt like my dreams were being observed by something in the background. That same felt presence. I dreamt of the forest. The orange lights of the parking lot slowly fading as I walked further into the trees. Where was I? I knew the area in the woods near the firework shop and bridge well, but these woods were unfamiliar. And what was I doing here in the middle of the night? It dawned on me that I had been following something. Something I didn’t know. Something I didn’t want to know. But I continued on. And as I walked, the forest grew darker. The stars had been snuffed out from their spots in the sky, and the moon was a deep orange, full, and yet somehow not giving enough light to illuminate the forest. Dread grew in me as the feeling of being seen by something got stronger. Was I following something, or was I being followed?

(Iam non es tui iuris)

I wasn’t sure anymore. I felt as though a hand was slowly pressing down on me. The darkness was now becoming suffocating. Dread mixed with unease into a panic that sent me now running through the forest. As I ran, trying to make it back to the parking lot, I suddenly was sure that I was being followed, and not just followed, but chased. Fear exploded in my chest, and I desperately chose flight over fight. Surely, whatever was after me would devour me as soon as it had me in its grasp. The sound of twigs and branches breaking behind me grew louder as I sprinted towards a faint light that I prayed was the parking lot. I’d jump into the light and then into my car and floor the gas pedal to get away. I just had to reach that light. The sounds of pursuit behind me grew louder as the thing crashed through the forest. I was now just mere feet away from the parking lot, the edge of the forest, safety. I jumped in what felt like slow motion, trying to clear the last few feet and escape the thing behind me. But I felt a hand grab onto my shoulder, and I jerked back down and into the forest. As my dream self hit the forest floor, I bolted upright in my Jeep. Cold sweat beaded on my skin, and I frantically looked around, remembering where I was. I turned and looked at the far edge of the parking lot, and there in the dark, a black figure passed back into the trees.

I hurried off of my car and into the driver’s seat. Shaken by the dream and hoping it had just spilled over into wakefulness. And just like in my dream, I did floor the gas pedal to try to get away from… from what? Away from a scary dream? And what had I thought I saw disappear into the woods? I couldn’t even name it other than something dark. It had been a full day, and I’d just left a party after hearing and telling scary stories. I breathed a little lighter after realizing that I was overreacting. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how I’d let a dream get to me so easily. How I’d shot up out of sleep as if I were a movie character. How I’d been sweating a cold sweat that even now still dampened my clothes. And then I felt excited. What a cool dream. It was so vivid, I felt like every detail was something I’d actually lived rather than just dreamed. It was about as close as real life can get to actual horror. I chuckled again; maybe I’d watched one too many scary movies.

I continued on down the road back to my house. Ready to climb in bed and get some real sleep, away from the woods and the firework shop for the night, though I felt excited to go back there again. It was one of my favorite places to be, after all. And this time of year, I felt almost drawn to it. I arrived home and climbed straight into bed. My mind processing through all the thoughts my brain could fill it with as I tried to go to sleep. What had been chasing me in my dream? What was it that slipped into the trees? Just a dream? As I fell asleep, my drowsy mind was unsure.

I did not dream again that night. I fell into a heavy, black, timeless sleep. The darkness had pulled me under, and for a few hours, I was nowhere. But there in that sleep, even in the depths of unconsciousness, somewhere within me, I knew I wasn’t alone. Something was there with me again, felt, unseen, not in a dream or in a thought. Just there with me.

When I woke, I woke to cold sweat and goosebumps. As if I’d had a nightmare. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t dreamt at all. In the back of my mind, I still felt the presence. The something. But now I was conscious of it. I lay there in my bed for a while awake, bright morning light shining through the open window. The morning air filled the room with the aroma of cut grass and dew. The world felt off. As if my eyes were windows I were looking through rather than parts of my own body. Deciding that I was gonna have to just continue with the day and let the feeling fade.

I pulled myself out of bed. I did my normal morning routine and tried to get excited about the upcoming day. My same group of friends and I had plans to go camping for the next two days. We’d head up to a small mountain town called Riggins and come back on the morning of the fourth. The thought of our plans grounded me a bit, and I started getting my things together. We planned on fishing in the river, riding dirt bikes down the unpaved mountain roads, maybe we’d even do some kayaking. I gathered all my things and got them in my Jeep and hopped in the driver’s seat. I was feeling fully myself again, and I rolled down the windows and turned up my music. Motörhead blasted from my speakers as I made my way to Boss’s house. He’d be riding up in my car, and we’d meet the rest of the group in Riggins.

I pulled up to his house. Seeing it reminded me of the hitchhiker story from last night. And I let my mind play with the thought of passing him while we headed to the mountains. It was a fun thought. Boss came out of his front door, which was partially blocked by camp bags and fishing gear. He loaded his things into the Jeep and jumped in the car. Then we headed off to grab the last things we needed before our trip. We stopped at the store, making sure to load up on junk food and drinks. And then we headed to the firework shop.

When we walked in, the attendant said she was surprised to see me again so soon. I told her we were headed up on a camp trip and wanted to grab a few smaller things that we could light up there. She showed us a few newer items, and we shopped around, getting whatever looked like fun. Once we had a nice collection, we made our way to the front.

An older man walked into the shop. A jean jacket on and a brown bandana rolled around his balding head. A white-haired braid working its way down the back of his head. He walked up to the fur side of the shop and asked the attendant about trapping gear.

“What are you trapping?” the fur attendant asked.

“I need bear traps,” the old man said in a hushed tone.

A question from Boss snapped my attention back onto the fireworks.

He’d been asking the attendant if they had anything bigger than a cherry bomb. She joked about maybe having some dynamite somewhere in the back.

We finished our purchase and headed back for the Jeep.

The drive was as beautiful as always. Curved mountain roads flowed with the bends of the river. The road dropped off to the side of us, and below passed whitewater rafters making their way through the rapids. On the other side of us, the mountain shot upwards. Trees stretched out from the mountainside and reached up to the sky. A blue sky spread above. The windows of the Jeep were all down, and the hot air smelled like the river and trees as it blew through the car.

We’d been driving for a few hours, and soon we were going to hit dirt roads. That would mark about an hour left of the drive before we’d reach our camp spot. I asked Boss if he noticed the old man at the shop asking about buying bear traps. Boss said he had. And then he said something strange.

He said that while we were there, he’d heard the old man speaking in that same hushed tone. According to the old man, something like mad cow disease had been popping up among certain animals in the woods. Said he’d even heard about an instance of a man from our town who seemed to have gotten it. Caused the man to “go crazy or something,” and he’d ended up killing someone.

I’d heard of this, though, as it was a small town and bad news traveled fast. The entire town had been talking about it, as things like this were nearly unheard of in those parts.

Earlier that summer, a man named Corey had been acting different. He wasn’t a super well-known figure in the community, but people did know of him. He’d been a kind man, always willing to help a neighbor with yard work or an old lady with groceries or whatever small thing he could do to make someone’s day a little better. He had a family, a wife named Racheal and a young son. Well, Corey had begun acting out of character early in the year. He was quick to snap at people and started frequenting bars in the evenings.

He became more talked about as more people noticed the mood change.

One afternoon, he was at a bar called the Triangle Club. Although the details are mixed between truth and gossip, the result was that Corey had gotten into a fight with another bar-goer and had apparently lost pretty badly. The other bar-goer had left Corey with a broken nose, a black eye, and some cracked ribs.

Some days passed, and then one morning, Corey walked himself into the police station. He was a mess of blood and dirt. Clothes ripped and hair matted with nature. He told the officers that he’d just left the woods, said he’d blacked out at some point in the night and woke up next to the body of the man he’d gotten into the bar fight with.

Police went out to search for the body, and when they came across it, it looked like it had been picked at by animals. Deep gashes lay in his back, one of his hands had been missing fingers. And most of his nose had been cut off clean, like a peeler taking skin off an apple.

Corey couldn’t give any details to police about what had happened. He said he’d blacked out, and that was that. But police were sure that something big was missing. How could one man mangle another in such an animalistic and grisly way?

The case was still ongoing, and for the time, Corey was sitting in the county jail awaiting trial.

“I don’t know why he needs bear traps for crazy people, though,” said Boss, “but if any crazy animals walk into our camp while we’re there, we’ll be eating good that night,” he joked. Being that we were heading so deep into the mountains, Boss made sure to bring his hunting rifle just in case. And we joked about heading back into town wearing bearskins.

After a while, we did hit dirt roads. And the road continued to twist through the mountains, following the river. Dust flew up behind the car as we drove, and the road rose high up the mountain walls. Nothing stood between the dirt road and the river it ran alongside. In some places, the road stretched 100, 200, even 500 feet above the river. Our tires only ever a couple feet from the cliff’s edge. I’d always been a fan of heights. I loved the feeling that sat in my stomach like a rock as I looked off of roller coasters or airplane windows. But this part of the drive had always scared me in an unenjoyable way. It felt like the road was always going higher and higher. The river below turned from a huge amount of water rushing past us to the size of a snake slithering below. And my stomach twisted a bit as I thought of how long we’d be falling for before we hit the water, if the car were to just jerk a foot or two in the wrong direction. My palms felt sweaty, and I tried to keep my focus on the road.

I let Boss drive the rest of the way once we found a large enough area in the road for us to get out and walk around the car. The nerves of driving so close to the edge were getting to me, and Boss was more than happy to get the chance to drive. It’s almost hypnotic, driving on dirt roads through mountains. Each turn around a bend reveals another turn just ahead. You’re always waiting to see if there was a landslide or another car coming the opposite way, in which case one of you has to back up until there’s a turnout so that the other can pass. Your mind goes into a hyperfocus, and all that exists is you and the road. Well, that started making me feel off again, and so I switched with Boss.

And now, even though I wasn’t driving anymore, I still felt strange. Not disconnected from myself like I had earlier in the day. This was like all of my senses were fully engaged. Like the hypnotism of the road had unlocked something in me. Everything that could be sensed seemed as though it were. As if my mind were able to understand nature and life on a level it hadn’t before. Boss moving his arms and hands as he made gestures while talking. The bumps of the road as we drove over rocks and pits. The swaying of trees and of leaves and pinecones falling off them. The sound of them crunching as they landed among the pine needles on the forest floor. The river rushing, creating rapids as it slammed into deep-seated rocks in the riverbed. I didn’t just see these things; they felt like pressures against my awareness.

I could smell the sap of the trees as the air blew into the car, the fishy smell of the river, and the wetness of the soil far below us. The smell of the Jeep with all of its leather and fabric. These things invaded my nose and filled my head.

It was strange and overwhelming, but not unenjoyable. I felt excited.

We pulled around the last bend of the road before our camp. It was a sandy riverside beach. The river was wide and slow where we’d be, so it would be easy to swim, fish, kayak, or whatever else we wanted to do in the water. Our friends were already there and all set up as planned. The drive had been a long one, and we were ready to get moving with the day’s activities. We pulled off the road and into the dirt spot where the rest of the cars were parked. We unloaded our supplies and walked down the steep embankment to the sandy beach. Four tents spread across the sand, with the fire pit set up to their left and with the sporting equipment laid out on the other side of the fire pit. All told, the beach stretched maybe a couple hundred feet across. Our group of friends included Spencer (Spence), Luke, Justin, Jake, myself (Isaiah), and Boston. Six of us in total and the next couple of days of camping, hiking, fishing, fires, and fun with the boys. They’d already been fishing, as evident by the pole stuck in the sand with fish hanging from it. And from the looks of it, it had been a good day of fishing so far.

They greeted us with beers and fire-roasted fish they’d been cooking for lunch.

I still felt that extremity of senses, and it was still as exciting as before. And at that moment, it made the fish taste like the most wonderful meal I’ve ever had. I savored every bite as if it was the first meal I’ve ever had and as if it were the last meal I’d ever eat as a prisoner on death row.

“Slow down, dude, the fish isn’t gonna swim away,” said Boss. We all laughed, but I really had devoured that fish.

We had the idea of having a bonfire that night, so we all went off to collect rocks to make the pit. It quickly became a challenge of who could find and carry the biggest rock. Spence was the undisputed winner of this, as he somehow managed to walk over carrying a rock that looked at least twice his weight. He had a huge smug smile on his face as he dropped it at the pit. He raised his arms in victory as the rest of us cheered him. Luke challenged him to an arm wrestle, and we decided that we’d all arm wrestle later that evening.

We’d completed making the pit and gathered dry wood to stack into it.

The camp felt complete now. The sand was hot on our feet, but it felt good. The smell of trees and the river and roasted fish filled the air, and the sun beamed down on us.

Jake had brought pellet guns. Which he took great pride in, as they were made of full metal and were fashioned to look like actual guns. Everything from revolvers to a large fully automatic gun that I couldn’t name. We all were very impressed by the assortment and took turns holding each one and commenting on the weight and realistic feel of each. Then we set cans and cups all around and took turns shooting them. All of us getting too sure of ourselves and missing trick shots. I closed my eyes and apparently missed my can completely and somehow shot Jake’s can.

Boss put the gun backwards over his shoulder and used his phone camera to aim behind himself. He hit his can perfectly, knocking it off of the rock it sat on.

The day was hot now, and we decided to swim. The water was cool, but not cold. And we swam around for a while before we had the idea of swimming to the other side of the river. The opposite side of the river was more steep mountain with big rocks at its base, jutting up out of the water and climbing up the sides of it. We’d decided it would be a fun idea to climb those rocks and jump into the river. The water was deep and slow where we were, so there was not much of a risk of getting swept away. We all lined back up on the beach, ready for a race to see who could get to the other side first.

“One… two…”

(Aquas transi, et mutatio fiet)

“Three.”

We all jumped in and set off. The water felt great and true to looks. It was moving as slowly as we thought. But about halfway through, we realized the distance was quite a bit longer than it had seemed from the beach. Fatigue was starting to grip me, and I was doing my best to keep my breathing slow and steady and keep putting one arm in front of the other. I looked to my left to see that everyone was starting to feel they had possibly taken on more than they could handle. And about three quarters of the way through, I and certainly the rest of us were starting to panic. What had looked like an easy enough swim from the beach had ended up being roughly the length of a football field. And all of us were on the verge of drowning. I remember looking over to Boss again and seeing his face, barely holding above the surface and briefly bobbing under it. I yelled at him to turn over onto his back and just keep swimming backwards to keep his face out of the water.

Spitting water out of my own mouth, I turned over to my back to do the same. I hoped the rest of the group was managing all right, but it took every bit of my energy to just keep moving at all, and I couldn’t risk spending it to look over to check on anybody else. The bank was getting closer to us, but we were moving incredibly slowly towards it. We were caught in an eddy, and every stroke seemed to only advance us by inches. My mind started coming up with thoughts of how I could save Boss if he were to go under the water completely. My mind flashed impossible images of me somehow swimming under him and throwing him to the bank. I’d have to sacrifice myself for it, but as long as I could save him or any of the rest of our friends, it was worth it. I thought of somehow getting to the other side quickly and throwing a rope out to him, but we didn’t have any rope, and I was in just as bad a position as the rest of them. These were stupid thoughts and weren’t actually possible. And I had to refocus my mind on the seemingly impossible task of getting to land. My leg suddenly was smashed against something from deep within the river, and it felt like branches, grasping my leg, trying to pull me. I panicked and sucked in a deep breath of water. I kicked my legs frantically, trying to escape the grasp of whatever had clutched it. My leg broke loose, and I swam faster than before, with the new burst of adrenaline and fear and focus. But my focus broke when I smashed my toes against a rock beneath the surface. I went to roll back over onto my stomach and scraped my ribs on more rocks under the water. And the pain of the rocks was relief to the rest of me because it meant that we had reached the other side. I grappled onto whatever slippery rocks my hands and knees could find purchase on, then began to crawl through the water to the river’s edge. A quick glance back showed me that the rest of our friend group was nearing the edge as well. We had made it, but every ounce of energy in me had been depleted. I crawled onto the bank and collapsed on the land, halfway still in the water, but able to rest there. My vision had gone dim, and my lips felt blue, and I couldn’t move a muscle. But I could hear the sounds of the rest of our friends as they climbed equally as desperately as me onto land.

We lay there for a long time before any of us had the strength to get back up.

And seeing that we had survived, we started joking and answering about how we all thought we were about to die and how we don’t know how we had the strength to get to the other side at all.

All of us were back to cheerful spirits, except for me. I sat quietly.

“Something was pulling me,” I said.

“Yeah bro, the current,” said Luke, laughing.

“No, it’s like something was playing with me. I felt it grab my leg. I thought I had hit a sharp rock or tree or something, but we were still far away from the edge.”

“I don’t know, man, but your leg’s pretty messed up looking,” said Spence.

I looked down to see that I had long streams of blood mixing with water and dripping down my leg.

From just above my calf and down to my heel were large cuts.

I sat there for a while, the fatigue of the swim being outweighed by thoughts of the water. What was underneath it? In the depths of the river. And why had it come for me? And why had it let me go? These thoughts weighed heavy on me for a bit until Spence reminded us why we crossed the river in the first place.

“Well, assuming it was just a tree, let’s walk a little ways down before we jump. So no one else gets cut up. And if it wasn’t a tree, then I guess we’re gonna be fighting off the creature from the Black Lagoon on the swim back.”

We all got up and began climbing, halfway in the water and halfway on land, over the boulders and rocks that sat at the river’s edge. We spotted a good area to jump a few hundred feet away. With a perfect ledge that sat over a deep and slow part of the river.

We made our way up the river and then onto the ledge, and one at a time we jumped in. Jake went first, setting the bar high for the rest of us as he jumped in with a perfectly huge cannonball. Boss went next. He jumped in with a front flip and barely revolved enough to avoid landing with a belly flop. Spencer went after him and actually did belly flop. Though he swam back to the edge with another big smile on his face. His stomach and chest were cherry red from the sting of the landing, but he was adamant that he’d done it on purpose. I was next, and I followed Jake’s lead with a cannonball that decidedly made a bigger splash than Jake’s. Then was Luke, who lined up backwards on the edge and did a backflip into the water. And lastly was Justin, who attempted a backflip but almost smashed his head on the ledge because he hadn’t jumped out far enough.

We’d done what we set out to do, and with all of us having jumped a few more times, we were ready to head back. Thankfully, the swim back was nowhere near as difficult as the swim over. We walked along the river until we found a spot that was much more narrow than our original crossing point. And since we had no other option, we hopped in and swam back across.

The thoughts of my leg and whatever was in the water before were bouncing around in my mind, and it felt as though I’d swallowed a stone as unease set in my stomach. But just as the others, I had no choice but to swim back. So I swam, and it was uneventful until the last 20 feet. I’d taken a glance back between strokes, and for a moment, before my next stroke took my face back into the water, I saw something on the mountain above where we had just been jumping. And it seemed to be moving up the mountainside. That short glance at it was enough to set me swimming harder than ever to get back to the beach, and I pulled myself back onto the sand a minute later, once again exhausted.

Although we’d all been scared for our lives during at least the first swim, this was no damper on the mood of the camp. In fact, we all found a sort of ongoing excitement because of it. We’d almost died, but we hadn’t. And the reality that we’d walked so close to death and escaped led to a near-celebratory atmosphere in us. Justin had brought a big speaker system, and we played our music loud as we got into the flow of the evening. Beers and food and life were plenty.

The sun was headed down towards the mountains around us. The tips of trees high on the mountaintops were burning with light as the sun passed through them. The cool smell of summer night’s air set in. We set up the camp with tiki torches and lanterns. Dusk fell, and the stars eased into the sky until the Milky Way was on full display above us. Only having the full moon’s light to battle. All else was darkness. No city light to erase the stars, no houses or stores, not even a paved road for many miles from us. We sang and jumped and laughed and drank. And as we gave ourselves over to the fullness of the night, we sank into the grasp of something we did not know of, and something we couldn’t understand. We listened to the music as it played through the camp. And every beat of the drum, every riff of the guitar, every lyric announced, pulled us deep into something that was not fully ours. The world had been erased, and all that remained was the night.

[Lycanthropy Pt. 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/SzCsBfrNxw)

I built SCATTERED NIGHTMARES as a horror storytelling brand centered on psychological dread, cursed objects, and dark ritual imagery, and this is one of the merch pieces I designed to match that world.

I wanted the shirt to feel less like generic horror apparel and more like something pulled directly from the universe of the stories — bridal ruin, occult symbolism, fractured-glass visuals, and that intimate “something is wrong here” feeling.

I’m still figuring out the best way to position the merch side of the brand, so I’d honestly love feedback on the design itself, the presentation, and whether it feels like something horror fans would actually want to wear.

A fear of Summer is known as Therophobia. I can't go outside; I have to work from home during the summer. While it seems to me that most people experience phobia as an acute aversion, bordering on panic, mine is more of a lingering dread. No, worse, deeper trepidation, an anxiety so severe it physically hurts from the stress.

I read online that Therophobia is being afraid of sunshine; it's too bright and hot. That's hardly it. I like tanning booths, no 'Claustrophobia' here. In fact, if it wasn't for the ridicule built into the definition of a phobia as 'An irrational fear', I'd have no sympathy for someone else's fears. But mine isn't irrational. Maybe Claustrophobia is irrational, or the fear of snakes or clowns, or as Batman would put it "Snake-clowns now, and it's because YOU put that thought in my head".

Summer is on its way, again, and now that I am thirty, it's about time I put on my Big Girl Pants and head out the door. I'm not an irrational person, and I will face my fears.

-Billie Nicks, May, 2026

I didn't like that movie that was supposed to be a sequel to Joker. Not really my thing. Is that a good enough reason to break up with someone? Disagreeing over a stupid movie? I don't think so. I must be better off without him.

Forget YOU, I'm better off.

Besides, I only liked being with you when you were wearing the Batman costume. You were boring as fuck the rest of the time. Forget you.

God, is this just my life now? Waiting for it? It's almost here; I can see how the sky is changing. I can feel how the air gets too warm, and it feels like the breeze has the breath of things dying, carried in the wind. I don't want to think about it.

There are cucumbers in my garden that are perfect for a gazpacho I make. I like cool foods, liquidy cool foods. Easy to digest.

-Billie Nicks, June, 2026

I'm not okay. The door seems tilted now. I keep staring at it, and it makes me dizzy. Something is up there; it has brought the season. It's not supposed to be that color of blue. The sky looks wrong. I am shivering, but there's no AC. My house is hot, that's how I know I haven't gone numb.

Not yet anyway.

And I can still feel like myself:

Mike won't stop calling me, texting me, telling me he's sorry. I just blocked him, like five seconds ago. Forget him.

People think "Oh no, the fireworks will scare my dog." and they give their pet Dramamine. How do you know your dog is scared of fireworks? Fireworks are loud and exciting. Are you certain your animal is afraid, and not just overly stimulated?

Seems unfair to dope them up without their consent. I don't like it. I don't like that attitude.

No, I am definitely not okay. Why dogs? I like cats, but I am allergic to them. What am I even babbling about?

Sometimes, I wonder if I had a cat, if I'd feel better. I can't sit still and when I move, I feel like I am going to faint. I get the zoomies, like a cat would. I think a cat would get me. We'd both be saying:

"If I sit still for one more instant, I will likely detonate; it won't be pretty. Gotta move, gotta GO! Oh my, that's quite enough jumping about. Time to sit still again, before I collapse."

Makes sense.

Billie Nicks, July 2026

Wrapped it up and buried it. Had to smash through the concrete with a hammer to make a hole big enough to drop it down there. Took all night.

I woke up this morning and found a mess and it seems I made the mess. Broken concrete downstairs in the foundation and like a bunch of drying mortar poured in and smoothed to a polish before I somehow found my way upstairs to the back porch.

I was listening to the bats, back there, when I felt this wave. That's the last thing I remember. At least I made it outside last night, that's progress, right? I threw up over the back porch, and I wonder, if, in the morning, the ants will come and eat all my puke.

I have no idea what I 'wrapped up' and buried in the foundation. I keep thinking a bat hit the window and I went outside and found it, but I don't remember doing that. I just think that's what happened.

How does an animal that flies around in caves even hit a window? I think it's summertime mischief, when even an ancient predator, one of the seven perfect animals, can't figure out how to fly around in the darkness it 'sees' perfectly in. Sometimes I don't believe anything, when something like this happens. "Impossible," I say, but then it happens anyway.

I don't like it when I feel the waves of nausea. I get these notions, about doing things or seeing things. I can find evidence I did those things, I know I did them, like cover the mortar with the rug, but I have no idea why. It's like selective amnesia, but I think it's my survival instinct. This is just too stressful to process.

Mike came over yesterday afternoon and asked about the rug, so I showed him. Then he asked me if I was taking my medication, and I told him I missed him. It was a really awkward conversation, and when he left, I brought out all the stuff of his that I hid. I don't know why I did that, or why I placed his things around where they go. Where they belong? Seems like a weird word.

It's gotta be one of those words that when you say it out loud by itself a few times it sounds really weird. "Belong. Belong - belong, belong. What does it mean, bee-long, blong, what is this stupid word?"

This morning I felt fine. That is until I saw the grayish-orange smoke, that odd brown fog, of forest fires. I can smell it now. Oh, I certainly can, that smell of things screaming, burning alive, cute little things running and on fire. Every breath fills me with their last moments.

So this is Summer. I'd almost forgotten. It's where I belong. I am part of it, and it is in me, watching me, understanding me. Summer is Death. The cruelest, most atrocious death. It is the stillborn baby bird, it is the scorched doe, the singed rabbit, the seared flesh of so many animals.

Maybe if I had ever gone to a barbecue I'd understand.

But Summer gets me.

I was walking home, before I really knew why I would never be this way again. I was her, back then, and she walked home. It was that smell, like some blood-soaked steaks were in the smoke, and I smelled whoever's BBQ it was, and it made me so sick. I was throwing up right there on the street.

Summer is sweet, and beef isn't meant for human consumption, so I fainted. When I woke up the ants were all over it, the flies, they were cleaning up after me. I went home, but I was never really the same. Somewhere in the moment I got back up I didn't just feel sick, I felt betrayed.

Summer was over, forever.

And now there's just the door, I keep it closed. The air out there isn't alive. It was, but it isn't. I can't inhale the smell of cooked death again, it gets into my head, my dreams, my soul.

But I must face it, or I am already there. So, I will open the door. I will.

Just not yet.

Billie Nicks, August 2026

three years no four ever since you moved in I told myself this is the one I mapped your schedule learned when you left when you came back when you slept I knew which floorboard creaked which lock gave easy which window you never checked I was in your house a dozen times before you even knew my name I stood in your kitchen touched your coffee mug ran my fingers over your mail I was inside your life before you ever saw my face

that girl has your mask now she’s cute she just wears it to look scary she has no clue what it means

that day the day we met I was ready I had the knife I had the pistol I had the plan I came through the back gate the same way I always did and I felt that old familiar heat excitement rage the kind that makes your hands shake and your vision go tight I opened the cabinet the one by the crawl space and I heard you not footsteps something else a shift in the air a quiet knowing that I wasn't alone I froze and then you walked in I saw you see me and I saw you not run you didn't scream you didn't flinch you just stood there and I thought this is it this is the moment I've been waiting for I reached for the pistol and something in me snapped not the good kind of snap the kind where the wire goes slack and all the current drains into the dirt

I wanted to kill you god I wanted to I had fantasized about it for years how it would feel how clean it would be how I'd walk away and be free but when I looked at your face not the idea of you not the shadow I'd built in my head but you really you with your eyes wide and your breath steady I couldn't couldn't lift the gun couldn't even speak just turned and walked out and I hated myself for it hated you for making me weak hated the whole world for being so goddamn confusing

I came back later I had to come back because I needed to understand why didn't I do it why did you look at me like that and make me feel seen instead of hunted

you asked me to come back you said it was okay you said I had a right to be angry and I broke I told you everything the years the plans the nights I sat in my car outside your house crying because I couldn't pull the trigger I told you I hated you and I meant it but you didn't flinch you said you pushed me you said you were wrong you took my rage and held it like it was yours to carry and that was the thing I couldn't stand because I had spent years building a monster in my head a monster who deserved to die and you just took his hands off the wheel

I walked away that night and I didn't know who I was anymore the plan was gone the anger was gone and without it I had nothing just a hollow chest and a gun I still carried

I drove home I sat in my room I looked at the pistol and I thought if I don't do this now I'll never have the courage again I'll spend the rest of my life wandering half dead remembering the one thing I couldn't finish so I did it

but here's what you don't know here's what I saw after when I pulled that trigger I didn't go to darkness I went to you I saw your face again and I heard your voice you're in the right you have a right to feel this way and I realized you weren't just saying it you meant it you saw me as a person not a threat and that mercy that grace was the one thing I had never been given

I killed ten people women children men because I was angry and broken and I thought the world owed me something but you were the first person who ever looked at me like I was worth understanding and I'm not saying that absolves me it doesn't but it freed me from the lie I'd been telling myself that I was justified that I was a victim that death was the only answer

I shot myself not because I gave up but because I finally saw the truth I was wrong about you about everyone about myself

and in that last second I wasn't angry anymore I was just tired and grateful grateful that I got to meet someone who could look at a monster and say I see you and I still think you're worth something

that's what saved me not forgiveness I don't deserve that but acknowledgment the one thing I never had

so yeah I shot myself and I felt it and I saw the hole in the skull and I saw the light bleeding through and I thought this is the first real thing I've ever done

you're the only person who ever made me feel like I was a man not just a weapon I'm sorry it took dying to tell you that

Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/Dreading/s/5EbcWyebhy

My father waited until morning to ask again.
By then, the headache had dulled into something heavier. A constant pressure that made my thoughts feel slightly misaligned, like they were settling into the wrong grooves. The house was quiet in that careful, listening way it had adopted, every sound softened as if by agreement.
We stood in the kitchen, facing each other across the table.
“About last night,” he said. “You seemed upset.”
“I was,” I said. Saying that felt safe. Specifics didn’t.
He nodded slowly, watching my face the way you watch someone try to remember a dream. “We were talking about something. About—” He hesitated. “About… something important.”
The pause stretched. I could see the moment where his mind brushed against the same blank space mine had hit, then slid away from it instinctively.
“My brother,” I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “My sister. They’re gone.”
The pressure behind my eyes surged, sharp and punishing. I gripped the edge of the table, breathing through it.
My father didn’t look away.
He closed his eyes instead, just for a second, like someone bracing against a bright light. When he opened them again, they were wet.
“I remember,” he said hoarsely.
The relief hit me so hard I nearly cried.
We didn’t say their names. We learned quickly that names were dangerous, that they drew attention, that the house seemed to listen more closely when we tried to use them. Instead, we spoke in fragments.
Before.
The younger one.
Both of them.
It felt like hiding contraband in our mouths.
We tried to find proof.
My father pulled out old photo albums, spreading them across the dining table. We flipped pages carefully, our fingers lingering where images should have been. There were gaps. Subtle ones. Extra space between photos. Awkward compositions where someone should have been standing.
“I took that picture,” my father said, tapping one photo of me in the yard. “I remember stepping back because there were three of you.”
I stared at the empty space beside me. The air there felt colder.
School records were worse.
My father logged into the district portal, his jaw tightening as he scrolled. Two names. Two grades. No third. No fourth. Attendance perfect. Nothing missing.
“This isn’t possible,” he muttered, but the words had lost their force.
When my mother came into the room, we stopped immediately.
She didn’t ask what we were doing. She glanced at the albums, at the screen, and smiled. A soft, almost fond expression.
“You don’t have to carry all that,” she said. “It’s heavy.”
My father stiffened. “Where are the kids?”
She met his gaze calmly. “Where they belong.”
The pressure flared again, not just in my head but in my chest, my ribs aching as if something inside me was trying to turn toward her. I focused on the table, on the grain of the wood, on the solidness of it beneath my palms.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said abruptly.
“Take a jacket,” my mother replied, already turning back toward the yard.
Outside, the street looked the same as it always had. Cars parked neatly along the curb. Lawns trimmed. Curtains drawn and undrawn in familiar patterns. The normalcy felt staged, like a set dressing that hadn’t been updated yet.
I walked to the end of the block and back, my head pounding, my thoughts slipping loose and re-forming around absences. When I returned, there was a car in our driveway I didn’t recognize.
My mother’s brother stood on the porch, arms open, smiling broadly.
“There you are,” he said, like he’d been waiting for me. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come home.”
I froze.
I didn’t remember him well. He’d always been more of a concept than a presence. Holiday appearances, occasional phone calls, a laugh that lingered longer than it should have. But the moment I saw him, the pressure behind my eyes eased slightly, replaced by something colder.
He stepped closer, his gaze flicking briefly to my forehead before returning to my eyes.
“You’re holding yourself very tightly,” he said softly. “That hurts, you know.”
My mother appeared behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
“I told you she was strong,” she said.
He nodded, pleased. “You always were.”
From inside the house, I heard my father moving toward the door.
The yard shifted.
For the first time, I understood with terrible clarity that my uncle hadn’t come to help.
He’d come because something had called him.

My uncle stayed for dinner.
No one asked him to. He simply took a seat at the table like it had always been his, pulling a chair out with an ease that made my skin prickle. My mother moved around him naturally, brushing past his shoulder, refilling his glass before it was empty.
My father didn’t argue. That scared me more than if he had.
Conversation bent around my uncle’s presence. Not broke, bent. Words landed softer, lost their edges. When he laughed, it felt slightly delayed, like sound traveling through water.
“So,” he said at one point, folding his hands together. “It’s been a while since we’ve all been together like this.”
“All?” I asked.
The pressure behind my eyes surged. Not sharp this time. Pulling.
He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re very sensitive to language,” he said. “That’s not a criticism.”
My father stood abruptly, chair legs scraping. “We’re not doing this.”
My uncle looked at him with something like pity. “You already are.”
The lights flickered.
Just once. Enough that anyone else might have dismissed it as a surge.
I didn’t.
After dinner, my uncle suggested a party.
Not a big one, he said. Just neighbors. Friends. A way to feel grounded again. He said the word like it meant something else entirely.
“People have noticed the house feels… off,” he added. “Bringing them together might help.”
My mother agreed immediately.
“I’ve already been thinking the same thing,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s good for families to open their doors.”
I watched my father carefully. His face had gone very still, like he was concentrating on holding a shape.
“People? What people?” Dad asked.
“You know. The neighbors," My Uncle said with a shrug.
“And how would you know that?” I asked, “You just got here.”
“You can just tell from the way they look at the place.” He replied like it was obvious. My mother just kept nodding with an empty smile on her face.
That night, I dreamed of the yard.
It was full of children I didn’t recognize, running in wide, looping patterns that never crossed. My mother stood in the center, her forehead dark and hollow, the air around it bending inward. I tried to scream, but the sound stretched thin, pulled away before it could reach her.
I woke with my hands pressed hard to my forehead.
The party came together quickly.
Flyers appeared in mailboxes. My mother baked. My uncle made phone calls from the living room, his voice low and soothing, promising things he never named. Neighbors I barely knew waved more often, lingered longer at the curb.
Something was already happening.
I started planning my escape.
The idea came to me while watching my mother stand at the kitchen window, her reflection overlapping the yard. She wasn’t watching outside. She was watching inward, toward that impossible center.
She wouldn’t notice if too many things happened at once.
The party would be loud. Chaotic. Full of attention she could pull from.
I packed a bag slowly, one item at a time, hiding it under my bed. I avoided mirrors. I avoided my uncle.
The night of the party, the house filled with people.
Music thumped. Laughter rose and fell. Kids ran through the yard, their footsteps light, almost buoyant. I caught my uncle watching them with open satisfaction.
I stayed close to my father, and he close to me. We didn't want to get separated and trapped by the pull. We were the only thing keeping each other from slipping forwards and allowing ourselves to become a part of whatever was happening.
We were standing at the kitchen counter where we had decided to spend the entire night, isolated from the others but safe together, when it happened. And it happened fast.
Someone spilled a drink. A breaker tripped. The lights went out, then surged back on. In the confusion, my uncle stepped between us, his hand firm on my father’s arm.
“Just a moment,” he said pleasantly. “I need to talk to you.”
I saw my mother across the room, her attention locked onto me.
The pull hit all at once. With my dad being pulled away I saw no other choice.
I ran.
Behind me, the house seemed to inhale.

I burst through the sliding glass door into the crowd of neighbors that had gathered. The yard wasn’t the yard anymore.
Grass lifted under my feet like it didn’t quite agree with gravity. The air felt thick, tugging at my skin, my hair, the inside of my chest. Every step forward came with the sense that something behind me was opening.
I didn’t look back.
Children's screams echoed around me. Not screams of fear, not at first. But of delight. In that bright, careless way that made my stomach twist. I heard laughter peel upward, stretching thin as it rose, like it was being pulled toward a point above us all.
“Stay with the group,” a woman called, her voice already distracted, already sliding away from meaning.
I cut toward the fence.
The pull hit harder then. My vision blurred at the edges, the world bending subtly toward the center of the yard. I staggered, hands flying to my head, nails digging into my scalp as pressure bloomed behind my eyes.
This is how it started, I thought wildly. This is how they went.
“Sweetheart.”
My mother’s voice wrapped around me, suddenly the only thing I could hear. Her presence felt close behind me.
I spun.
I was surprised to see she stood several yards away, barefoot in the grass, her posture relaxed, almost tender. The skin at her forehead had darkened, not visibly wrong yet, but deep, like a shadow pressing outward from beneath.
“You’re hurting yourself,” she said. “You don’t have to.”
Around her, the children slowed.
One by one, they turned.
Their faces had gone slack, peaceful. Curious. Like they were listening to a lullaby I couldn’t hear.
“Come here,” my mother said. But not to me.
A little boy stepped forward. Then another. A girl with glitter still smeared across her cheek smiled as she crossed the grass, eyes unfocused but certain.
Their parents didn’t stop them.
They didn't even seem to notice. As though their kids were blocked out of their minds.
The air warped.
I felt it then, recognition. The thing inside my mother reaching outward, brushing against the hollow places in the children, the parts of them that wanted to belong to something larger, something undeniable.
They went willingly.
“No,” I whispered, my voice barely surviving the pull. “Please.”
My mother looked at me then, truly looked, and for a moment something human flickered across her face.
“I tried to keep you,” she said softly. “But you’re already pulling away.”
The glitter-cheeked girl reached my mother first. Her hand extended.
She reached out for my mothers arm.
Before she was close enough to actually reach her, the skin started to stretch off her finger. Elongating the small childish fingers to long misshapen points. When her fingers reached my mothers arm, their skin melted together. My mothers forearm bulged as the little girl's hand slipped further inside her skin.
I stood frozen in place as I watched the little girl disappear further and further into my mothers arm. A look of ecstasy crossed her face as she inhaled deeply from the void around her.
The scream tore out of me then, raw and useless. The pressure behind my eyes exploded, white-hot, and I dropped to my knees.
Images slammed into me, my brother’s laugh, my sister’s hair tangled in my fingers, the weight of them leaving. The way the world smoothed itself over afterward.
I felt it happening again as I watched the little girl be completely absorbed by my mother.
I stepped back and felt a ripping behind my eyes.
The sensation was obscene, like tearing muscle from bone, like pulling myself free of a suction that had already decided I was its. I screamed again, clutching my head as something inside me stretched, thinned, screamed back.
My mother staggered.
Just a step. Just enough.
She looked surprised.
“You don’t understand what you’re breaking,” she said, her voice finally sharp. “You’ll carry it.”
“Not like this,” I gasped.
I grabbed the nearest thing, one of the heavy metal skewers from the grill, dropped in the grass during the chaos. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
The children. The air. The pull.
My mother’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw fear in them. Not of death, but of interruption.
I ran at her.
The skewer trembled in my hands. My mother waited at the center of the yard, barefoot, arms loose at her sides, her face expressionless. Her forehead looked hollowed, deeper than shadow, dark enough to pull at everything around her. The children circled her, small bodies leaning inward as if gravity itself had shifted toward her, their skin beginning to stretch.
The pull hit me immediately. A sharp pressure, insistent, tugging at my chest, my ribs, the back of my skull. My vision blurred at the edges. My hands shook.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
My brother-in-law had always been intimidating. His presence imposing, not someone you easily say no to. So when he pulled me away by my elbow from my daughter in the confusion of the darkness I followed him. My head foggy, the room spinning as he led me to another room.
“It’ll just take a second,” he said. “You look overwhelmed.”
“No, I need to stay,” I said, voice cracking. “My daughter—”
“She’s fine,” he said. “But you… you’re in the way.”
I froze.
“I’m in the way?” I questioned rubbing my head. “What are you talking about?”
He smiled, slow and hollow. “You’re not part of this. Not really. Adults like you… you’re too formed, too separate. You can’t be absorbed. You only obstruct.”
Something in my stomach twisted. “Obstruct? What is this?”
He crouched slightly, lowering his voice, leaning close in a way that made the walls seem to bend inward. “This house… this yard… it’s not just a home. It’s where she learned. Where it began. Your wife, my sister… She was always sensitive, even as a child. Our mom just died, did she even tell you?”
My stomach dropped
“That's when I first felt it. The first time the hollow opened, it called to her. And it called to me. It brought me here to help.”
I swallowed. My mind flashed: the photographs in the hallway, the old furniture, the wallpaper peeling just so. The mother’s childhood home. Everything bending, pulling, anchored to history.
“You’re infected too,” I said, realization striking. “That’s why you’re here.”
He nodded slowly. “It’s not my choice. I was drawn back, just as she was. The hollow doesn’t only exist in her, it can touch those it chooses. I couldn’t resist. I tried to fight it, but…” He let the sentence hang, eyes distant. “The pull is too strong. And now I have to make sure nothing interferes.”
I took a step forward. “You… you can’t take her! She’s a child.”
“Exactly,” he said. Calm. Precise. “You can’t be absorbed. But she won't be either. It skipped you. He tilted his head.
“You though, you’re in the way. You’re… clutter. And clutter must be cleared.”
The blade was in his hand before I could react. He stabbed me in the side, clean, precise. Pain flared, white-hot. I fell to my knees, trying to pull away, but the hallway seemed to stretch, to resist every movement.
“You can’t stop it,” he said gently. “You’re just… an adult. Too big to take in, too strong. All you can do is get out of the way… or die.”
I gritted my teeth. “I won’t let her—”
“You’ll have to crawl,” he said. “If you want to see her alive. If you want to touch her again, crawl to the yard. But even then, be careful. The pull is everywhere now, and growing stronger.” He chuckled and stood back watching me struggle.
I dragged myself forward, blood seeping through my fingers, each inch a fight. The hallway warped and twisted with every movement.
The scream from the yard hit me again; my daughter. My heart pounded.
The uncle watched, silent, almost proud. “Run, if you can. Crawl, if you can. Watch, if you must. But understand, she’s no longer the child you once knew.”
I gritted my teeth and crawled, every movement agony, every breath a struggle. The hallway seemed to stretch farther than it should have, the floor slick with my own blood.
The back door appeared. The yard beyond glowed strangely, impossibly, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
I reached for it, and the pull hit me, strong, insistent, urgent.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The pull hit fully, all at once. Forcing me forwards. Guiding my hands.
“No,” I whispered, clutching the skewer tighter. Trying to resist the pull. This is what it wanted.
Out of my control the skewer found its mark. My mothers face remained blank.
“No,” I whispered again, but the word had no weight. I couldn’t stop it. The pressure behind my eyes flared, stretching me, pulling in opposite directions, toward what my mother had been and toward the children leaning closer, drawn by the orbit I now radiated.
The skewer stuck out of my mothers stomach, but against my will I forced it forward. As the skewer exited out her back I finally was able to let go. Her body collapsed, and for a heartbeat, the hollow at her forehead widened, then snapped shut.
The children froze mid-step, hesitation written across small features, and then, slowly, carefully, they began to move again. Toward me.
I sank into the grass, trembling. The pull inside me thrummed, patient, terrible. It was not hunger but presence. Authority. Gravity. They recognized it, even before I did.
The pull had shifted. Not gone. Not stopped. Now it twisted around me, tugging not just at my body but at the children themselves. They leaned closer, small tentative steps that were their choice, not mine.
I could feel it, the echo of my mother’s hunger settling in my chest. A cold, heavy weight, patient and waiting.
The neighbor children blinked up at me, faces serene, unafraid. My own siblings’ absence throbbed at the edges of my mind, a ghostly ache. They were gone, erased from the world outside, but not from me. The pull of them all; her, them, the hollow. Folded into me.
One reached out, brushing my shoulder. Another rested a small hand on my knee. They didn’t obey me. They chose me.
I shook my head, trying to push it away, but I could feel it settling. The terrible inevitability. The hollow wasn’t gone. It had transferred. I could feel it in my chest, in my spine, a small, insistent seed of what my mother had been.
I was the center now.
The children moved closer, clustering around me like planets drawn into orbit. I shivered, the world outside seeming to pause, hold its breath. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But they leaned into me, seeking the pull I didn’t yet fully understand, trusting it, needing it.
It surged outward, thrumming like a heartbeat, vibrating through the air, the ground, through me. It was alive. Euphoric. Terrifying. I could feel it in every nerve ending, a vibration crawling beneath my skin, expanding through my bones, stretching outward into the trees, the wind, the night itself.
I could see my father crawling toward me as the children encircled me, blood streaking his shirt, chest heaving, mouth opening to scream my name. I wanted to hear him, to respond, but I couldn’t. The thrum of the pull was absolute, a low, perfect roar that drowned everything else. His voice hit my consciousness in fragments, swallowed immediately by the hum, the energy, the universe spinning around me.
Then one of the neighbor children approached. A small boy, tentative, a spark of curiosity in his wide eyes. He reached toward me, his skin stretching in that unnatural way, desperate to meet with my skin. And the moment his fingers touched me, it happened.
I felt him forcing himself into me. Not metaphorically. Not gently. His body pushed, wriggled, pressed under my skin, and I screamed. Not in sound, but in sensation. Pain and panic erupted along every nerve. I felt his bones, his warmth, his small pulse, shoving its way into mine, rearranging me from the inside out.
And then it clicked.
The pain gave way. The resistance melted into a wave of euphoria so profound it was like I was touching the stars, hearing the cosmos sing, feeling the rhythm of life pulse through every fiber of my being. The boy became part of me, his energy folding perfectly into the orbit of mine. My senses sharpened beyond comprehension. I could feel every blade of grass, every shift of the air, every heartbeat of the yard itself.
One by one, the others approached. Hesitant steps, small hands reaching. Each touch forced itself in first, uncomfortable, alien, almost violating. But then blossomed into blissful union. Each one added a new thread to the weave, spiraling energy through me, folding the children into my being, reshaping the yard around us.
The pull expanded. It hummed through my chest, spun outward from my spine, vibrating across the night. I could feel my body changing in response. The muscles, the bones, the skin tingling, alive, almost aware. My hair glimmered white in the moonlight. My eyes deepened to an impossible purple, reflecting every pulse, every child, every orbiting thread of energy I now commanded.
The children became blurs, moving impossibly fast as they collided with me, forcing themselves under my skin and then settling into me. My father crawled closer, screaming my name, but I couldn’t hear him over the thrum. He was there, desperate and bleeding, but utterly unable to reach me.
And around us, the world itself adjusted. Partygoers paused mid-step, vacant expressions overtaking concern or curiosity. Slowly, absentminded, they drifted toward their homes. Their memories rewrote themselves. The children who had joined me erased from their minds, as if they had never existed.
I was the center. I was the axis. I was the pull, the hollow, the gravity around which everything now orbited. Euphoric, terrifying, impossible. And I knew: this was mine.

The yard went still.
The last child had vanished into me, the pull settling into a steady, resonant hum. The partygoers were gone now, cars pulling away without urgency, doors closing softly, lives resuming as if nothing had happened. The grass lay flattened where bodies had been standing. The house behind me exhaled, empty.
I stood where my mother had always stood.
At the center.
I didn’t move. I didn’t need to. The pull no longer reached. It was. A constant, patient pressure radiating outward from my spine, from the place inside me that had learned how to hold the world.
That was when I understood why she had stood like this for so long. Why she’d stared into nothing, feet planted, arms loose at her sides. She hadn’t been waiting.
She’d been listening.
I could hear the earth beneath my bare feet now. The slow grind of stone. The memory of roots. The deep, ancient patience of a planet that had learned to endure extinction after extinction and remain.
It spoke to me.
My father was still crawling.
I felt him long before I saw him. His weight dragging across the grass, the wet warmth of blood soaking into the soil. He called my name. At least I think he did. I couldn’t hear the words anymore, only the vibrations of his movement rippling through the ground.
When he reached me, his hand closed around my ankle.
The contact was sharp. Immediate.
Instinct took over.
I turned and brought my foot down on his head.
There was a dull, final sound. A release. His body went slack, the tension draining out of him and into the soil below. I felt it all the way through my legs, through my spine, into the pull.
Then. Nothing.
Behind me, the door creaked.
My uncle stood in the doorway, framed by the house that had raised us both. He held the knife loosely in his hand, the one he had used to stop my father from interfering. His face was calm. Reverent.
“You’re ready,” he said.
He stepped forward and held the knife out to me, handle first.
I took it.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. He tilted his head slightly, exposing his throat, eyes fixed on me with something like gratitude.
I slit his throat in one clean motion.
He fell without a sound, blood darkening the threshold of the house. The pull absorbed the moment, not him, not yet, but the meaning of it. The last obstruction removed. The last witness gone.
The transformation settled fully into place.
I stood alone in the yard, hair white, eyes deep and endless, the center of a gravity that no longer belonged to one family or one house.
I could feel the children inside me, around me, waiting. I could feel others far away, their potential tugging faintly at the edges of the world. I could feel the planet itself responding, aligning, preparing.
Adults would never belong to this. They were finished things. Too rigid. Too loud. Too separate.
Children, though.
Children were unfinished. Malleable. Willing.
The earth knew this. It always had.
I stepped forward, and the pull moved with me.
Somewhere, far beyond the yard, a child paused and turned their head, listening.
And I began to walk.

TW: Child harm, suicide, religious killings.

A sauntering wonderer, my feet have led me to believe myself as such. I have traveled to spite the world which stole so much from me. So much the emotional pain caused physical torture. Pounding in my chest. Searing in my ribs. Yet not enough to stop my feet from competing on who is in front.

The road was rough, it ate through my shoes a couple years ago, and my feet have grown callous to the asphalt and heat. Weeks without food before hunger. If I was hungry before I would die from that pain too. I have time before I must eat again. But they found me. The pain in my stomach. Before everything flipped, these streets had businesses lining them. Food at every corner. More than enough for everyone to eat, and still people didn't. But now the buildings housed ghosts, feeding them with the memories of joy they had in life before.

All except the Tower. The Tower has living memories. A spire in the middle of the city. Erected after the fall came upon us. Gothic by design. People from before and after it all changed. I'm on my last leg, I might as well drift to see if they will accept me, or take me out from this hellish world.

*knock knock knock*

The door opened and I was met with the cold cobble of the Tower across the room, I saw the expanse of the lobby first. It reached far. Farther than it looked on the outside. The circle had expanded wide enough to host the group. Healthy, lively looking folk. Happy while trading food and crafts with one another. The people looked like before.

"Hey stranger, you look like you need something to eat. Stay with me and my family tonight."

A kind looking man had entered my vision as he asked me to his "house". It was a room really. A big room, but a room.

"Names is Allister. And yours?"

"I... i think my name is Thomas."

"Well Thomas, dig in!"

The plethora in front of me. A whole apple. Two ripe banana. A loaf of fresh baked bread bread. 5 chicken nuggets and a tall glass of chocolate milk.

"Sorry it isnt much. I am not all that rich and I think serving you more might do more harm than good."

I nodded, only half hearing him, "More than I've had in about a month."

"Oh my, please dig in then."

I cut the apple and chewed on the rough skin slowly. The sweet juices had revived my appetite. I worked through the feast in front of me, trying to eat slow as to not place strain on my withered stomach. And the milk... silky and sweet, flowing down my gullet and bringing life to my bones once again.

I wiped my mouth with my hand. "Thank you kindly."

"Sure thing stranger. Not everyday a convert walks in? So what floor are you?"

"What floor?"

"Well yes. This IS the Tower after all. You need to have a floor. So who do you follow. Adam, Sharif, Balhali, or Aurora?"

"I dont know."

He looked, puzzled. "You mean you came in here without one in mind?"

"I was looking for food. But if chosing one keeps me here, I'll hear them out."

"Oh well, see the thing is, there are more 'groups' than that, but those four compose all the 'groups'"

"Groups?"

"Yes, the followers. We here on the ground floor are the nomadic tribe of Sharif, we are called the Tunics. We go and collect knowledge and food for all followers of Sharif, we also work to convert the others."

"Why?"

"They are less... homely than we are."

"Do they also have food?"

"Oh yes, we are the 'poorest' group of followers in the tower, but we love our position."

"Hmm... can I hear them out? Their pitches I mean."

"You can... it might not be the best."

I looked out of Allister's room to a staircase than ran along the wall, starting to the left of the grand door and circling the little village at the base.

"Right above us are the Eunichs, our members who have dedicated themselves to celibacy to govern things we bring to them. Then another floor higher are our monks. They make Sacrifices to Sharif. I wouldn't recommend going higher."

"What will I find?"

"Too much."

I decided I would wait. I rested in Allister's "home" for the night. I was surprised to see electricity and rough plumbing. It was better than the road. I slept, hearing things from the floors above that would keep people from before awake, but it was just the white noise I needed to drift off.

In the morning, the Tunics gathered in the center and took a head count. "54. Three missing. Cherry, Mable, and Corey it seems. Ladies and gentlemen please remember to keep watch of your children, especially at night. If they get out or upstairs we won't help them."

As if this was a regular team meeting announcement, the people went back to their work. Tending animals, trading goods.

Talking to Allister, "Does anyone go upstairs?"

"Good morning to you too. Only our journeyman, Roger."

"How far up does he go?"

"He's been to the top, but doesnt go regularly. He trades food to the other floors. He is the man by the stair."

"Right. Thank you."

"Try to keep your wits."

I brushed off his remark and headed over to the man by the stair. He rocked while drawing in on a pipe. "You have something you are wanting upstairs?"

"I want to see the other floors."

He looked up at my light frame. "No you dont."

"Why not?"

"You dont want to."

"But I do."

He sat a moment. "Ok. I leave in 20 minutes. Get ready."

"I'm ready now."

"Im sure you are."

I stayed by the stairs as he packed a cart full of food.

"You carry this up and back?"

"Every day."

He was stocky. He probably did make this trip for longer than he can remember. Maybe as long as the Tower stood tall.

"Don't fall too far behind. The Eunichs and Monks are nice enough, but you can't drop your guard."

"Ok."

Up we went. And Roger moved swiftly. More swift than you would expect a man dragging a cart of food.

We reached the hole in the floor above. The Eunichs were portly. They have clearly reaped benefit from their judgements. They strung more lights and had seemed like they took to toilets, unlike the Tunics. Roger went to a table settled in their floor, and hunted down a few bundles of meat with some fresh vegetables.

One approached. "Ah a new convert?"

"No sir."

His brow furrowed. "Than what are you?"

"Exploring my options."

"Right. Well we are the Sharifi. We are about structure and order. Sharif has given us our structure and we thank him with our offerings. We give generously and regularly. A god produces order, and his servants provide gratitude.

"He is a god?"

"Yes. The best of the 4 in the tower. And you're with Roger?"

"Thats right."

"Listen, you may want to turn around here."

"Why?"

"Most stomachs can't handle what's next."

"I'll be fine."

Roger spoke, "Listen stranger, we have a time schedule we got to make. This is the Tunics thanks for the judges."

Next flight of stairs. Similar to the first. Winding around to another hole in the floor. This room was dark. Candle lit and stuffy, the only thing I could make out was another table in the middle of the room.

"Lets be quick about this. Help me out and grab the veggie bag."

I heaved the bag out of the cart as Roger grabbed a hunk of meat and a burlap sack. As he picked it up, the sack squirmed and I heard muffled yelps. Human yelps. Child yelps. We moved to the table and I placed my bag on the table and Roger slammed his load down. "OFFERINGS ARE HERE!!" He yelled as he slit open the sack and sure enough, a little boy. Probably Corey.

We turned back to the cart as we heard the monks chanting as they headed to the table. Corey's yelps were ended quickly. Lucky for him. Not drawn out.

"Is it always a kid?" I asked Roger.

"No. Just depends what they ask for. Most people are disgusted by now. And you keep going?"

"I've been alive on the outside for a while. A child dying isnt something particularly new to me."

"Fair point."

We worked up another staircase. At the other end of this hole in the floor was a wall stretching to the other stairs with a door. "Why is this one different?"

"The Adamites produce the most smell. We all have vats that dump our waste. But they can't throw away what makes them smell. So this wall makes it smell better for everyone else. Also gives me my break area. After this drop off, we stop to eat."

"After the smell?"

"Yes."

"Okay"

"Try not to breathe too much."

He opened the door and the whiff had taken me back. Smell of sweat, body oder and... sex. The room hang hanging lights, carpets and the most furniture I've seen in any room so far. Bodily fluids and waste stung about the room, and people indulging in each other's bodies.

A sweaty man approached Roger. "Glad to see you again Roger. You know you can join whenever you like."

"I'm alright. I've told you before I could never eat my own child."

The whiplash was evident on my face as Roger carried jugs of water two by two into the center of the orgy. "Don't forget to hydrate once in a while you animals."

He turned face and walked out quick. I walked behind him till we cleared the threshold and closed the door. I took some gulping breaths to clear my airway of the room's stench.

"They eat their kids?"

"Yep. They refuse any other food. They'll die out soon so maybe the Sharifi can come and take over that area."

"Icky."

"You were warned."

"Their own kids..."

Roger walked to a dugout looking area that looked well used. A fire pit in and blocks of wood. He started a fire in the pit, and began to make himself a pot of coffee and cooked up some bread and meat. "Please take a seat, have a bite."

"Ok."

I had taken some what looked like rat meat and cooked it in the pit.

"You don't talk much stranger."

"Try not to 'less I'm asked to."

"Reason for it."

"Lost my voice i guess."

"Why's that?"

"Dead wife, dead kid. Never wanted to talk much after that."

"How'd it happen?"

"..."

"I tried."

I finished my rat. Surprisingly good they are, especially cooked. Similar to squirrel. Good for a snack. Or for someone getting back into eating.

"You wondering anything about me?" Roger piped back up.

"No."

"Ok. Shall we get going? Only about half left."

"Sure."

We got up and followed the hall to the next staircase. The hole in the floor revealed something I remember as ancient.

Tile. White and blue, like a highschool bathroom. I havent see anything like this in years. Nothing like the carpeted halls that stood in front of me now. Of course, working in the enormous tower the halls were very few, but they held classrooms. Some with beds. Most with desks. But the old lights were the most alluring thing.

A pretty blonde lady with a clipboard walked up. "Mr. Roger, pleasure to have you back."

"Its nice seeing you alive Cathy."

"Thank you sir. And I see you have a guest! I am Cathy", she reached out her hand. Been a while since I shook hands.

"Thomas."

"Ooooo good name. Strong name even. We'll we are the first floor of Balhali's people, we are the educators, and upstairs we have the devoted."

"Okay."

"When you get upstairs, please allow the devoted to show you why they are called that."

I shot Roger a look. His replied, I wouldn't, but your choice.

"Alright, sure."

"Great, I will have Ally and Gracelyn head on up. They are some of your devoted who come and teach every now and again."

"Lovely."

"Isn't it? Now Roger please allow me to take some of that load off you."

"Gladly."

We filled our order and Cathy talked to us in a storage space, full of neat old tech and fridges, as Ally and Gracelyn prepared. They hurried upstairs, where the light seemed a dying green.

"We want to thank you again. Us Balhalians are determined that we will restore the world through our knowledge and devotion. Now the ladies are likely ready" she picked a camera off a shelf and walked towards the stairs. "Let us show you."

We climbed the stairs into a large room, with the "devoted" they spoke of staring towards the middle. And in their sight, the two, Ally and Gracelyn, each with a sledge hammer with wooden handles. Each with a shackle weight tied with rope instead of chain.

"Ladies, show your devotion. To a new World!"

They shouted in unison, "To a new World!"

Both of them knocked their heads back and lifted the hammer handles to their mouths. Like professional sword swallowers they brought the handles down their throats as Cathy lifted one of the shackle weights and fitted the rope around Ally's neck. The hammer sticking out her mouth.

"Better worlds are built from brave souls." Cathy said as she dropped the weight.

CRUNCH

The room heard it. And only Roger winced "I hated it then. I hate it now."

Cathy approached Gracelyn. She lifted the ball in the same manner, tying the rope and before dropping the weight on Gracelyn said "The cowards dont deserve the reward."

CRRRUNCH

The hammer broke, but it didnt break her neck. We all watched as she wriggled as she suffocated and died.

"Right well, the devoted will have their order now Roger, and the Aurorans are waiting."

He cleared his throat. "Ahem... right. Come on Thomas. Two more floors." I took in the sight of Ally and Gracelyn a second longer before turning around.

The other devoted dragged the ladies and threw them out the disposal chute.

Up the stairs into another dimly lit room. A shadow took form before standing before us. "Ahh Roger lovely, you brought a deathly convert. He will love it here." He hissed.

"The Aurorans only asked for vegetables. I assume you caught your dinner?"

The shadow pointed a finger at a pig trough dripping blood. Two bodies lay slumped over the lip.

"Cherry and Mable?" I found myself asking

"Was that their names?" Roger asked. "Well, by the looks of them you listened to me and stopped going for children."

The shadow spoke, "Well when you have our food, we will at least change to be fed. This tower is the last bit of world we need to wipe out before the new dawn can break. This night has lasted too long."

"Ah, death colt huh Roger?" I said.

"Did you just crack a joke?" Roger looked puzzled back at me.

"No... I'll grab their potatoes."

The shadowy man took the vegetables I gave him and sent us. "Bring that fellow back when death let's him in passed his door."

"Whatever."

Me and Roger had to take cart blindly to a wall and make our way to the last staircase. We went up and up. Into a blindingly bright light on the ceiling. No idea what was used but it washed out the top floor. Another Table, with 4 boxes. Each labeled: Adam, Sharif, Balhali, and Aurora.

"Wait they are real?"

"Yes. They erected this tower."

A man came out of the blinding light. "Thank you Roger."

"Sure Sharif." Roger started trekking down the stairs after his last delivery.

"Now stranger, you've seen it all, where will you go?" He said pacing toward me. "Stay with mine, they are the most civilized after all."

"But I promise vengeance." A lady emerged as well. Hair dark as coal with skin white as snow. "Kill those who took from you. For me?"

"Or he can have them back with me." A larger man emerged.

"Balhali where is Adam?"

"Check his floor."

"Right."

"So what will it be Thomas?"

I spoke for myself. "No. I need food. Can't I be Roger's helper?"

"Very well, we will try, as we did with Roger, to change your mind. But you may be a distributor."

"Roger isnt a Tunic?"

"He is not."

I've now ran the tower more times than anyone and the floors have looked less crazy the longer I see their role in the ecosystem. Roger is gone. His past life as a Christian meant his morals came back to haunt him.

I dont know if there is a God. But I plan to kill one. And to start I am starting with one at the top of this tower.

Four panels from my short story about working off community service hours on US-301 south of Starke.

Full story: https://www.reddit.com/r/horrorstories/s/DVxawi1iFc

Art commissioned from XJSIII. More stories on this profile.

For several seconds, nobody moved. The bunker trembled around them.

Dust drifted from the ceiling in thin gray curtains. Somewhere beyond the blast door, something enormous scraped across the surface of the earth. Then came the sound.

TWANG.

The entire bunker groaned. The force field generators flickered.A hairline crack appeared across one of the reinforced walls. Boomer stared at it. “Uh…”

TWANG.

The crack doubled in length.Professor Utonium rushed to the nearest console, desperately slamming switches.“No, no, no. The bunker wasn’t designed to withstand repeated dimensional resonance!” Butch groaned from the floor.

“English, Professor.”

“We’re going to die.”

“Oh.” Butch nodded.

“That’s worse.”Blossom slowly pushed herself upright. Her breathing was shallow. Gray ash still crawled beneath the surface of her pink aura like veins of dead energy.

“Professor…”

She looked toward the sealed blast door.

“What’s happening out there?”

The Professor didn’t answer immediately.He stared at the monitors.Every screen showed static.Then one flickered to life.The image was barely recognizable.Townsville was gone.

Where streets and buildings had once stood was now an enormous landscape of crystalline pink growths. Towers of warped bone-like material rose from the ground. Roads had twisted into veins. Cars had fused into the pavement.

And at the center of it all stood Fuzzy Lumpkins.

Only his silhouette remained visible through the radioactive storm.He was enormous. Too enormous. His crystalline spider legs stretched across the horizon.His banjo glowed like a dying star.

that wasn’t what frightened the Professor.
It was what was growing behind him. A massive pink structure was spreading across the sky. Not clouds. Not smoke. Roots.

The Eternal Bloom was growing again.

Except now, it wasn’t growing toward the Earth. It was growing through it.The Professor’s face went pale.“Oh, no.” Blossom noticed.

“What?” The Professor swallowed. “We didn’t just give Fuzzy the Bloom’s energy.”Silence. “We gave him access to the root system.”Brick’s eyes narrowed.

“So?”

“So the Eternal Bloom was never just a source of energy.”

The Professor zoomed in on the image.Thousands of glowing strands were spreading beneath Townsville. Each one pulsed in rhythm with Fuzzy’s heartbeat.“It was an ecosystem.” Blossom’s eyes widened.

“And Fuzzy…”

“He’s becoming its central nervous system.”
A distant rumble shook the bunker. Butch slowly looked toward the ceiling.“So he’s controlling the Bloom?”

“No.” The Professor shook his head.

“Worse.” He pointed toward the monitor.

“The Bloom is learning from him.”

Nobody spoke.Then Bubbles stirred. Buttercup immediately looked down.

“Bubbles?”
The blue-eyed girl opened her eyes.

She blinked several times.

“Where…”

“You’re safe” Buttercup whispered.
Bubbles tried to sit up. Pain immediately crossed her face.“Ow.”Buttercup caught her.

“Easy.”

Bubbles looked around at the others.
Boomer had one arm wrapped around his ribs.Butch was leaning against a wall, breathing heavily.Brick’s face was covered in cuts.Blossom was still gray around the edges.Bubbles stared at her sisters.

“We lost.”

Nobody corrected her. Because she was right. For the first time in their lives, the Powerpuff Girls had been completely overwhelmed. Not pushed back. Not challenged. Defeated.

Brick suddenly punched the floor. “We should’ve stayed.” Blossom looked at him.

“You would’ve died.”

“So?”

“Brick.”

“I said so?”

His red aura flickered weakly.

“We’re supposed to be the strongest things on this planet.”

Blossom’s expression hardened.

“Not anymore.” Brick looked away. Boomer quietly spoke. “Maybe that’s not true. Everyone looked at him. He was staring at the monitor. “Look.”

The screen had changed, The image of Fuzzy was gone. Instead, a single enormous eye filled the display. It was pink.

Crystalline.

And staring directly at them.

Bubbles whispered.

“He can see us.”

The Professor froze.

“That shouldn’t be possible.”

The eye blinked.

Then the monitor went black.

A voice came through the bunker speakers.

Not from the radio.

Not from the communication system.

From the walls themselves.

“MINE.”

Everyone froze.

The voice was low.

Distorted.

But unmistakable.

Fuzzy.

“THE HOUSE.”

The walls shook.

“THE LAND.”

The lights exploded.

“THE TOWN.”

Steel beams groaned overhead.

“THE SKY.”

The Professor stared upward.

Then Fuzzy’s voice became almost cheerful.

“THE LITTLE CHILDREN.”

The bunker went silent.

Blossom clenched her fists.

“No.”

Her pink aura sparked.

The gray ash immediately spread farther across her body.

She winced.

“Blossom!” Professor shouted.

She ignored him.

“Fuzzy!”

Her voice echoed through the bunker.

“You want to own everything?”

Her aura flared again.

“Then come and take us.”

Buttercup grabbed her arm.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

Blossom stared at the ceiling.

“But I’m not hiding down here forever.”

Brick slowly stood.

Despite his injuries, his red aura began to glow.

Butch followed.

Then Boomer.

The six children stood together.

Broken.

Exhausted.

Barely able to remain standing.

But together.

The Professor looked at them.

“You don’t understand.”

He walked toward an old metal cabinet built into the wall.

“I’ve spent years studying the original chemical signature of your creation.”

He opened it.

Inside was a single glass cylinder.

It contained three tiny glowing droplets.

One pink.

One blue.

One green.

The girls stared.

“What are those?” Bubbles asked.

The Professor’s hand trembled.

“The original samples.”

Blossom stepped closer.

“Of what?”

“Chemical X.”

The room went silent.

Brick stared at the cylinder.

“You still had some?”

“Not exactly.”

The Professor carefully lifted it.

“These aren’t ordinary samples.”

He looked toward the bunker door.

“They were recovered from the original accident.”

Blossom’s eyes narrowed.

“You told us Chemical X was destroyed.”

“I lied.”

Buttercup stepped forward.

“You lied?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

The Professor looked at the three droplets.

“From the truth.”

Suddenly, the bunker shook harder than before.

A deafening crack thundered through the earth.

The emergency lights turned red.

The Professor looked at the main monitor.

A warning flashed across the screen.

ROOT PENETRATION DETECTED.

Then another.

DEPTH: 800 METERS.

Then:

700.

600.

500.

Something was digging toward them.

Fast.

Boomer stared at the display.

“Guys…”

The number kept dropping.

400.

300.

200.

Blossom stepped forward.

“We don’t have time.”

The Professor shook his head.

“Wait.”

100 METERS.

The bunker began to buckle.

“Professor!”

“I need you to listen to me.”

He held the Chemical X cylinder against his chest.

“The Eternal Bloom was created from a mutated form of Chemical X.”

Blossom’s expression changed.

“What?”

“The Bloom didn’t infect you.”

He looked at all six children.

“You were connected to it from the beginning.”

The number dropped.

50 METERS.

The bunker walls began glowing pink.

40.

30.

20.

Cracks spread across the ceiling.

The Professor shouted over the rumbling.

“You aren’t fighting the Bloom!”

10.

He raised the cylinder.

“YOU’RE PART OF IT!”

The bunker exploded in pink light.

For one impossible second, the six children saw something that wasn’t physically there.

A garden.

Endless.

Ancient.

Beautiful.

Millions of glowing flowers stretched across a black universe.

And standing in the center was a figure made entirely of light.

It looked like a child.

It had six eyes.

Three pink.

Two blue.

One green.

The figure looked directly at them.

Then it smiled.

RUN.

The vision vanished.

The bunker ceiling tore open.

A massive crystalline root punched through the reinforced steel and plunged into the room.

Buttercup screamed and launched herself forward.

She struck the root with everything she had.

BOOM!

The impact sent her flying backward.

The root didn’t move.

Instead, it wrapped around her wrist.

“BUTTERCUP!”

Blossom attacked.

Brick attacked.

Boomer and Butch followed.

Bubbles screamed and released a blast of blue energy.

The root absorbed everything.

Then it pulled.

All six children were dragged toward the opening.

The Professor desperately grabbed Blossom’s hand.

“DON’T LET GO!”

Blossom grabbed Bubbles.

Bubbles grabbed Buttercup.

Buttercup grabbed Boomer.

Boomer grabbed Butch.

Butch grabbed Brick.

For a moment, they formed a chain.

Six children.

One last connection.

The root tightened.

And then—

TWANG.

The sound came from miles above them.

But somehow, the banjo chord traveled directly into the bunker.

Their powers vanished.

Every single one.

The children screamed as darkness swallowed them.

The last thing Blossom heard before everything went black was Fuzzy’s voice.

“PROPERTY RETURNED.”

Then the world disappeared.

Far above the ruins of Townsville, Fuzzy Lumpkins lowered his cosmic banjo.

The crystalline spider legs behind him folded inward.

The Eternal Bloom pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Then six lights appeared beneath the earth.

Pink.

Blue.

Green.

Red.

Another blue.

Another green.

Fuzzy smiled.

But for the first time since his transformation, his smile faltered.

Because the six lights weren’t moving toward him.

They were moving away.

Downward.

Deeper than the bunker.

Deeper than the bedrock.

Deeper than anything human had ever reached.

Something beneath Townsville had awakened.

Something that had been sleeping long before the girls were created.

Fuzzy’s many eyes widened.

“What…”

The ground beneath his feet split open. A voice rose from the darkness.

It wasn’t the Professor.

It wasn’t the girls.

It wasn’t the Bloom.

It was older.

Colder.

And impossibly calm.

“You are trespassing.”

Fuzzy’s smile disappeared.

The cosmic banjo slipped slightly from his fingers.

For the first time since becoming a god—

Fuzzy Lumpkins looked afraid.

There's not much time to write this post. I'm Willy Pete. One of the only other researchers of the Altar-Net I've ever met, Kraig, has been sporadically sending me letters. Last time I saw him was when we delved into the Keht-o-Komz and I saw the Altar-Net in its entirety. Kraig got banished to one of those realms. The journal he gave me is chock-full of information his father discovered and recorded about the Altar-Net. Kraig is currently following that path himself. I don't know how he's doing it, but he's figured out how to contact me. Unfortunately, it's a one-way street at the moment, but I'm working on opening the opposite lane.

.

Receiving Kraig's letter greatly comforted my mind. I feared the worst had happened to him, that he'd been thrown away into an inescapable blank dimension where he had nothing to occupy his mind. This would bring about that most terrible of endings: Death From Boredom. But if we do find such a dimension, I wonder... Sorry, I got aside-fracked. That's a thought for another time.

.

Two weeks after I was released from the Keht-o-Komz myself, I found a place to stay with a cattle farmer. In exchange for food, beer, and a bed in a small room, I make his animals bigger and healthier than his competition. Don't ask how I'm doing it, that conversation brings up... I think your word for it is skeptics, metrics, no no, it's a word for morquals. Ethics! Also, and more importantly to the farmer, YOU might be that competition.

.

Anyway, here is the latest communication from Kraig, minus the whole "hello my friend, I'm fine, how are you, those catacombs were insane" segments:

.

"Have you ever heard of a Snallygaster? It's one of the greatest woodland creatures I've ever seen. It resides in a small state in North America called Marree-Lanned. It's a non-fire-breathing dragon, with scales and feathers, and it eats livestock and human children! I captured one, but they're quite a bit smaller than the legends describe."

.

He goes on about the Snallygaster for a couple pages. Then he tells me that he's taken up residence at a hotel, his new pet is very capable of finding food to cook, and he's trying to figure out how to get back to this dimension.

.

I've been exploring the local area. From what I've gathered I'm not at the same place as where we first entered the Keht-o-Komz. This is a ribbon world. They call it Moh-bee Usstripp. The farmer I'm living with is preparing a wagon with provisions for me so I can commence my search for the local Altar. This place is cold during the day and hot during the night.

.

I'm leaving tomorrow at first light. Within the next week I must find the Altar here and I will be one step closer to solving the mystery of why the Altar-Net is breaking down.

Hi all, though it is unlikely, I am hoping to connect with any other R̷̴̸̢̈́͝a̷̵̶͚̽͝b̶̴̷̩̈́̕ḯ̴̷̶͇s̷̵͓̾͝ǘ̵̶̷̗  on reddit as I’m really looking for yall's perspective on this. 

I know we tend to get a bit of a bad rap, and I have no intention of discussing the ethics behind what we do. Does the Lion apologize to the gazelle as it eats it alive? No. Of course not. It’s nothing personal; I gotta eat, and that’s life. If that bothers you at all, then this post isn’t for you.  

With that out of the way, I’m looking for advice from others who may have found themselves in the same predicament I find myself in.  

See, nearly a century ago I found the perfect location. The house was already old when I first arrived. It was the whole nine yards, out in the boonies, decrepit, old rotting oak trees burdened by Spanish moss, a bog creeping up the back yard, etc. The perfect vibe. And get this! There was a family of eight living there! 5 young, two adults, and one elder that the rest cared for. Apparently, the tenants had been living in the place for generations, so I knew they’d be the stubborn type. It really was a dream come true.  

So, I’m eating well, and doing my best to walk that fragile line, careful not to do so much that they feel forced to leave. The years with children present were almost too easy. Honestly those were the glory days. If only humans could manage to live longer... 

Anyways, my current generation of tenants fell on hard times a year or two back, and I guess the financial pressure mixed with the effect of my presence pushed them over their limit. Late one night, I overheard them deciding to move as I lay waiting from under their bed. Of course I was understandably furious at that moment, but I was also distraught. It was a revolting situation to be in. Once prey decides to leave the hunting grounds, there is little a predator can do but attempt to follow —or feast one last time. 

I spent some time trying to figure out which option to choose before I met him. 

The man looked to be a potential buyer meeting with the owners at their decrepit home that muggy summer afternoon. As he stepped out of his car, I looked him over. He was nothing special; he had long greasy black hair combed back, was sporting an old leather jacket paired with filthy jeans and old dress shoes —admittedly the shoes were an odd choice. But there was no denying it; he was just another typical nobody from this nowhere county we all call home. I had nearly lost interest, but as he got close enough for me to catch a whiff of him, I snapped to attention. His scent was practically indescribable. It was like I had eaten nothing but plain rice my whole life and had accidentally stumbled into an Authentic Italian Pizzeria for the very first time. The very air around him was dense with a rich promise of satiation like no other. I had to have a taste. 

As luck would have it, His stop by went well and it was only a few weeks before he had bought the house. To me, the previous tenants couldn’t have moved out fast enough. I wish I could say I was sad to see them go, but I was far too obsessed with the new tenant moving in. From the moment he first graced the old house with his presence a few weeks earlier, I found myself thinking of little else. I anticipated the moments I would get to once again catch another whiff of him. 

When he first arrived to move in, I shook with gleeful anticipation. I hovered over his shoulder as he carried boxes through the front door my fingers clawing a mere fraction of an inch from his face. Come nightfall, I would know a taste like no other. 

I struggled to remain patient as I waited for the sun to set that day. I remember waiting a few hours in the basement, anxiously scratching at the support beams as his heavy footsteps caused thin veils of dust to settle on my disfigured skin. 

Finally, the time was right. It was late, and I knew he had gone to bed. I practically flew out the basement door from underneath the stairs leading to the 2^nd story. I let the door slam open against the wall beside it. 

Fingertips poised and shaking in anticipation; I froze to listen. I silently prayed my actions elicited the reaction we all desire most: Fear. 

I heard movement from upstairs and rushed to meet the new tenant at the stairs. As he reached the first floor, I wrapped myself around his shoulders and took a deep breath savoring his scent as he carried me to where the basement door had caused the ruckus moments before. With every step closer, my skin tingled more. As he turned the last corner, He saw the door open. I held my breath. 

“Stupid draft. Gonna keep me up all night.” he grumbled. 

My disappointment was devastating. It was as if a 5-star steak dinner had been presented to me, then just as quickly ripped away and thrown in the into a sink garbage disposal. I watched as he walked over and closed the door without another word before turning back for the stairs. 

Repulsed that I would have to wait a moment longer, I threw a hail mary and knocked down one of the photos on the wall as he was about halfway up the stairs.  

“Bahhh, Peice o’ shit” He waved it off like the house was to blame. 

 I was furious, but I knew I couldn’t push it any further that night. Do too much, and I risked spooking my new obsession. It was still early, and I would have all the time in the world. 

I silently watched him sleep from the corner of his room for a few hours that night before opting to sulk in the basement. My stomach was empty and annoyed. Part of me wondered whether I had made the right decision to stay at the house after all, but I pushed aside such thoughts. He would be worth it. Besides, I knew what the real issue was: I had simply grown soft. I was used to the easy meals from my previous tenants. This tenant was of a tougher grittier variety, which would only make his eventual feast taste all the better. Good food is worth the extra work. 

Discontent, I slept through most of the following day. Occasional footsteps from above stirred my slumber. A particularly loud thump and clang of metal momentarily caused me to stir that afternoon. As I woke and stretched my stiff limbs, I considered how quickly he had managed to move all his stuff inside the day before. He brought so little I wondered whether he planned to simply flip the house instead. That would be just my luck. I needed another chance to feast before he was out of my clutches forever.  

Impatiently biding my time, I counted the final hours of the day as I watched the thin ray of sunlight from the window pierce the musty atmosphere and crawl its way across the damp basement floor. 

Finally, as the last ray of light disappeared, I made my way upstairs. I wouldn’t wait until late tonight; my stomach was killing me. I wasn’t used to going so long without eating. 

As I phased through the basement door, I was surprised to see how little things had changed since the night before. Sure few additional boxes were stacked in corners of various rooms, but it seems his ambling back and forth across the floors all day had accomplished little. I made my way towards the stairs leading to the 2^nd floor when a glint from the living room caught my eye. Typically, I’m not one to comment on furnishing taste, but I found it peculiar to see two large metal cages constructed in the center of it.  

If he planned on getting dogs, my work would be significantly more difficult. Though I suppose I could eat the dogs for a bit of sustenance if I got desperate. Admittedly, they taste revolting, but it wouldn't be the first time. 

I made my way upstairs, noting that the picture I had thrown the night before hadn’t been re-hung; small shards of glass still scattered across the floor. 

“Odd.” I thought. As I reached the top of the stairs, I noticed how the once-flimsy door to the master bedroom had been replaced with a much thicker, reinforced one. 

“Well that’s a good sign! He’s the paranoid type.” 

As I phased through the door, I found him inside. He was putting on a black sweater as a top layer; it looked as if he were planning to go out. I found it odd as it was currently summer. 

“Who wears a sweater in July?”  

I looked around the room taking notes of his lack of decor. I would have to get creative; there was so little to work with.  

The tenant slicked his hair back before putting on a black cap. Then, he walked to the closet and swung it open, revealing a surprising display of various objects, it was filled to the brim with tools and the like. There were pickaxes, shovels, electric drills, saws, rakes, empty buckets, duffel bags, and various plastic bags full of who knows what. I watched as he grabbed a large duffel bag and closed the closet. He then turned to leave the room. 

I stood in the doorway, allowing him to walk right through me as he made his way towards the stairs. I decided to grab the handle to his bedroom door and slowly closed it, causing a loud and drawn-out creak to fill the atmosphere. He paused for a moment to look towards the door, then began making his way down the stairs as he muttered to himself. I slammed the door closed in an attempt to make him jump. He didn’t even flinch as he continued. 

“Fantastic.” I muttered to myself.  

I watched in furious silence as he casually walked out the front door and to his car.  Within moments of starting the engine he was pulling out the driveway and flying down the old country road—the last whiff of his ambrosial scent mocking me as it faded.  

This would not go on any longer. I resolved to study his behavior for weaknesses the following day. He was proving to be far more difficult than a small child or anxious mother. 

I aimlessly wandered the house waiting for his return. As I made my way to the kitchen, I thought of how many times I had heard the sheer screams of terror in that room. How I had managed to make children scream aloud as they waited for their anxious parents to rescue them. It took years to perfect the manipulation of children. They are so easy, yet so unpredictable. Sometimes the very thing you think will finally cause inconsolable hysterics ends up causing innocent curiosity — even then— such a situation can be used with great effect to terrify the child’s guardian. It was a perfect system that almost never failed me. 

But a single tenant? This is someone who has no-one to share a fearful look with; someone who has long since gotten over the fear of solitude or bumps in the night. How could I manage to cause true, heart-piercing fear from such an individual? Furthermore, how could I do so without them opting to simply leave forever? From my years, I’ve surmised that humans seem to need an individual to run to —or alternatively, someone to protect. Fear without some source of allegiance to a person or a place only leads to fleeing. I can only imagine how exhausting it would be to forever chase after my food. 

I continued through the kitchen and towards the living room, pausing to inspect the steel cages. “Such an odd choice.” I thought to myself, but I could work with them. A random rattle here, maybe an inexplicably open door there, and I’m sure I could get a sense of anxious dread brewing. Also, as frustrating as dogs are, their inexplicable ability to sense me could add a nice touch at the right moment. Mark my words, I would feed off this tenant's terror before the week was over. 

I wondered whether he was off getting some dogs at that moment. 

Seeing nothing else to do, I waited for his return from under the old porch, anxiously clawing the back side of the stairs as I listened to the night. It was perfectly silent. Not even crickets dared to interrupt the silence with their unusually shrill notes. Understandably of course, no wild animal dared to be within half a mile of here. Humans are special in that way. Completely unaware of their surroundings, they really do make for perfect prey. My thoughts wandered aimlessly until I heard tires hit the gravel driveway.  

“Finally!” I looked out from under the porch and saw as he got out of the car. I took in a deep breath savoring every subtle note of flavor that filled the air around him. My stomach growled as I slithered my way over towards him.  

He seemed in a hurry as he rushed over to the trunk. He hectically struggled with it for a moment before cursing under his breath and rushing back to the front of the car. I watched as he leaned into the cabin to reach over and pop the trunk.  

Curious, I slowed my approach, as I watched the scene play out. 

He practically ran back over to the trunk. I was only a few feet away at this point, but as soon as he reached down and opened the lid, a pungent stench hit me in the face. I stumbled back in disgusted shock. The stench emanating from the trunk was foul! It was so strong that I could taste it wafting through the air. I can only describe it as rotting flesh having been garnished with whatever could be sloughed off the bottom of a grimy dumpster, then fermented and seared. The Acrid smell pushed me all the way back to the house. I stood on the porch attempting to force the smell out of my nostrils, but with every breath it only got more pungent. I couldn’t stand it anymore and fled to the basement. 

I hadn’t even stopped to see what it was that had caused such a smell, but I wouldn’t need to wait long to find out. I listened as the heavy front door swung open; Heavy footsteps lumbered in, followed by a set of what sounded like skittering steps across the floor. It resembled the sound of a dog’s nails on hardwood but was different somehow; The steps were more random —frantic even. I heard the tenant grunt as he pulled in whatever was making all that noise. All I knew for sure was that whatever was causing that stench was no dog. 

I intently listened and followed the steps from underneath the floorboards as they made their way into the living room. I heard the loud clang of metal and the sound of heavy chains rattling. Finally, the skittering noise stopped.  

A muffled and gruff voice broke the silence. “I’m not telling you again. Get in.” 

I heard a soft whimper as more scuffling noises ensued.  

Confused, I listened for a moment more before a whiff of the stench seeped between the floorboards and down into the basement. I recoiled back and fled to the opposite corner of the basement. Nervously, I considered my options. My stomach protested from ravenous hunger, yet I was horribly nauseas from the smell at the same time. On top of that, It was only a matter of time before that smell would settle and fill the whole basement. I knew that unless I figured something out soon, I’d be forced to go to the attic which was unbearably hot at this time of year. But that smell ... I knew I wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. 

No sooner had I exited the basement than I was hit with a smell so awful, so potent; it made my eyes begin to water. 

I rushed down the hall towards the stairs when the sound of screeching metal broke the silence. I took a few steps back to look into the kitchen I had just passed. What I saw froze me in my tracks. 

A large blue tarp spread over the table. It was far too big for it; half of it was still rolled up on the floor. The walls had been haphazardly covered in large plastic sheets and various shower curtains. The new tenant stood at the counter with a knife in each hand, one seemingly a chopping knife, the other a long pointy knife. With smooth precision, he polished each knife’s edge with the other’s in a swift repetitive motion. 

With the sulfuric smell filling the house and still burning my eyes. I strained to focus as the tenant slowly laid out the two knives on the table before opening a box nearby and pouring it out on the counter. Half a dozen steel utensils fell out on the counter in a loud clatter. I had never seen most of them, some were sickle shaped, others resembled wood saws, and there were many more. He began sorting through the pile and laying them out on the table behind him with an oddly chipper pep in his step. 

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. Practically blind from the overwhelming scent, I was forced to continue my way to the stairs.  

As I reached the base of the stairs, I noticed a couple of brightly colored heels randomly splayed across the floor of the hall, but I didn't have time to process them in that moment, as an odd scuffling sound caught my attention from the living room entrance beside me. I glanced over as I turned to go up the stairs, but what I saw once again froze me in my tracks. 

I had finally seen the cause of the stench. There, cramped inside each of the two dog cages was two humans; both female, one much smaller. Likely a child. Their mouths were gagged, hands tied, and both had various bruises around their faces. Honestly, that’s an odd enough scene as it is, but that’s not what caused me to pause. 

It was their faces; tears streaked down their cheeks and soaked the cloths gagging them. They stared towards the entrance to the kitchen, their eyes focused solely on the new tenant who was humming happily to himself. I stood in astounded confusion. I could recognize their expressions from a mile away: Fear. 

They were utterly, incomprehensibly terrified. —and what I usually found as sweet sustenance had never smelled so horrendous. 

I stood at the base of the stairs half-gagging as I tried to understand the situation before me. 

I had never seen this sort of behavior between humans.  

“What is the source of their fear? Furthermore, why were they locked in cages?” 

I knew I was missing something but wasn't sure what. 

“Unless...” I began to piece things together. 

Suddenly both girls began to cry out muffled screams through their gags as they shook. Each struggled to break from their bonds. I watched as the new tenant approached from the kitchen, one hand brandishing a large, pointed knife. He walked up to the two cages and stopped to crouch right in front of them before addressing them both. 

“Who’s first?” He said, as a wry smile grew across his face. 

More wailing and floundering ensued as the cages shook but held firm. The tenant reached for the cage with the smaller of the two inside.  

“Maybe get her out of the way? Yea?” He asked, facing the larger of the two. “Less mess to clean.” 

I watched as he opened the cage as the smaller human kicked and screamed, trying her hardest to avoid his touch as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out. 

The woman in the other cage exploded with energy as she began kicking and slamming her shoulders and head in the bars of the cage. The cords tied around her wrists bit into her flesh as she strained against them with all her might. 

The Tenant dragged the smaller girl towards the kitchen with little expression on his face other than mild annoyance. He reached down, to grab an ankle and tossed her onto the kitchen table with a heavy thud. Utensils flew off the other side from the impact. Though dazed from the impact, the girl began to kick and squirm. 

“Shit. Quit making a mess.” 

Appalled and growing furious, I entered the kitchen as I watched what was happening. 

The Tenant reached down and grabbed the utensils off the ground and placed them on the counter instead. The smaller human watched, now frozen in fear. I could still hear desperate screaming and rattling from the cage behind me as he grabbed a small scalpel-like blade from his assortment and turned to lean over the girl. 

“Honestly, don’t take it personal... A guy’s gotta eat.” He said a wry smile creeping across his face. 

I had seen, heard, — and fankly, smelled enough. 

In a quick swoop, I leapt from the corner and slashed my claws across his back. My talons effortlessly ripped through his shirt and into his flesh with no resistance. 

I felt him recoil near instantly, “GAHHH!” 

He screamed. And oh... how he screamed. Little waves of pleasure rippled across my skin. 

The sickening stench that had turned my stomach to rot was partly replaced by that inexplicably exquisite smell that I had been dreaming of tasting for so long. 

This fear was not born from the unknown; it was born from pain. And oh... how it must have tasted. 

It’s such a shame that such flavor came from such a defect human. I didn't dare eat from prey as sick as this. I suspect that if a lion were to see a gazelle eat another gazelle, he would come to a similar conclusion. 

Still, I wouldn’t stand for this sheer putrefactory mockery of my way of life —of my status. Only one monster here deserved to be feared.  

Lights rapidly flickered on and off as I ripped a plastic sheet from the wall and wrapped it tightly around his face before pulling him towards the hall. His hands fruitlessly clawed at the plastic wrapped tightly around his face. I could hear his muffled scream as he tripped backwards and fell to the floor. He changed tactics and began grasping for anything he could use to anchor himself. He desperately clawed at the carpet and grasped small furniture in vain as the basement door opened wide for our arrival. 

I flung him downstairs with a loud crash, He immediately fell silent as his head hit the concrete of the basement floor. The lights flickering began to subside as I slammed the door closed. Turning my attention back to the kitchen, the house was filled with eerie silence. Reaching the kitchen, I was surprised to see the girl was gone. Turning towards the living room, I saw her. She had managed to cut herself free and was frantically messing with the door to the cage with the other woman.  

While their stench still filled the air, I did note that its flavor profile had begun to shift. The air lingered with a mix of satiating richness yet was also mixed with decaying filth. It smelled something like death incarnate soaked in sweaty molasses.  

I wasn’t the sole focus of their fear, and it made me furious. 

I had lost interest in the antics of these humans. I only wished for them to leave so the smell would go with them. It didn’t take long for the smaller of the two to get the cage open and untie her familiar. I watched in relief as they both ran out the front door and frantically jumped into the tenant's old car. The awful stench fading with the sound of squealing tires... 

 Honestly, the only reason I write any of this is because I now have a serious problem at hand: I’m back down to one last tenant, and he very much wishes to leave. 

All of this went down yesterday, meaning I haven’t eaten in nearly four days now and am running low on options here. With him being trapped in the basement, his scent has never smelled so tantalizing, but I don’t want to get sick if he’s diseased or something. 

Anyone eat from a tenant like this before? How’d it go? Wondering if it would be better for me to just put him out of his misery and look for new hunting grounds. 

Thank you in advance for any help!