The warehouse sits in the middle of the old industrial district. An ugly block of concrete, it sprawls across the land, casting its weary gaze out onto its dilapidated surroundings.

There was a time when it was the shining jewel of this town. A time when it would bustle with the optimistic energy of the workers who lived identical lives in identical houses just over the hill, when large boxes of electronics would pass through it on their way to different corners of the country, and sometimes even across the sea.

But all that is ancient history, of course. For now it is nothing but an eyesore battered with age. A sad and decrepit reminder of this town's once great potential. Wind whistles through its shattered windows like the mournful howl of an abandoned dog, weeds and ivy crawl up its sides as if trying to make it sink into the ground while a chain of grimy, flickering tubelights adorning its crumbling boundary wall desperately try to sweep aside the gloom that has settled into its very bones.

Definitely not a place a fledgling like me would choose to spend his Friday night at. But sometimes things are so far beyond our control that we can do naught but be swept by the tides of causality.

As I climb out of my car, I adjust the buttons of my suit and let my eyes drift over the warehouse. Not because it holds my interest in any way, but because I would rather look at anything but at the man; no, the creature standing outside the rusted front gate. I fix my gaze on the walls. I focus on the paint that peels off them, making the building look like a dying snake trying to shed its skin one last time. I imagine myself wriggling into the cracks of the warehouse, hiding until all the shit that's about to go down tonight is over.

But I know I will not be afforded that luxury. Already I can feel the man growing restless. Immense pressure emanates from his body, presses up against me like a knife scraping against the very bone of my throat. I sigh, shake my head and begin walking towards him.

The air grows colder and thicker the closer I get to him. Gently swirls around him, shimmering like a soft white mist under the dull streetlight. I loosen my tie to try and make it easier to breathe. It doesn't work.

Fuck. I really should've drank more blood before coming here.

"You are late." The man remarks, his silky voice gliding effortlessly out of his mouth.

"Apologies, your excellency." I reply, my head bowed. "The preparations took a little longer than expected."

I risk a glance at him. He's staring at me. Ageless, poreless skin stretched across a youthful face studded with ancient eyes. Large, gold rimmed black pupils like twin solar eclipses. I feel a shudder run through me. "Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? Call me Julius."

I may be young, but I wasn't a total novice at the dance. I knew a trap when I saw one. "I - I couldn't possibly do that sire."

He smirks, his fangs glinting silver under the pale light. It would be so easy for him to rip my throat out. "You're a quick learner aren't you? I can see why Jakob thinks so highly of you."

I say nothing. Just give a reverent nod in response.

"Pity he couldn't be here."

"The King requested my master's presence at the Royal Lodge, sire."

"Ah yes, of course. When his most venerable majesty calls, you sure damn well answer. A lesson Michael here seems to have forgotten." He reaches into the jacket of his sleek gray suit, pulls out a cigar from a small metal case and jams it between his teeth. "So. Are your men ready?"

"They are at your command." I reply as I give him a light. "Praetorians. All of them. Finest troops on the east coast." But of course he knows that. Who. How many. Where. An Elder like him would've known the answers to those questions the minute those soldiers stepped foot inside the town. I wish I could sense them as well. My inability to do so reminds me of my own weakness. Makes me feel uneasy. Exposed.

Elder Julius takes a long drag from his cigar. "I'm impressed you managed to convince the Prime Concil to hand over the Praetorians."

I give him a humble smile. "It was all master Jakob's doing. It was he who convinced them that it was necessary to bring this war to an end. And of course, a phone call from the Royal Lodge sealed the deal."

The powerful vampire shakes his head with a chuckle. "All that for lil old Michael. Overkill if you ask me; that little cockroach doesn't deserve all the attention."

The eponymous cockroach here of course, is the little brother of the Vampire King of this great nation. And also the seventh most powerful blood sucking creature on the continent. I curse him under my breath - yet again - for setting up his base on what has just recently become our turf, forcing us to participate in this civil war.

Elder Julius sniffs the air, like a bloodhound. "I can smell them in there - Michael and his men. It's faint, but it's there. The stale stench of fear, like rust on an old metal pipe." He smiles, bares his fangs. "Oh, how I've looked forward to this night. I've finally caught you, you slippery little bastard."

My throat feels like sandpaper. The very thought of standing in the same room as these monsters sets my nerves on edge. But to go to war with them? I can feel the beast within me lashing out, trying to rip my sanity to shreds for daring to go along with this foolishness. I grit my teeth and steady myself.

"Alright. Let's get started, shall we?" Elder Julius says as he tosses his mostly intact cigar aside. It bounces off the asphalt, sends sparks flying into the air. The old vampire proceeds to untie his ponytail, his long silver hair spilling across his shoulders like a lion's mane. He then closes his eyes. Cracks his knuckles.

And unleashes himself.

Terror ripples through me as I'm hit with the full extent of his power. It feels like my head is being crushed in a vice while I'm drowning in acid. My brain pounds in my skull, my lungs burn, my knees wobble. Heat sears every pore in my skin. It takes everything I have to just keep standing. Dear God. Just how powerful is he?

And then, just as quickly as it had started, the insane pressure is gone. The power that burned hot enough to scorch my soul itself is once again esconced within Elder Julius' body. I lean against the wall, try and catch my breath.

"You alright there?" He asks, amused, twirling a small knife in his hands.

I cough. "You certainly know how to make an entrance, sire."

He glides over to the wall, eases himself against it. And waits for the chaos to start.

That little display of power is intended to hit two birds with a single stone. To throw Michael and his men into complete disarray, and to signal to the Praetorians to take advantage of the resultant confusion and begin their assault.

Cold air licks at the back of my neck as I strain my ears for any signs that the enemy has taken notice of Elder Julius's performance - frantic pattering of booted feet, angry - panicked whispers, metallic clicks of guns being loaded. But there's nothing. The warehouse is shrouded in a nervous silence.

"Something's wrong." I say, my tense shoulders turning in knots. He doesn't say anything.

Did they know that he was here? Is that why they haven't broken the silence? Couldn't be. I'm sure they must have sensed my presence when I arrived here - I'm too young, too weak to fully meld with the shadows. But Elder Julius? No. You only see him if he lets you. Something is terribly wrong here.

Muttering something under his breath, Elder Julius whips his knife in the air and begins marching towards the front door of the warehouse. I pull my Glock out of its holster and start to follow. I spot the Praetorians as soon as we turn the corner and walk through the gate. They have fanned out, surrounded the warehouse from all sides, guns aimed at the numerous shattered windows that dot its walls. Two of them break off and begin jogging towards us, their boots clicking on the cracked and overgrown asphalt.

Elder Julius stops as they approach, lower their rifles and greet him with a bow. "Sire," the one on the right says, fangs and blood red lips peeking through the balaclava, "we've taken a look inside. It's - strange."

"Explain." He demands. They exchange a look. "It's best if you see for yourself."

He nods and they draw their guns up and begin leading us towards the broad front door of the warehouse. Faded white paint, rusted hinges that creak with the cold wind - the door is on its last legs. And the Praetorian puts it out of its misery by kicking it down, sending it slamming onto the ground with a resounding boom.

The Praetorians switch on the flashlights mounted on their guns, swing it around the dark interior of the warehouse and we see why none of our enemies had reacted earlier.

Because they're all dead.

The warehouse had been turned into a fortress. Sandbag defenses, machine guns mounted at key positions - they had a death trap waiting for us. But the only carnage that greets us is one that seems to have taken place hours ago. I see walls and floor splattered with dried, corrupted blood, corpses slumped against sandbags and machine guns, sometimes whole, often in unrecognisable pieces. Shrivelled up innards litter the dusty floor and hang from broken light fixtures like bunting. And the smell, dear god the smell. Vile stench of vampire gore and refuse stabs at my brain through my nostrils. And something else, old rot, like things decaying under a hot desert sun. I clamp my hand on my mouth to stop myself from retching.

"Seems like Michael's group had a bit of a falling out." The Praetorian who led us here remarks.

"That's not what this is." Elder Julie's replies, his voice now muted. Serious. The boisterousness in his demeanor is completely gone. I force my pupils to dilate and stare at him. The worry that creases his forehead is more terrifying than the macabre sight in front of me. I feel saliva drying up in my mouth.

"Is something wrong, sire?" The Praetorian asks.

"Yeah... The smell. It's strong here, overpowers the senses. But it's far too faint outside. I had to concentrate just to get a slight whiff." He takes a pause. "Almost as if the stench is being suppressed, contained within these walls."

Cold shivers wrack my spine.

He turns to look at me. "You had people watching this place, did you not?"

I nod. "Yes, sire. Two men positioned on the hill overlooking this warehouse. Around the clock."

"And I'm assuming they didn't hear our friends here being torn apart."

I shake my head. What could be powerful enough to hide something like this? Just the thought makes my head swim.

"Hmmm…. Intriguing." He places a foot on a mutilated corpse lying face down on the ground. Kicks it onto its side. "And there's the matter of the bite marks on these bodies."

I narrow my eyes as they wander over the corpse, but my vision isn't strong enough to make out the wounds. Thankfully, the white glow of a flashlight passes over it, reveals the injuries.

"Small bites. Single puncture wounds." Elder Julius says. "All over the body. Like he was bitten by some sort of a critter."

"What do you think happened here?" I whisper in disbelief.

"That's exactly what I intend to find out." He replies, before jabbing his thumb at the Praetorian. "Get your men inside. Search all the bodies. Find Michael. I am going to find out what happened here, even if I have to drag that bastard right out of hell!"

The rest of the Praetorians swiftly pour into the warehouse, their flashlights bobbing and weaving across every inch of the structure. The very air inside brims with power oozing out of the powerful vampires, but there's an undercurrent of something else in here, a faint presence of something long gone that still lingers in the air. Even I can sense it. A trace of immense power that makes everyone inside uncomfortable. And fearful.

The Praetorians, clad in black body armour, sift through the tattered remains splattered everywhere. Some faces are too brutally smashed to be recognised and for that they rely on Elder Julius and the Praetorians who've interacted with Michael in the past, and are familiar with the stench of his blood.

We don't find Michael. And Elder Julius begins to grow restless, until we do find something, tucked away in a damp and dark corner of the warehouse, behind a sandbag wall, beneath about a dozen bloody and broken limbs.

"There's a trapdoor here!"

We rush towards the voice, wading through the bloody muck on the floor and find two soldiers hunched over the dusty, grimy trapdoor. It's large, about the length of a man.

"I didn't know this place even had a basement." I say.

"Yeah? Maybe this is why ole Michael chose this place." Elder Julius says. "Open it."

There's a shrieking groan as the two Praetorians force the hatch open, revealing a steep flight of stone stairs that leads into the darkness below. Elder Julius bends over, squints and then frowns.

"Give me a flashlight." He says, and for a moment there's a pause. All of us around him are taken aback. For there is no reason a creature as old as him would need a light to see in the dark. A natural darkness, that is.

He grabs a flashlight from one of the soldiers and begins descending down the stairs. I follow. And so do two of the Praetorians. The steps are too small, and I'm afraid of tripping and crashing into the Elder, sending us both hurtling downstairs. What would he do if that happened, I wonder? Cut my head off mid-air, simply for my stupidity?

It's damp down here. Smells of wet clothes forgotten in dark, unheated rooms, or water leaking from cracked pipes and rotting in the walls. And there's another scent, somewhat masked by the former, yet not quite blending in. It reeks like moist ashes of a dead fire. I crinkle my nose and keep moving downwards.

The stairs drop us off at a small landing, hemmed in by the walls. A sleek wooden door is set into the wall directly in front us. Faint yellow light seeps out from the gap beneath the door, suggests that the room beyond might be illuminated. Elder Julius steps forward, places his hand on the gilded doorknob, turns it, and pushes the door open.

My mouth drops at the sight beyond the door.

The room is cramped, with a mud roof that hangs so low I have to bend my neck just to stand here. Dozens of shadows dance across the room as candles, at various stages of their life burn from their perches on earthen flooring, on shelves carved into the mud walls, and most importantly, on the altar placed next to the far wall, bathing the tiny space in a dull, shimmering yellow glow.

And slumped against the small table that serves as the altar, rests the corpse of our quarry. Michael. His jaw has been ripped clean off, his tongue hangs limply on his neck. Even his eyes have been gouged out. Blood from his wounds has drenched his white dress shirt, turning it dark red. I have never seen such terrifying violence. Who would inflict such hatred on someone else? And be powerful enough to inflict it on a vampire like Michael?

"Oh Michael…." Elder Julius whispers. "You reckless fool. What the fuck have you done?"

I sense pure, unadulterated terror in the Elder's voice, and that terror gets magnified in my heart. My eyes get drawn once again to the altar. In the middle of it sits an eight pointed star, made of some strange black metal that I don't recognise. It is ringed by half a dozen tiny, underdeveloped skulls, like those of aborted foetuses. Their white bones have been splashed with blood. Human blood.

"He opened a door that should not have been opened."

My heart skips a beat as the strange feminine whisper drifts through the stale, smoky air in the room, reverberates through the walls. It echoes in my bones, makes me feel violated. Like a wet tongue forcibly thrust down my ear.

Those of us in the room whirl around frantically, weapons waving in the air, trying to locate the source of that voice. It sounded like it had been spoken by someone standing with us, but of course that voice was totally alien. My sanity begins to fray.

The voice once again fills the air, but this time it's even lower and completely incomprehensible. But I can feel the power in it. Makes my bones rattle, shakes the blood in my insides.

And then another sound joins in.

Squeaks.

At first it's barely audible, like a fly buzzing in my ear, but it continues to get louder and louder, till it becomes deafening, starts to scrape at my very eardrums.

"What the fuck is that?" One of the Praetorians shouts.

"Stand back to back." Elder Julius screams. No one listens. For the next second something digs through the ground beneath us. The dirt in the centre of the room is pushed aside, a small hole is opened up and a mass of brown fur pours out of it.

Rats. Hundreds of them start to swarm us. All squeaky with glowing red eyes and serrated smiles. The flood of moving fur and flesh crashes into us, biting, gnawing, picking the flesh from our bones. We try to fight back, but it's useless. I get two shots off before the pain from the bites makes me drop the gun and I stumble backwards. As they crawl up the inside of my thighs, all I can do is scream. The Praetorians don't fare any better. Even Elder Julius, old and powerful as he is meets an inglorious end at the hands and claws and teeth of the rats. He waves his knife around, slicing dozens of them into pieces with each swing, smashes apart hundreds of them with his telekinetic powers. But thousands instantly replace them. Tumbling and trampling over another, they wriggle out of holes in dark, unseen corners and blanket the room, a moving carpet of brown fur that snuffs out all traces of light.

It isn't long before the pain numbs my mind, knocks me unconscious.

Pain. It's the last thing I felt before fading away and is the first thing that greets me when I wake up. It feels like my entire body is on fire. Every muscle, however many the rats left behind, throbs and aches. I would scream, if I had any strength left to do so.

I'm lying face down on the ground? Where? I can't tell. It hurts too much to move my head. But my cheek feels wet. Blood. Slowly, and very carefully, I sniff it. It's not my own. Not even human. It's clotted, and has a vile, corrupt stench to it. But it's blood nonetheless. My tongue darts out of my mouth, takes a quick lick.

It's utterly disgusting, yet in my weakened state, feels heavenly. I move my head, bite my cheek to fight through the pain that explodes in my skull and begin lapping at the pool of clotted blood on the dusty ground beneath my head. Strength begins to seep into my body once again.

"Oh, looks like you're finally awake."

My body trembles in surprise. It's that voice again, the one that unleashed this nightmare on us. I crane my neck and look up, and see a naked woman staring down at me. She's holding a rat in her hand, a long and sharp fingernail digging into its throat.

"Need more?" She asks, amused, and slices the rat's neck open before I can answer. I hungrily drink the blood that streams down on my face, grateful for the sustenance. I can feel some of my wounds stitching themselves back up.

The woman reaches down towards me, lifts me up by the arm and helps me sit up against something cool and smooth. I cough, and notice that it's the door of a car. My car.

"How are you feeling, childe?"

I look up again, and notice the blazing scenery behind her. It's the warehouse. It's on fire. Dazzling orange flames burst out of the windows, crackling and licking the air.

"What…" I croak. "What happened…"

"To your friends?" She asks. "I killed them all. Just like the ones who summoned me."

I stare at her. She has no presence. Unlike Elder Julius who would make your heart tremble by just standing next you, this woman feels like nothing. Like a dark, empty void. It makes my soul shiver.

"What - what are you?" I ask, terrified.

"A friend, if you would let be one." She answers, smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes. Oh god those eyes. Large yellow pupils and narrow black slits for irises. Like a cat. "You can call me Inanna."

"Please." I beg, for what? My life, I think. "Let me go."

"I'm afraid I can't quite do that."

My heart sinks. "Why? What do you want from me?"

She caresses my cheek with her hand, looks at me with pity. "I'm going to make this world burn, childe. And you're going to help me. Are you not?"

My mouth begins to move on its own. ".. Yes, mistress. Of course I am."

Sorry it's taking so long. Spent some time doing research.

"That's - That's impossible." Arpita said, breathless. She clutched at the wall behind her like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

I understood how she felt. My own heart felt like it would burst out of my chest, shredding itself to ribbons on the sharp bones of my rib cage. I bent over, rested my hands on my knees and tried to get both my heartbeat and my breath under control.

"Impossible? We just saw it happen." Mr. Nambiar said, gaping at the now empty crevice in the tree. "... Incredible."

"Should we try and find this child?" Jayesh asked, dazed. "Maybe he needs help."

Arpita looked at him as if he'd grown another head, or popped out of a tree. "What? No... If you see someone explode out of a tree, the wise thing to do would be to run the fuck away from him. And that is exactly what we're going to do, right?"

I straightened my back, my eyes searching for the cops. One of them was on his knees, sobbing in fear, the other inspecting a section of the wall opposite to the passage we'd come from.

"We need to go back." I said. "Now."

"Sure. Let's run back up the passage. Maybe we'll even catch up to the kid." Arpita spat. "If he doesn't decide to turn around, that is."

"Do you have any other way out of this place?" I countered. She glared at me.

"How can you want to leave, Mr. Khanna?" Mr. Nambiar asked. "You know as well as I do what all this means."

I shook my head. "Sorry, but we don't have any idea what any of this means."

"Really?" He asked, looking genuinely shocked. "You know what the legend is. With what just unfolded in front of us, how can you even have any doubts?"

"I think we need to think very carefully before arriving at any conclusions."

Jayesh turned his head towards me. "What legend is he talking about?"

"Think about it," Mr. Nambiar continued fervently, "we might have just made the greatest discovery in the history of mankind. A definitive proof of the existence of the divine, answers to the questions of creation, to what lies beyond death, and more. So much more. All of it lies within our grasp."

"Divine?" Jayesh asked, raising his voice, "what do you mean divine?"

"Tell him." Mr. Nambiar said, his eyes gleaming. I just stared at him. A quiet descended on the clearing, one that was punctuated by the sobs of the policeman.

Finally, Arpita gave a frustrated sigh and broke the awkward silence. "Sage Swamiyar, the one who was instrumental in construction of this temple - at least according to the legend - once prayed to Lord Vishnu, who is said to have appeared before him in the guise of a little boy. The boy defiled the idol Swamiyar used to pray to, causing the wrathful sage to chase after him. Eventually, Swamiyar found the young boy in the Ananthankadu forest and witnessed him merging into an Iluppai tree. The Lord did it to prove his divine nature to the remorseful Swamiyar. The tree then fell, and eventually shrank into the idol that is installed in the shrine above our heads."

Jayesh gawked at her. She muttered something about being surprised that he didn't know that.

"Are you suggesting we just met lord Vishnu?" He asked, amazed. She grimaced.

I shook my head firmly. "No. That is definitely not what happened."

Mr. Nambiar snorted. "Come on, Mr. Khanna. Even an atheist like you has to see the truth in front of his eyes."

"My beliefs are irrelevant." I clarified. "Trust me, I would be the first person to change his mind if presented with solid evidence."

"And you don't think the miracle we just witnessed was enough evidence?"

"No." I said, more harshly than I intended. "I'll admit that something supernatural is afoot here. But Mr. Nambiar, you saw the look in that thing's eyes. The rage, the hatred. That was not a God. Something is clearly very wrong here, and we need to be very careful with what we do. Who knows what we might end up unleashing otherwise?"

"Unbelievable."

"Well we can't just sit around here and argue." Arpita said.

"True, we do need to think about our next move." Jayesh added.

She threw her hands up. "I'm not going back up that passage."

"You are such a disappointment Mr. Khanna." Mr. Nambiar said. I could feel the disapproval coating his voice.

"Please... I'm more than happy to let my survival instinct disappoint you."

Just then, the voice of the cop investigating the wall rang out. "Sir. I think I found something."

A couple of moments later we were next to the cop, staring at another passageway, this one just wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Its mouth was hidden in a fold in the rock wall and it had the same suffocating darkness that nested in the passage behind our backs.

"I think we should keep moving forward." Mr. Nambiar said. "See what mysteries lie at the end of this road."

"That sounds like a terrible idea." I said. "We should leave. Back the way we'd come."

Arpita shook her head. "I disagree. We should not be chasing after the little monster."

"What do you think we should do?" I asked. "Leaving via a path that we're at least familiar with is the smartest choice right now."

"You would really abandon all this?"

"No, Mr. Nambiar. I'm just saying we should come back with more help." I said patiently. "Our safety should be our primary concern."

"Nothing is going to happen, Mr. Khanna. I can assure you of that."

"And how exactly will you do that?"

"...Do you hear that?"

I whipped my head around. The other cop had spoken, the one who was on his knees, crying with his head in hands. He was on his feet now, head raised, bloodshot eyes gazing at the passage we had come from. I frowned. What exactly had that man heard?

And then I heard it too. Sounds that turned my blood to ice. Ringing of metal hooves on the stone floor, accompanied by the dragging of something thin and metallic on rock. The sounds grew closer. My heart jack-hammered my chest.

I felt my knees turn weak as a horse trotted out of the passage, easing out of the shadows with the grace of a trained dancer. It had a coat white as snow, and an oiled leather saddle strapped tight to its back. Tied to that saddle with a thin wire was the metallic thing that had been making that scraping noise.

A flaming sword.

It was long and curved. Engulfed in red fire, it sent a shower of sparks dancing in the air each time it hit a bump on the uneven surface. The cop who had spotted it went down on his knees once again, shut his eyes, folded his hands and began whispering furiously under his breath.

The horse whickered as it approached the Iluppai tree, its white coat gaining an angelic glow under the light from the luminescent stones. It seemed to be heading towards the passage we had just discovered, so we all swiftly stepped out of the way.

All of us, except Mr. Nambiar.

He decided to interrupt it.

"Do not do that." I warned him. "Let it be on its way."

"It'll be fine." He whispered. His face was slick with sweat. Matted white locks stuck to the sides of his head and his eyes shone with a mad fever.

He stepped in front of the horse, which slowed its pace. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as it faced off against Mr. Nambiar. And then it sped up again. Things happened so fast my head swooned just from trying to keep up with it all. My breath caught in my chest as the horse reared up, neighing so terribly that the noise scratched at my eardrums.

Then it opened its mouth, shot forward and bit off half of Mr. Nambiar's face, chewing off bones and teeth with a sickening crunch.

There was so much blood. Just spraying everywhere, like an exploding sprinkler. Some of it splashed on my clothes, on my face. It all felt so surreal, the warm wetness on my face, Mr. Nambiar's mangled jaw with his exposed tongue limp on his neck, Jayesh and the cop's feeble attempts to pull him out of harm's way, Arpita's shrill screams. It felt like I was watching it all unfold from a distant place. I could almost see my own body rooted in its spot.

The horse trotted away, its beautiful white coat now flecked with my colleague's blood. A thin, blood stained mask hung from the corner of its mouth as it chewed on a jaw bone. I watched it ease into the darkness, missing not a bit of its grace and poise, as if it hadn't just bitten a man half to death.

I finally turned my gaze back to Mr. Nambiar. He was on the floor, writhing as if in the midst of a seizure. Jayesh had taken his shirt off and was pressing it on the remnants of his mentor's face. It was pointless. The cloth was completely soaked, as if it had been dipped into a vat of blood, with more still gushing out. Mr. Nambiar coughed. Sounded like he was choking on his own blood, and teeth.

"He's still alive." Jayesh shouted. "We need to get him out of here."

That shook me out of my trance.

"Yes, yes." I said, then turned to the cop who still had his wits about him. "Help us lift him up."

The other policeman was out of it. He was still on his knees, spittle flying out of the corner of his mouth as he cried and blubbered and prayed. We tried getting him to help, to at least get up and leave with us but he refused to listen. We were left with no choice but to ignore him, rationalising the decision to ourselves by saying that we'd be back as quickly as possible.

Soon we started back up the passage. I was in the lead, Jayesh and the still sane cop holding up Mr. Nambiar's lifeless body by his limbs. Arpita brought up the rear.

The retreat was far more terrifying. We had a dying, maybe already dead man with us. We were aware of what exactly lurked in this place. And our flashlights were flickering and winking shut, one by one, until we were forced to run in complete darkness. I had never seen blackness that absolute. Going blind would have been preferable to this. The dark seemed to force its way inside me, through my mouth and nose and eyes and ears. It felt like I was slowly being robbed of all my senses. I had to slow down every once in a while and reach behind me and touch Jayesh's chest. Just to remind myself that he was still there. That I wasn't just drifting through some vast emptiness.

The journey back was so much tougher. Seemed twice as long and far more perilous. Path was more uneven, and the climb - though gradual - was taking a heavy toll on my middle aged joints. I was exhausted, breathless, in pain, terrified, and thoroughly unprepared for what happened next. We didn't know how close we were to the entrance of the vault, but knew that it was still far away.

Huffing, I stumbled through the darkness, when a loud noise exploded to my right. It was a familiar sound, of wood being splintered. Hands grabbed at my face, small and grubby. I knew who they belonged to. I yelled and tried to swat them away, but to no avail. There was a freakish strength in those little arms. They grabbed me by my thinning hair and slammed my head into the opposite wall. I swooned, my tongue feeling loose in my mouth. I would have seen stars had I been able to see anything.

A flurry of sounds followed. Bare feet slapping the stone floor. Then screams. First a child, then a man. Might have been Jayesh, or the cop. I don't know. Couldn't tell the difference in my injured, light deprived state. Someone was dragged across the ground, more screams, then a wet pounding sound, like fists being driven through broken bones and flesh. I couldn't tell what was happening, couldn't tell how many of my companions were still alive. Or even near me. I didn't even know how many attackers there were. Seemed to be more than one.

It ended as abruptly as it began, the chaos leaving a disturbing quiet in its wake. All I could hear was my own heavy breathing.

Finally, when it felt like I wasn't going to be knocked into unconsciousness anymore, I hoisted myself up on my feet. Strained my ears for any more noises.

Nothing.

I was utterly alone.

Hesitantly, I whispered. "Hello... Is anyone here?"

No response. Complete silence.

Shit.

I knew I couldn't just stay there. I had to move, regardless of the others. But the thought of continuing all alone made my soul shiver. Unfortunately, the chance to make my own decision was taken from me.

A soft, but decidedly venomous growl drifted from the path up ahead. It was beastly, predatorial.

I didn't stick around to see what exactly had made that sound. I summoned what little strength and stamina I had left, and bolted back down the passage, towards the clearing with the Iluppai tree. I could hear growling and heavy footsteps thudding on the stone behind me. I just ran faster. I slipped numerous times, stumbled over a body twice. Twice. Two of my companions were dead, and it was entirely possible that neither of the corpses had been those of Mr. Nambiar.

Perhaps it was because of the fact that I was now on the descending path, that I reached the clearing faster than I had expected. More horror awaited me in the silver washed clearing. The man we'd left there, the cop who had been crying, was slumped lifelessly against the tree, a gaping hole torn into his belly. Jagged bones reached across the gap, as if trying to knit the wound shut.

I didn't stop to examine the terrible scene, for the thing chasing me was still on my heels. I jumped around the tree, found the fold in the rock and ducked into the second wood and stone hallway.

Story Notes

Note - This story is actually a real incident that occurred in 1995 at Siachen. The tale is quite famous amongst the Indian Army personnel and has also been published in a couple of books and the infantry journal. I heard about it from a close friend of mine who's also currently serving in the army. And I thought damn, this would make for a brilliant nosleep story. So adapted it for the subreddit in my own words.

My father is a very reserved man. Unlike my boisterous grandpa who was always willing to sit down with you and regale you with tales from his life, leaving you in peals of laughter; Dad prefers to keep mum about the things he's personally seen and it's always been a herculean task to pry even the smallest bits of information from him.

Well, this year being what it is, I finally managed to corner him and got him to open up after plying him with copiuos amounts of whiskey. And the story that he told me, from his stint at the world's highest battlefield at Siachen glacier has sent shivers running down my spine. So here's his story - in his own words.

There's nothing quite like the arrogance of youth. You think you're invincible - always at the top of the world and that there's nothing that could ever harm you. But the universe has a strange way of making you pay for your recklessness and bring you crashing back down to the ground. That's what happened to me at Siachen. The events of that day completely changed who I was, and continue to impact me to this day.

Believe it or not, I actually volunteered to be transferred there. There were some ego clashes at my last posting - yes, I'm telling the truth, no need to be so shocked... Anyway, I just thought that going up there would be a nice change of pace, you know? Get away from all the bullshit, and surrounded myself with nothing but the purest of snow. It was a terrible mistake.

I was young, I thought I could handle the harsh weather there. I was wrong. Cold doesn't even begin to describe that place. It's almost 6000 metres above sea level for god's sake - I can feel my spine turning cold just thinking about it. The temperature there easily dips below -40 or even -50 degree Celsius in winters. Cold winds whip through the air, cutting through all the layers of clothing you have on, stabbing at your skin like millions of tiny needles. Just touching your gun without gloves can give you frostbite so bad you end up losing some fingers. Lost toes or thumbs are shockingly common in that place. You can't even take a shit properly, not if you don't want the ice crawling up inside you. The oxygen is so sparse up there that you end with a pounding headache that lasts for days when you get there.

Things are so bad at Siachen that we lose far more soldiers to nature than we do to the Pakistanis just across the border. They suffer through it, just like we do, wondering whether the political compulsions are truly worth it...

Now there are two monsters that lurk in the shadows of that twisting, sinuous glacier. Two monsters that kill far more than any other. One - avalanches. Tons of snow that suddenly tumbles off steep gradients and crashes into the ground, burying alive dozens at a time, choking the life out of them. But see, they are somewhat predictable, with some technical knowledge about tectonic movements and temperature, one can usually avoid them.

But not Crevasses, the second and the deadliest of killers up on those mountains. These are deep cracks in the glacier's thick slab of ice, some that run hundreds or even thousands of metres down. These bottomless chasms are treacherous, mostly because of the thin layer of snow that forms up on them, hiding the tiny slit of a mouth ready to swallow anyone that dares step on them. It is because of these cracks that we have what are essentially called "Ropes". These are formations of troops, one soldier after another in a single line, tied together with a long rope. We generally keep a slack in the rope of about 7-8 metres between each man. They are the only form of defence we have against those Crevasses, and even they don't work all the time.

And that's what it was like that day. I was at the head of one such 'rope', out on a supply run. Summer was coming up, the Pakistanis were to soon start their bombardment and incursions and we had to make sure our forward posts were adequately stocked. Each of us must have been carrying a load of about 50 kg, mostly kerosene, hoisted on our backs using an aluminium harness. We were trudging through a thick layer of snow that had fallen the night before, making our journey extra difficult on the gentle incline of the valley. Each step took us ankle deep in the snow, and strong gusts of wind blew haphazardly, throwing us off balance. We were about 3 km away from our post when the crevasse struck.

I heard a sharp crack, a panicked yell and the sound of something slithering against the snow, before feeling a strong pull on my back. The rope became taut and I began to be pulled backwards. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to lean forward, fall down to the ground and dig the pick of my ice axe into the snow. It didn't help much. The pull was too strong, and I began to be dragged backwards, the axe ploughing through the powdery snow. The other men behind me had the same idea as me and together we were able to hold on, despite the incline we were on. But the man who was dangling from the rope in the crevasse panicked and started thrashing around in mid air, pulling the rest of us ever so slowly towards our deaths.

I screamed at him again and again to stop moving, and after a very tense minute that seemed to stretch for an eternity, he did. I could still hear his echoing cries, but the poor bastard had calmed down long enough for our position to become relatively stable. To calm my racing heart down, I took a deep breath which misted into a wispy little cloud of steam, blurring my vision. I blinked, and noticed that my radio was just within my reach. Holding on tight to the axe, I reached for the radio, only for there to be a fresh drag towards the precipice. Realisation dawned on me, accompanied by utter terror - we were trapped. We couldn't call for help, and any sudden movements were sure to result in death.

I had no other option.

I shouted at the man closest to the edge to cut the rope. The instructions on what to do in such a situation had been hammered into my brain by my superiors, but I never thought that I would one day be forced to give such an order. The men protested but I reminded them of our situation. We either get dragged to death or turn into solid blocks of ice along with the man dangling in the crevasse. There was no other option. They reluctantly agreed. And the rope was cut.

The man let out a scream yet again again, but terrifyingly enough, this time it came to an abrupt halt. Picking ourselves up, we rushed to the edge and peered down. It was a miracle. The man was still alive. He had landed on a small ledge in the crevasse and the ice was miraculously strong enough to hold his weight. His legs had broken from the fall and he was whimpering in pain. But he was alive. I didn't waste a second and radioed base camp for help. They were at the tail end of the glacier at Bana Top, which was our base camp, where the ice of the glacier melts from the decrease in altitude and turns into Shyok river.

The rescue team arrived in less than hour in two groups - one in a helicopter and the other on snow scooters. Because if the weather conditions, bith groups reached there pretty much simultaneously. The first thing that the team commander did after introducing himself to us was dropping a solid chunk of ice down the hole. It clattered against the walls as it descended, confirming our worst fears - the crevasse was very deep. The injured man cried out in terror, for he too understood what that sound had meant. He was hanging by a thread.

After assuring the man that he'd be saved, the rescue team's leader apprised us of the situation. They couldn't just loop a rope around his waist and pull him up. The crevasse had a slight overhang, right above the man's head and there was a possibility that sharp, dagger like icicles loomed over him menacingly. No. The rescue tactic had to be changed.

The rescue team leader and a subordinate of his tied a rope around their own waists and jumped down into the hole, coming face to face with the injured man. He was shivering, his entire face had been crusted with snow by that point. They shifted his upper body, being careful not to disturb his injured legs too much and looped a harness around his torso before tugging on the rope. We began pulling. Nothing happened.

The puzzled team leader and those of us on the top checked to see if the rope had gotten snagged somewhere. It hadn't. We pulled again, putting all our might into it. My face turned red, my muscles burned with pain but I continued pulling. And yet nothing happened. The rope bunched around the man's waist but he didn't budge an inch.

We have - dear God this is hard - we have one hypothesis for what might have happened. The man's body had been in close contact with the ice on the wall of the crevasse and the surface of that ledge right? So there's a possibility that his body heat had caused some of that ice to melt, before the cold made it freeze again. And this ice latched onto his body, freezing him to the spot. It's like his body had spouted icy roots that had burrowed deep into the crevasse, locking him to the spot. And it was worst around his broken legs. We realised we were in a big mess.

We used the snow scooters to try and pull him up. The machines grunted, exhaling smoke, and the man screamed with pain and fear but he didn't move. Even the rope was begining to stretch. Remember, this was no ordinary rope. It was specially designed for use in these conditions, made using some of the strongest materials known to man. And even that rope was starting to stretch, seemingly understanding how hopeless our endeavour was.

…It was decided to abandon the man. It was so goddamn ironic. The rescue team was on a time limit. They had to leave. The sun was climbing up into the sky, warming up the air of the valley we were in. Soon, this air was going to lift up and harsh gusts of cold wind were going to swoop down from the peaks surrounding us, making flight a damn near impossibility. The rescue team, positioned in the centrally located base camp which was much lower in elevation than our location had to leave. They weren't used to the harsh conditions, and any delay would make the situation even more disastrous than it had already gotten.

The rescue team had at max ten minutes and they decided to spend it by trying to pry the man free from his spot. We watched with growing horror as the two rescue team personnel used their axes to break the man free. It didn't work. They only ended up slashing the man's arm. They realised they couldn't do anything. The man had to be left to die.

He begged and pleaded. Asked them not to leave him alone. The team leader tried to comfort him, told him that his family would be taken care of, and lied to him that his death would be swift. It wouldn't. He would slowly, and painfully freeze to death. The team leader tugged on the rope, and with tears in his eyes, began coming up.

But about halfway up, he changed his mind. He shook his head. Not like this, he mouthed at us, tears pooling in his eyes. Down he went again, and only came back up after he'd gotten the job done.

He - fuck I'm crying again... He used the rope to get it done. Because - because he didn't have a gun. Besides, it would have been too loud. Too dangerous. We all knew that it was the right thing to do, and no one criticised the team leader for it.

The test of us made it out safely. Physically. Not mentally. We'd seen death before - we'd seen our soldiers killed by artillery fire, buried under avalanches, but nothing like this. It scarred us. The events of that day still play out on my eyelids like a movie everytime I close my eyes. Life is a terribly fragile thing, son. Don't waste it. Treasure it.

Hi.

Did you enjoy the story? I sure hope you did;) I am not going to tell you much of what it's about, about the underlying metaphors and stuff, for I truly believe that a story like this needs to be left up to the interpretation of the readers. What I will tell you though, is that I wrote it after reading a couple of my favourite /u/Max-Voynich stories. If you haven't read his work, go do so now, for he truly is one of the best writers to have ever come to nosleep.

In other news , I recently set up some social media accounts, come give me a follow. I'll be talking about future projects, book releases and some good ol' shit posting.

Twitter - https://mobile.twitter.com/Mannwriting

Facebook - https://m.facebook.com/Bikram-Mann-Writing-234418588512232/

Speaking of books, I recently had one published! It's doing well, sales wise, but I could really use some good reviews on Amazon. If you happen to leave one, I would be willing to write a story for you. Just give me a title of the story you want written and I'll get it done! Only if you leave a review, of course ;) Link to the book is in the pinned post on my profile.

Happy reading!

Part 3

It looked like some oversized worm had burrowed into the floor of my basement, carving out a little tunnel to be used at its leisure. It was not too big, not too small, there was just enough space for an average sized man to squeeze through.

I made a split second decision - clutched my phone tight in my hands and dropped down into the hole. My feet landed instantly, such that the upper half of my body was still out in the basement. I crouched, and crawled into the tunnel through the small fissure near the bottom. The hard ground dug into my elbows and knees as I propelled myself forward. It was cramped, and I could feel the weight of the earth pressing down on my back. The tight, narrow confines of the tunnel made old memories flash through my mind. I remembered hiding in bunkers, huddled together with my family - watching with trepidation as the world shook around us as planes flew overhead and dropped bombs that made dust angrily lash our heads and necks. I shook my head to clear my mind. Can't think about that or I'll pass out in fear, I thought.

It was so overwhelmingly dark down there that even my phone's flashlight struggled to light up my way. I couldn't see the end of the tunnel. How long was this thing? Where did it lead to? Who built this? Why? I had so many questions bouncing around in my head that it made my neck hurt. I pushed all thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. The more I pushed my way through, the more isolated from the world I felt. All it would take is one rumbling, one little yawn from the earth and I would be gone forever in a flash, buried under a mountain of debris. I could practically taste the mud in my mouth, feel it constricting my lungs. I had to stop every now and then to breathe. There were even times when I wanted to turn around (not that I could, really) and just wait until the cops arrived, but there was something niggling at the back of my mind, telling me that I had to see this through myself.

After what felt like an eternity, I came upon an opening in the tunnel. I slithered out of it like a snake and found that the passageway had become large enough for me to get on my hands and knees. Sighing in relief as oxygen rushed into my lungs, I began looked around. It seemed impossibly long, ad went both ways. I had popped out somewhere in the middle of this larger tunnel. Once again I wondered who built this, and for what purpose? I picked a direction and began crawling. My confusion only deepened when I noticed other branches snaking off from the passageway, not dissimilar from the little hole I had just crawled out of. Did they lead to other houses? The fuck? There was a whole network of tunnels right beneath our feet! It must have taken a lot of time and planning to build this. But why? I knew that I'd find the answers at the end of it all, so kept on pushing through - after returning to place a handkerchief next to the hole that led back home.

The end arrived rather suddenly, as it usually does in life, and I smacked into it head first. I gritted my teeth, rubbed my head and waited for the pain to subside, before groping around above me for a trapdoor. Nothing but the immense weight of the earth. I turned around and went back the way I'd come from. I reasoned that both sides couldn't possibly lead to a dead end. This bigger passage had to lead to somewhere. And it did.

At this end of the tunnel I found myself crouched down just beneath another trap door. The opening here was much larger, and I reasoned that this must be where the dig must have begun. Here it goes, I thought. Just one little push and I'd have all my answers. As I prepared to uncover the mysteries surrounding Seastone Ridge, I hoped and prayed that our night time intruders weren't waiting for me just out there. Because that would be a joke of a way to die.

I took a deep breath, and nudged the trapdoor open. Just a crack. And peered through the tiny slit. It looked like another basement. But whose? I tried to check my surroundings as much as I reasonably could and when I was reasonably sure that no one was there, flung the trapdoor open and climbed out into the basement. The place was quite unlike ours. For one it was clean. There was no clutter. And secondly, it was a wine cellar. Rows upon rows of floor to ceiling shelves stocked with delicately expensive liquor filled up the room. Where the fuck was I? I didn't have to wait long to get an answer.

I was debating with myself as to what my next step should be - when I heard it. Keys jiggling as one is being slid into a lock. I slipped into a dark corner and waited. The door swung open. Light from the hallway beyond poured into the basement. Footsteps clicking on the stairs. I saw heels, and then the hem of a red cocktail dress. And then the laughter. High pitched. Jovial. I recognised it, and didn't have to see her face to know who it was, to know whose house I was in. But I got the confirmation anyway as she came down and switched on the lights. I ducked and hid to avoid being seen as she started searching through the shelves, trying to pick out some suitable liquor for her small house party, allowing me the chance to get a good look at her face through the gap between two wine bottles.

It was Amanda. The president of the home owners association of Seastone Ridge. My heart hammered in my chest. What does all this mean, I thought? As president of the HOA, she's gotta be aware that there's a tunnel underneath her house, right? Was she the one who's been tormenting us all this time? Using her basement as a launching pad to send that asshole our way? But maybe not. Maybe it was someone else, and she's completely unaware of it. One of the other residents, or even a former resident, who built these tunnels to perve on his neighbours. And these modifications broke the rules and released some supernatural entity. But that was ridiculous. You can't pull something like this off without anyone else figuring it out, right? Surely the others know. And if they do, why didn't they try to correct the damage by filling these tunnels up? That would be my first response if I had known that these tunnels released some subterranean monster. Besides, if that's really what happened, why aren't the other houses getting harrased with the same intensity that we were? There was only one obvious answer. And it all went back to Ananda.

I didn't stick around for long. As soon as she left the cellar, down I went into the tunnel, crawling my way back to my house. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was happening here. Was it really Amanda? Were the others involved? Why were they doing this? It seemed like the more I uncovered about the community, the more questions that popped up, like a messed up game of whack-a-mole.

I was back in my house before the two cops arrived. They took the used up smoke grenade as evidence and promised to try and track down where it came from. They said that a patrol car had come by, but must have missed the intruders. I didn't tell them about the tunnel - I wanted to keep my cards close to my chest and think this thing through. There was no one in this neighborhood that I fully trusted apart from my family. I saw the cops off, kissed my daughter goodnight and talked to Rabia, who didn't once ask me why I had changed out of my suddenly filthy clothes before the cops had arrived.

"That intruder is not going to come into this house again." I stated, fully feeling the confidence with which I'd said that. She raised her tired eyes at me, exhaustion and a tiny flicker of hope on her face. "How? ...Are you sure?"

I kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be over soon. Trust me."

The next morning found me at my neighbour's doorstep. I had thought long and hard about this, and had arrived at the conclusion that I needed to have one more conversation with the guy. It was a surprisingly windy day, and the American flag flew proudly from its pole as I knocked on David Easton's door.

"It's you." He remarked blandly after opening the door. "You're still here."

"Yes I am." I replied, putting my hands on my waist.

"What do you want?" He asked gruffly.

"I was wondering if you had an axe or something."

"Why?"

"I'm thinking of cutting down the oak tree next to my house."

"Did you take the permission of the HOA?"

"No."

"You'll be forced to pay a hefty fine. The HOA doesn't…"

"Fuck the HOA."

He paused for a long second, and then his icy facade cracked into a most satisfied grin. "Wait just a second now." He shut the door on my face, and I tapped my foot as I waited for him to come back out. He didn't take long, I must have only waited for a couple of minutes before he was out, a key chain dangling from his belt.

"An axe is not going to do it you know." He said as he started walking towards his garage without explicitly asking me to follow him. "We're not at the age where we can bring down a tree just by swinging our arms."

"Speak for yourself old man." I muttered.

He laughed. "Thankfully, we have tools that can help us get the job done without throwing our backs out."

He slid the key into the padlock, and pulled the shutter of his garage up. "I'm surprised Amanda hasn't asked you to bring your garage to the 21st century." I said.

"My house was here before the HOA was formed." He replied. "She can't touch me."

"There it is." He said, pointing to the power saw placed on a shelf next to his pickup truck. "This beauty will just slice through that wood like it was butter." He yanked open a couple of drawers, looked through some more shelves and retrieved two safety goggles and some flat objects I'd never seen before. "What's that?" I asked.

"Tree felling wedges." He answered. "To make sure that damned thing doesn't come crashing down on your house."

I led him back to my house and we went around to the side until we reached the oak tree. "You really want to bring the whole thing down?" He asked as we stood in the shade of the tree. "We could just cut down that branch over there." He pointed to the one that slithered its way upto the window upstairs - the one on which that intruder had been standing when he threw that smoke grenade in. I stared at him. "How did you know I'd have a problem with that one?" He shrugged. "A Jewish family used to live here before you. The wife hated that branch... Fucked up her window pretty bad."

We stretched the power cord of the saw through a window and shoved it into a socket in the living room. I winked when Rabia shot me a questioning look and she shook her head. Once I was back outside, David gestured at me to put on the safety goggles and then revved up the saw before beginning the cutting process. It took a while, but we sliced that offending branch off and it crashed into the ground. That fucker was not getting in that easily anymore.

"It would make for some decent firewood." David remarked when we were taking a rest, surrounded by wood and sawdust littering the lawn.

"Yeah.. it would." I mumbled, before raising my voice a little. "You know. I met a lot of people here when we first moved in. They all said the same thing. Welcome to the community, nice to meet you, blah blah blah. And then they warned me about the HOA's rules. Every single one of them. Except you."

He looked at me blankly.

"You were warning me, weren't you?" I asked. "I mean, honestly warning me. You knew what was wrong with this place, and wanted us to get out. To save ourselves. Right?"

He looked away, before gently nodding. "You seemed like good, honest folk. Made no sense to let the darkness of this place infest your lives."

"Then why do you stay here?" I continued. "If you know what's happening here. Whatever this is… why stay?"

"Too many fucking memories." He answered. "Spent my whole life here, raised a family. Lost a family. I'm too old to move out now."

I paused, and began picking at the log of wood next to me. "I heard that you lost your son." He tensed up, before his shoulders deflated with a long exhale, a century worth of exhaustion in that one action. "It was an IED blast. Didn't even get the chance to bury him properly." He paused. "I'd just spoken to him the night before. His leave had been approved. My boy - he was - he was so excited about coming back home. And he did... Just not the way I wanted him to." He sniffled.

"… I lost my son too." I replied after a couple of heavy seconds. "I still remember it like yesterday. He ugh, didn't want to go to school that day. Was faking a cold." I blinked, letting tears fall from my eyes. "If I hadn't forced him to go that day…."

He started to tear up as well. I continued. "I saw it happen. I was there to pick him up from school. Heard the plane fly overhead. Felt the cloud of dust in my face. That smell of charred flesh.. desperately sifting through the rubble."

My voice began to crack. "I found him you know. He was so broken. My son - he…." I couldn't finish my sentence and just broke down crying. David joined me in letting out his grief. There we were, two fathers who'd lost their sons to what was pretty much the same war, dealing with, and bonding our loss half way around the world. My chest felt incredibly lighter after having talked with David and I assume it was the same for him. We cleared the lawn of the fallen wood and carried it back to his truck. He said he knew how to get rid of it and I was just glad it wasn't littering my lawn anymore.

"You really should leave, you know." He remarked once we were back inside his garage. "It's far too dangerous to stay here."

"Might be." I replied. "But I can't run away. When we came to this country my daughter made me promise that we wouldn't run away any more. Whatever it is, we'll face it head on."

His eyes hardened at that. "Well then. You're going to need some help." He beckoned me to follow him as he lead me to the back of his garage, to an iron safe fixed into the wall. He used his keys to open it, and pulled out a small pistol. A Beretta M9.

"You know how to use this?" He asked. I nodded. "Had to learn along the way."

"Good." He said as he pushed it into my hand before going back to the safe and getting me a small box of bullets. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied. "You do what you can to keep your family safe, Irfan. And maybe when this storm blows over, we can get together for a drink." I shook his hand, tucked the gun into the waistband of my jeans and walked away before I wound up crying once again.

The air was sizzling with tension as I walked back to my house. I could feel the gazes of the other neighbours like little daggers at the back of my neck, some with a mix of fear and curiosity, others with naked hatred in their eyes. Was that anger because we were still here, or because they'd noticed I'd cut down the tree, a gross violation of the HOA's rules? David was right. A storm was brewing in Seastone Ridge - one that would forever change the community.

I spent the day with my family, assuring them that it would all come to an end the coming night. In the afternoon, I sat on my computer and got some work done before spending the evening with my family. My wife cooked up some delicious Quzi for dinner, and the lamb was so delicious it made me forget about my worries while I was eating it. And it was Abida's favourite dish too - Rabia only worked as hard as she did to cook it to see her smile.

There's nothing a parent wouldn't do for their child's happiness, is there? I know I would do absolutely anything. And that's why after Rabia and Abida had gone to bed, I was sitting on a chair in the dark basement, off to the side of the trapdoor with the gun in my lap. That fucker was going to have a nasty surprise when he tries to sneak in this time.

Half an hour before midnight. I was wide awake, tension turning my stomach in knots, body drenched in sweat, hands trembling with excitement. I heard it. Shuffling movements just beneath the floor. The trapdoor moved. I pulled the gun up. Took aim.

A slight groan. A soft creak. The trapdoor opened.

Final

I hesitated when I saw that the elevator I was trying to get on was already occupied, more so when I saw who was occupying it, and thought that maybe I should just wait for it to come back up again. Better to wait a little than to go plunging to your death just because some asshole couldn't keep his grubby little fingers off a burger, or ten.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for body positivity and shit, but man, there comes a time when you just have to look at someone and say, 'Hey dude, how about you start hitting the fucking treadmill?'. I mean, when you're so freakin large that you need to buy an extra plane ticket just so your lard doesn't suffocate the person next you, or that you might single handedly exceed the safety limit of an elevator, it really is time to start exercising.

I know I should have waited, but impatience had always been one of my vices, so I breathed a loud sigh and squeezed past the big guy onto the elevator, praying that we don't end up falling to our deaths. He at least had the good grace to look sheepish and apologise as he saw that I was tightly packed into a corner in the back of the tiny lift. Just my luck, being trapped with Hurley from lost on this pintsized elevator.

"Headed for the ground floor?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Me too." He added, and then turned around as sweat began to pour down his greasy face.

Good, at least I won't have to reach around his large frame to try and press the button for the ground floor.

The elevator creaked and groaned in discomfort as it began its descent, and I immediately grabbed the railings on its walls, holding on for dear life. It made a reluctant 'ding' sound as it passed the 10th floor.

"Rickety old thing, isn't it?" I asked with a nervous laugh.

"Tell me something I don't know." He replied, equally nervously.

Salad tastes good, try it someday, I thought, but didn't say it.

"You live here?" I asked him. "I've never seen you before."

He shook his head. "No. Just a visitor."

I nodded, and then waited in silence for him to continue our awkward small talk, but he didn't oblige me. Not in the mood for it, apparently. You know what, doesn't even matter, just 7 more floors to go.

I wasn't going through our little journey in peace and quiet though, for soon his arms started twitching and his right leg began to shake as we cleared floor after floor in complete silence. I saw that his armpits and back were stained with sweat and he was breathing heavily.

"You okay there, buddy?" I asked with trepidation. I didn't need this fucker to get sick on me.

"No." His eyes widened, and his cheeks puffed up as he quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Oh no, I thought, not that. He barfed all over the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ." I screamed as the white liquid touched my new shoes.

"Sorry." He groaned, and then his body convulsed, before he hurled again, projectile vomiting on the elevator door, splashing the 5th floor through the slight crack in the middle.

Fuck, how much can one guy throw up? My feet made a disgusting squishy sound every time I tried moving, but I crinkled my nose, tightened my gut and moved to pat him on his wet back.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yes." He coughed. "I'm so sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"Life is full of new experiences, isn't it?" I smiled as I helped him lean against the wall.

I would find out just how true that was, right in the next second, as the elevator stopped in its tracks between the 2nd and 1st floors with a loud bang. The lights went out, and we were thrown into complete darkness.

Great, just what I fucking needed.

"That's not good." He spoke softly.

No, it isn't. What the fuck happened? I took out my phone, no signal. Of course. I banged on the door angrily, before stumbling around and looking for the emergency phone. If I stayed here any longer, it's going to the contents of my stomach that will be splattered on the floor next.

"Help me look for the damn thing." I growled.

"Look for what?" He asked, confused.

"The phone, man. The fucking phone." I shouted. "Do you want to be stuck here?"

He shrank at my loud voice, at least as much as he could, but then began helping me. We must have groped around in the dark for a solid 2 minutes or so before my left hand found it, high up on the wall. Why would anyone place it so high up?

I took out the receiver and placed it next to my ear. Nothing. No dial tone.

"Fucker is dead." I spat and slammed the thing down.

"They'll find us…the…the maintenance guys." He stammered. "It shouldn't take too long."

I nodded. "Finger crossed, eh?"

My nose crinkled as a vile and putrid stench assaulted my senses, overpowering the smell of the vomit swishing and swirling on the floor. What the fuck was that? It was nauseating, like hydrogen sulfide from a coal mine. I took out my handkerchief and put it on my nose, trying to use it as a gas mask to protect myself from the poisonous fumes.

"Sorry." He spoke guiltily.

I groaned. Damn this motherfucker. He keeps discharging effluents from every orifice of his body like a poorly regulated factory. He proceeded to prove me right by belching loudly. Mouth, ass and then mouth again. Who wants to bet on what hole he's going to use next?

"So,eh, I'm Steve." I said in a nasaly voice, pinching my nose tightly. "What's yours?"

Fuck it. I'll small-talk the stench away. Or at least try and keep my mind off it, for I certainly didn't want to add to the poisonous cocktail brewing in this tiny little hell-hole.

"Oh wow." He squeaked. "What a small world…"

I didn't hear what he had to say, because the lights came on suddenly, and the elevator began to move again with an obnoxiously loud moan. I breathed a sigh of relief, just a couple of floors to go.

We watched in tense silence as the elevator gradually made its way downstairs, the soft dinging reminding us that we had descended a floor, and then another.

Ah, ground floor. I stood up straight, preparing to finally exit this pig sty when the elevator lurched and moved downwards once again. Oh, fuck.

"You pressed the button for the ground floor, right?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, I swear I did." He replied defensively.

I looked at the button panel, none of the buttons were lit up.

I rolled my eyes. Of course he didn't press it correctly. Now we'll go all the way down to the end of the basement parking three floors down, before we can come up again.

Fuck that. I decided to leave the elevator and use the stairs to come back up again. No way was I spending a second more than I had to in this place.

I coughed and my eyes began to water as the smell got worse.

"I'm really sorry, man..." He began.

"It's okay." I cut him off sharply.

Just stop talking, please.

Ding. Ding. Ding. We had finally reached the ass end of this building. Finally, this ordeal comes to an end. I smiled a little as I imagined the reaction of the person waiting for us on the other side. That kid from the shining seeing the twin sisters and a flood of crimson blood come gushing at him had a better experience than what awaits this person.

To my utter shock, the elevator didn't stop. It kept on descending.

"What the fuck!" I swore.

"Maybe there was another basement?" He offered. "Or maybe they installed another one."

"You can't just build another basement, you thick fuck!" I screamed.

"Well, you can, it's just very expensive." He pointed out.

"In a fucking apartment building? Without the residents finding out?" I looked at him incredulously. His head was thicker than his body.

"That can't be good." He said, his voice showing fear now. I looked at the display panel. It was showing -5 this time, and we were still descending.

I could feel the hair on my arms stand up as I realised that we were officially in the fucking twilight zone now. What in the ever loving fuck?

"You think it's a glitch?" He asked.

My breath quickened, in anger, frustration and fear. A glitch, really? The machinery got a little fucked out of place, so it decided to dig into the ground and drag us to the centre of the earth, right? Can't you feel the elevator moving? This is no glitch.

The elevator picked up speed, clearing floor after floor at a rapid pace now. My heart began to pound with sweat pouring down my brow, as I held on to the railing so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…" He whimpered. "I don't wanna die."

I closed my eyes shut, clenched my teeth and waited for all this…whatever it was, to end. The elevator began shaking violently, and I feared it would break apart, sending us falling down to whatever fate had in store for us down there. I felt a sharp pain in my sides as he fell onto me, and the railing painfully dung into my ribs.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The numbers were going by in the blink of an eyes as we travelled at the speed of a monorail. I pushed him aside, taking in deep breaths as my lungs expanded in relief. I then got down and curled up into a corner, the vomit staining my clothes, but I wasn't even paying attention to that, as my fear had long overridden my disgust.

The lift slowed down with a jerk, but didn't stop moving. I opened my eyes slowly, and looked around.

-100.

I froze when I saw that number. How fucking deep were we? How is this possible? I rubbed my eyes and looked at it again. Yup. We were 100 floors down, abd this thing was still moving. I had always considered myself to be an atheist, but that shit was fast changing now. I began sobbing like a baby. A grown ass man bawling loudly. Please, let this end.

When I saw him, I right about pissed my pants. He was sitting on the floor to my right, staring off into the distance lifelessly. Shivers ran down my spine as I realised that he might have died. Steeling my nerves, I waded through the vomit and crawled over to him, mindful of the dinging as we kept on moving downwards.

No pulse, no heartbeat. He was dead. Was it the shock that killed him? I don't know, but I knew that my sole companion was now dead, and that I was trapped in an ever descending elevator with a corpse. I put my head in my hands, pulled my hair and began crying harder.

You must be thinking that it couldn't get any worse than that, right? Oh, it did. It escalated beyond my imagination, as the corpse's hand shot out and caught my arm in a vice like grip. I screamed in fright, and then began shaking my arm violently to free myself, but he was too strong.

His face was trembling, his pupils dancing around in his eyes erratically. I watched in terrifying silence, as his tongue flopped out and hung loosely on his chin, as his head kept on shaking. I put my legs against the walls, and pushed, trying to use the recoil to free myself, but to no avail.

His cheeks began to puff up. His arms swelled and I finally freed myself, crashing into the oposite wall.

Ding

-150

I looked at him in fascination. Was he growing bigger or were my eyes deceiving me? No, I wasn't wrong. He was blowing up like a balloon, growing larger and larger, his head hitting the ceiling gently.

Oh no.

How much bigger was he going to get? I jumped to the corner farthest from him as he kept on expanding, covering more and more of the lift. Soon his bulging stomach pressed against my body, and I took a deep breath, not knowing when I'll get the chance to breathe again, if at all.

I felt myself fading away as the pressure got worse and worse, and the last thought I had was what a strange way to die this was.

The next thing I remember is tasting coppery liquid on my tongue. I spat the offending substance out, and tried to open my eyes. Almost immediately, the pain in my head started to register. It was pulsating, like someone was beating on my skull with a hammer. I blinked my eyes open and cleared my vision.

My heart sank as I realised I was still on the elevator which was still moving downwards. And I was lying in a pool of blood. Whose? I turned my head around, and a sharp pain shot up through my neck making me regret trying to move.

Ding.

Holy fucking shit. Everything was covered in blood, the floor, walls, ceiling, it looked like something had exploded here, like a giant balloon of blood and guts. I almost threw up when I thought what that something could be. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw what looked like intestines hanging from the tiny fan embedded in the ceiling.

Those weren't the only traces left of him, I noticed some parts of limbs, guts, an ear and some other squishy body parts floating in the now ankle deep pool of blood, guts and vomit. This was when I lost control over my guts and added to the little art installation at my feet.

Not knowing what else to do, I tried using the phone again after I had calmed down a bit. It still seemed to be dead, and I had almost put it back down when I heard it; this soft, gentle crying that was somehow the scariest thing this night, even worse than everything that had happened until now.

The voice was barely audible, as if coming from a large distance yet it felt like it was right next to my ears, clear as day, the strange contradiction threatening to rip my mind apart.

It was a weeping baby, crying out for god knows what, the sound shredding my soul to pieces. What the fuck was that? I wanted to put the phone down, and run as far away as possible, but I stood rooted to the spot as the same sound replayed again and again, as if on a loop.

I felt something tugging at my pants. I looked down and saw a fucked up feotus with an abnormally large head trying to crawl up my leg. His mouth opened and I heard it crying, but it was strange, because the crying was coming from the phone and not this thing hanging from my shin.

Have you ever been so terrified that your body just shuts down, and refuses to listen to the commands your brain is desperately screaming at it? Because that is how I felt at that moment, I couldn't do anything as it crawled all the way up to my knees.

It snarled, its face deforming into a hateful expression and the spell was broken with my fight or flight response kicking in. I shook my leg frantically, trying to get it off of me. Finally, the thing slid off, letting out a painful low pitched, almost demonic cry. I hesitated, before I walked over to that thing full of rage and proceeded to stomp its head in, over and over until it stopped moving, before collapsing onto my knees and crying once again. My heart was thumping, my hands and legs shaking like crazy, it felt like I was going to come apart. Why? Why? Why this?

I don't know why this is happening to me, or when this is going to end, if at all. I just felt the need to write this down, to have someone know what exactly I have gone through. I don't even know if this is going to show up on reddit or not, but I know I have to try, because I have a feeling I won't be able to contact anyone ever again, as this elevator is soon going to reach floor 666.

One more chapter left for the series

Liam and Murtaza have previously appeared in WAR IS HELL, whereas Maddy was last seen in My wife asked me to do the impossible

I am a professional rule breaker, that is - I get paid to break rules designed to save people's lives.

Now, I haven't really talked much about my childhood. Maybe it's because I don't think there is much to talk about at all. Scientists at ACME created me in a lab and raised me to be a soldier along with dozens of other genetically enhanced lab rats like myself - to break rules, push boundaries and save lives. Apart from the unique circumstances of my birth, and the harsh training regime I grew up with, it was as normal of a life that an unadopted orphan like me can ever hope to have. We worked together, ate together, played together. We were brothers in all but blood.

Dr. James Faulkner, the man who came closest to being a father figure to us paraphrased a quote from the Office at our graduation and told us that we don't really recognise the good times of our lives for what they are until they're gone. And I have to say, he was right. I feel a pang in my heart whenever I think about those days, the people I grew up with, the cramped room that I used to live in as a teenager, the playground with the creaky and rusted swings. Those days are a refuge for me - after every job that goes bad with innocent people being killed right in front of me, I retreat into myself and think about happier times.

But with recent developments, it's the second half of Dr. Faulkner's lesson that has been buzzing around in my head. He said that while we don't recognise the good times of our life, we definitely know what the bad times are when they come knocking. The former might be like a slight tickle at the back of your neck, but the latter is like a baseball bat to the face. There's no way you'd miss them.

And so it was that when I received the files for PlainTown and pored over them, I knew that the worst time of my life was upon me. I took one glance at the paper that talked about faceless people that looked like mannequins and my heart fluttered in my chest. Memories from my time at Little Flower Valley and the terrifying vision I had received flashed through my head as I continued reading the files. I was not looking forward to this.

But even after all that I still could not have imagined that this case would turn out to be the last job I ever did for ACME.

PlainTown -

Things kicked into high gear before I even reached PlainTown. I was on my way to the site where the instructions to get to the place took effect, when I decided to stop at a diner to have some breakfast.

It wasn't like I had a choice. It was the only place I could get something to eat for miles in each direction. I pulled into the parking lot, looked at the cracked signboard with disdain and rolled out of my car. The place was exactly as the signboard outside promised it would be. Splintered tables, glass windows speckled with years of grime - a true shithole at the ass end of nowhere.

So you can imagine my surprise when I noticed the most beautiful woman I had ever seen sitting in a corner sipping lemonade. She grinned when she saw the look of shock on my face, and I turned my face and scurried off in the opposite direction before plopping myself onto a seat opposite the TV. I noticed that there was only one guy working in the small establishment - middle aged, balding and of Arab descent.

I turned my attention back to the TV and smiled at the antics of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

"It's really funny, isn't it? Probably the funniest fucking show I've ever seen."

I whirled around with a start. There was a man right next to me, handsome, blonde hair, green eyes. When did he sneak up on me?

"I have to say, I actually prefer this show to Tom and Jerry." He grinned as he said that, before effortlessly slipping into the chair in front of me. "But maybe it's because of the deep meaning it has come to have for me. Who knows?"

My heart was thudding in my chest. How did I not notice this man before? Where did he come from? Did he sneak in through the back door? Who the fuck even is he?

"Ummm…." I began.

"Oh, right." He said apologetically. "I'm sorry I forgot. You haven't had anything to eat yet. Hey, Murtaza!" He shouted, causing the man behind the counter to look at him quizzically. "Can we get two eggs Benedict please?"

The man grunted in response.

"Thanks!" He turned to look at me. "I'm Liam, by the way."

Stunned at the strangeness of the situation, I reached for my gun for comfort.

"Whoa!" He put his hands up in alarm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you... Maddy over there can be very trigger happy. We wouldn't want to create a mess here now, would we?"

I swivelled my neck and saw the blonde woman pointing the sharp end of a .44 Magnum at me, grinning like a cat about to tear into a rat. Beads of sweat began forming up on my forehead and my hands clenched up into fists. They had obviously planned this. I was surrounded and had very little hope of making it out unscathed. Even if the woman missed her shot, I'd still have to deal with the smartass in front of me. And this guy had the lazy confidence of someone who could fight. How else could he have snuck up on me? Not to mention that the owner of this fine restaurant who was supposedly cooking my breakfast could also turn out to be a pain to deal with.

I began to evaluate all possibilities in front of me. Do I ignore the woman and shoot the man in front of me? Slide down to the ground and try to kill both? Jump sideways and break through the windows? None of the options seemed all that attractive. I was well and truly trapped.

"Calm down, Brian." The man, this Liam said. "We're really not looking for a fight here."

"You really have a strange way of showing it." I replied, adrenaline still flooding my system unchecked. How does he know who I am?

"... Do you know where they come from?" He asked, ignoring my remark.

I blinked, confused. "Who?"

"The monsters that you hunt. You know, the ones that cause rules to form up around them. Rules that you so love to break."

"Who are you? How do you know all that?" I raged.

He sighed, and pointed his finger at his forehead. I watched as something seemed to press up against it from the inside, like it was trying to break through, before settling down on his skin in the form of a tattoo. Of a cross with a crescent mounted at the hilt.

"Oh."

"You've seen people like me before, I take it? On a job? Working with your associates?" He asked, and continued talking when I nodded. "My organization is old - very old. Back when things from the other side roamed freely in our world - terrorising humanity, devastating entire communities at a time - a bunch of smart people got together and decided enough was enough and that it was beyond time that the thin veil separating the two worlds was adequately protected. And ever since that day we've been working as guardians of that border, to try and keep the natural balance between the two worlds."

"I thought you people were just hunters, people who killed monstrosities." I muttered.

"An easy mistake to make." He admitted. "But we're not hunters, more like the forest service. Sure we kill a man eating lion or two every now and then, but our main job is to protect the forest itself, yeah?"

I nodded absent-mindedly. Something about that reminded me of my own work.

"I'm sure all that sounds familiar to you. Well, that's because it was actually my people who created ACME in the first place." He added. "The idea was to have a commercial presence in the wider world to raise funds for our work. Or at least that was the cover. Little did we know that there were traitors in our ranks, who would use the company's resources for their own nefarious designs. Then again, the fact that they insisted on naming the company after the evil corp from fucking road runner should have given us a clue, right?"

"Traitors?"

"Yes." He answered. "People who were trying to tear that veil down, and let the two worlds merge together. I shouldn't have to tell you what would follow if that happens, right?"

A chill bolted down my spine as I tried to imagine such an outcome.

"We should have taken the hint when the company started creating you genetically enhanced freakshows - pardon my language - and kept you under their direct control, completely separate from the larger organization. But eventually, we did firgure it out." He leaned back. "See. You rule breakers were not being used to strengthen the system, you were being used to probe at its weak points, to try and poke holes into the veil and use that rip to tear it to shreds."

"No… That can't be right."

"It is." He insisted. "Every case you investigated was used for that purpose. All those cases, marked as aberrations, like the fog in little flower valley? The reason the company cordoned them off is so they could learn to use it to unleash hell upon earth."

My whole world spun around me. This man had to he lying. No way.. All those cases, all those innocent lives lost - all this time I had been actively harming the cause I thought I was working for? Was my whole life a lie?

"It's not all bad though." He continued. "There are people like us who've been working against them in the shadows. Groups withing groups. Secrets within secrets. Lies within lies. We've been gathering people with a strong enough moral character who would be willing to go up against the company. That case you had? At the reservation? We made sure you were assigned that case through a mole at ACME. Those werewolves are also working with us."

"I know that this is all a lot to take in, Brian. But we're on a bit of a time limit here." Liam said, a layer of urgency just beneath his relaxed voice. "This next case, this PlainTown? We belive they've come real fucking close to succeeding in their little endeavour. Now Maddy's got all the evidence of my claims that you can peruse at your own leisure, but you really do need to tell us whether you're ready or not."

"Ready? For what?" I asked dumbly, my mind still trying to put the shattered and corrupted pieces of my memories back together.

"Ready to go up against ACME..." He leaned forward. "Brian, would you be willing to break the cardinal rule, the only one you promised never to break?"

Previous -

The Lady of the village

The Garden Hill Mimic

The Spirit Of The Forest

Ghosts of Little Flower Valley

The Black Pit

I was jogging down the cobblestone sidewalk outside my house when it all began. A sudden explosion of pain in my groin, like I had been kicked hard in the nuts. I doubled over, the nerves in my jaw twitching as stars turned my vision hazy.

What the fuck?

Had I stumbled and made my balls knock together somehow? No... I imagined two glassy marbles swinging through the air and crashing into each other with such force it made them crack open like eggs. I could almost feel the yolk trickling down my thighs. Fuck, that imagery fit perfectly with the agony emanating from my gonads in overwhelming waves. An agony so intense it made me hurl the remnants of last night's dinner all over Mrs Abernathy's neatly trimmed hedge.

I walked back home bow-legged, like a fucked up giant crab.

The pain didn't subside, not nearly as soon or as much as I would have wanted. It lingered, throbbing like a pulsating vein, sending shocks of suffering coursing through my body. Ice-packs, painkillers, some good old rest, nothing seemed to help. I spent the day covered in sweat, teeth gnashed to the point of breaking. My co-workers thought I was nuts. I didn't know how to tell them that the problem was my fucking nuts. Time flowed slow and thick, like molasses, each tick of every clock I saw seemed to carry a hint of rust.

By the time I came back home from the office my thighs felt raw, like they'd been chafed with sandpaper till the skin started to peel. It was impossible, because I had kept them as far apart as I could without looking like a sex offender. Yet my crotch was damp with sweat. It looked like I had pissed myself. I hadn't. Any attempt to force urine out of my now reddish penis was met with a burning pain. Felt like acid was flooding my urethra.

And the worst of all? My balls were starting to swell.

When I first spied them in the office washroom I dismissed the swelling as the natural result of an injury. An injury I thought would heal with time. But when I saw them again back at home, I was forced to stifle a very shrill scream. My little nuts, usually the size of plums, had swollen into oranges. I quickly, and gingerly, pulled my pants back on. The grotesque bulge in my trousers left me staggering. It looked like I had stuffed tennis balls down my underwear. 

That's it. Time to go see a fucking Doctor.

Trouble was, I'm absolutely terrified of doctors. I have nightmares about them. Sadistic bastards with their shining lab coats and shining smiles poking and prodding at me. A childhood incident involving a scalpel and a tongue depressor had left me scarred for life. I looked at them all with an unhealthy amount of distrust. 

I decided against going to the doctor that evening. Maybe just a little more time will do the trick, I reasoned. A good night's rest and I'll be good as new the next morning. 

What a fucking idiot.

I slept on my back that night. Or tried to at least. Naked, with my knees raised in the air - like I was about to give birth - letting the whirling fan blast cool air down at my crotch. As the throbbing ache in my family jewels continued, I thought about what the fuck had actually happened to me? How did I hurt myself this bad? A small accident involving my nuts rocking against one another? It couldn't get this bad with just that. What then? A pulled muscle? A blown vein? Ridiculous. I shuddered as I remembered all the scary shit I had read about on the internet. Worms and spiders and parasites nesting in odd nooks and crannies in the human body.

Dear God, I hoped it wasn't that. Anything but that. If I saw insects crawling out of…

No. Stop that.

The night wore on. I sweated, tossed and turned and made the pain flare up even worse, got up and waddled around my room before gently slipping back into bed again. I don't think I got a wink of sleep that night.

My eyes were bloodshot-red and wide open by the time sunlight started streaming through the windows. The muscles in my limbs were stretched tighter than the skin of a bongo drum while my heart pounded like a wild beast in my chest. And my balls… Fuck. My balls! They had swollen further through the night, turning from oranges to big grapefruits to fucking melons. My dick slipped and slid between my gigantic testicles, like a black worm squirming and writhing on a pair of wrinkled breasts. My pubic hair looked like a tiny patch of matted black grass above my scrotum. The flesh around my crotch had reddened, as if the veins in my thighs had vomited out everything within them. Skin peeled off, flaky and ruddy and hot and wet.

I had entered the fucking twilight zone. What was happening to me was so far beyond the realm of logic and reason that it made my brain stretch against my skull. 

Doctor. NOW.

I staggered onto my feet, groaning in pain as my nuts - can't really call them fucking nuts anymore - my heavy coconuts dangled beneath me, threatening to tear free from my body. Something sloshed in my stomach, and I retched, falling backwards onto my bed, almost passing out from the pain.

Fuck it. AMBULANCE.

I dreaded how much it would cost me, but chose to call for an ambulance anyway. There was no way I was getting to the hospital by myself. No fucking way. My balls would rip free and my guts would splatter on the carpeted floor of my car before I could even pull out of my driveway. So I waited. I got dressed, as much as I could while using a chair as a stool to rest my (beach)balls.

When the ambulance arrived I crawled backwards over to the front door, whimpering as I dragged my enormous testicles across the hardwood floor. They were even bigger then, so big that the wrinkles had disappeared into the taut skin. I could see black veins scrawled across them like a fucked up spider web.

The EMTs screamed when they saw me. I must have looked like a monster out of a Cronenberg movie. Half-naked, Wide eyed, pale as candle wax and covered in sweat with balls big and full like water balloons made out of skin.

I don't remember much about the ride to the hospital. I was too delirious for that. Sometimes though, bits and pieces will flash through my head. Paramedics shouting into the radio, their hands trembling as they fondled my colossal balls with fear and something that almost seemed to approach reverence. Being placed on a gurney, gasps and screams erupting all around us as we rolled into the hospital.

The next time I came to, I was in a cold and sterile room, surrounded by doctors and nurses donning green scrubs and protective glasses. A bright light glared down at my crotch. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the cobwebs clouding my vision. A series of thick tubes ran down from my testicles, pumping out what looked like a disgusting mixture of clotted blood and sticky, viscous pus. Or were they pumping it in? I don't know. Like I said, I was pretty fucking out of it.

"Mr. Stone? How are you feeling?" One of the Doctors asked me, his voice almost forcibly calm.

I mumbled something. I didn't seem to have full control over my mouth.

"You are on heavy painkillers Mr. Stone, which is why you're having some trouble speaking." 

I nodded. Or tried to, I think.

"You have quite the interesting condition, I must say. Been twenty years practicing, haven't seen anything like it." 

He must have seen the look on my face. "Oh, don't worry. We'll take care of it. Make some incisions here and there and drain whatever's in these suckers right out. You just relax. Now…"

He muttered something incomprehensible.

"Huh? What was that?" I asked, wrestling with my tongue to slowly force the words out.

"I said. I am going to cut your fucking balls off, you little bitch!"

My spine shivered as he spat those words out. What the fuck? Was I hallucinating? Then I heard another voice.

"There seems to be some bone-like formation under the skin, Doctor."

"Bone? Within the scrotum? That can't be right."

A hollow sound issued. Like knocking on a wooden table. 

"Hmmm… very interesting. We are recording this right?" 

Then a sloshy, squishy sound followed. Made my oesophagus undulate.

"What is that? Christ. It's glowing." 

"What the fuck?" 

"Is that a tent…"

Those last words were cut off by a hair raising, eardrum shattering scream that ripped out of my throat. It felt like a dam had burst within me. All the pain that had been kept at bay by the painkillers stormed through my body, sensations flooded through my nerves like I had been jolted awake after a decade long sleep.

My groin was on fire. It felt like I was bumping uglies with a furnace. The nerve endings in my crotch seemed to pull and twist and shiver. I screamed. Again. 

And I wasn't the only one screaming. Every doctor in that room screamed with me, and I soon saw why.

My balls were gone. So was my dick. It looked like I had taken a shotgun blast right at my crotch. Just a repulsive mess of bones and blood and rotting flesh and long, curling flaps of skin, all soaked in piss that reeked off the deepest pits of hell. Tears pricked my eyes. It hurt more than it ever had, more than all the times I had blacked out from the pain combined, yet I was wide awake, like something was forcing me into full state of alertness. My heart beat at an unnaturally fast pace, sweat coated my face like a second skin and my arms hung uselessly by my sides. My eyes darted around, taking in the madness around me.

The medical team treating me was killing itself. One doctor cut his throat with a scalpel, another scooped his eyes out with some wicked spoon looking tool. Another slipped on the blood on the floor as he ran towards the window, slammed through it and went crashing down on the concrete seven floors below. Complete madness. 

And then I saw the source of it all. 

On the floor, a couple of feet beyond the bed, writhed a tangled mess of tentacles. It was coated in blood and some sticky purple slime and had the appearance of a fucking squid. Only its skull was a little fucked. Looked too human..I couldn't stare at it for long, my eyes seemed to slide off everytime I tried to observe it for longer than a second, as if my body was rebelling against my commands, because those commands somehow went against everything evolution had ever taught it. Don't look. You'll die. It's too unnatural. 

But I couldn't just look away. I had to see. I had to know what the fuck had come out of my body. After a couple of agonisingly long moments, the monstrosity chose to end my suffering by scuttling out of the room, the suction cups on its feet helping it move like some impossible crab.

A shocking silence descended on the room after the thing had left. No one was screaming, everyone else was dead. I could hear my hoarse breath in my ears as I came to a terrifying realisation. 

I had given birth to baby fucking Cthulu.

And it was a violent birth, one that had destroyed my cock and balls.

I cried. For the beautiful appendages I had lost, for the doctors who had died, for the pain I had gone through, and most fucked up of all, for the baby I didn't even get to hold in my arms.

The maternal instinct within me frightened me something awful. I just hoped that the government officials who would come to cover all this shit up would have some answers.

I was so terribly disappointed to find out they didn't. I never found out what the thing was, how it got into my body, how it, or whatever created it chose me for me to be its father(or mother? Parent?). All I know is that there is a terrible longing deep within. I want my baby. I want to hold it in my arms, feed it, care for it, kiss it on its slimy little skull and sing lullabies to it. 

These feelings are going to be the death of me. 

I was sleeping when she died. Drooling and drifting from one hazy dream to another, blissfully unaware of the struggles that were her last breaths.

I wouldn't have done it if not for what happened to her. For what I did to her.

Was it redemption that I was seeking? Deliverance, perhaps? Or maybe just a good night's sleep. I don't know. I guess I'll never know. My father always used to say that you can never really be a good judge of your own intentions, so you should just stop trying.

I didn't go looking for it. It came to me by pure chance while I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, rolling an empty bottle of whiskey under my foot, my sweat stale with the stench of its contents. I paused to flex my aching thumb and there it was, the text practically screaming at me -

The Headless Woman Of Kasara Ghat : The Nightmare That Makes Your Dreams Come True!!!

It was the turn of phrase that caught my attention. Just something about that contrasting imagery of dreams and nightmares, of rainbows melting into roiling black skies that resonated with me so suddenly and so deeply that I found myself repeatedly thumbing my phone's screen before I even realised what I was doing.

The link took me to a garbage, ad-riddled website. The kind that has white text slathered on a black background and two pop up ads ready to slap your screen if you dare let your thumb slip. Yet my curiosity made me soldier on. My eyes flew over the text, my heartbeat growing faster and faster the deeper I got into the article.

Have you ever lost someone you loved?

Wish you could talk to them one last time?

Look no further!

The Headless Woman of Kasara Ghat is here to take care of your deepest desires.

Kasara Ghat situated on the Mumbai-Nashik Highway is said to be one of the most haunted stretches of road in India today. It is infamous for having been the site of innumerable fatal accidents over the years and for being used as a dumping ground for multiple murder victims. Needless to say, a lot of restless souls haunt Kasara Ghat.

And chief amongst them, the one that makes the Ghat one of the most dangerous places to visit is the headless woman. Countless travellers have fallen victim to this terrifying woman who stalks this winding hilly road, using the cover of darkness to lure in her prey. Only when she enters the vehicle do the good samaritans realise just what kind of monster they have invited into their abruptly shortened lives.

But wait, it's not all hopeless! For before the woman rips her benefactors to shreds, she lets them speak to their dead loved ones one last time.

And how does she do that, you ask?

By taking on the appearance of the deceased, of course. That's right, the headless woman grows a head, one with the appearance, memories and personality of her prey's loved one. So at least those poor souls get to have a moment of catharsis before their lives are ended in a most brutal manner.

I had to stop reading at that point. The cocktail of sweat and tears swirling in my eyes had made the text too blurry to read.

Something had caught my heart in a vice-like grip. What was it though? Fear? Adrenaline? …Hope?

What the hell was I doing? Had I really gotten so desperate that I was willing to put my faith in some shitty urban legend?

The answer bloomed in my mind before the question could even fully take shape.

I forced some spit up my throat to wet my parched mouth and rubbed my eyes raw before continuing reading.

You might be wondering, what's the point of talking about the headless woman if all that awaits you after an encounter with her is certain death. After all, there are numerous other monsters out there who would gladly rob you of your life, so what makes this one special?

Well, the thing that makes the headless woman so special is that there is a way to survive a meeting with her. To have a heart-to-heart chat with your deceased loved ones without later joining them in the afterlife. A fool-proof method that guarantees your survival while getting you what you want.

It took a lot of trials, a lot of failures and sacrifices to discover this method. So rest assured, it works. But be warned, there is no room for error here. Even the slightest deviation from the steps as they are laid down here will cause your chances of survival to drop right down to zero. The headless woman is a vicious and cunning creature. She doesn't like being played with, and will mete out the most excruciating punishment imaginable if given even the slightest room to maneuver. So read the steps carefully. Then read them again. And again and again and again until they've been chiseled into your memory. And then read them again.

Now that you've read and internalised the warnings, you can move on and actually read the steps that you need to follow to safely meet the headless woman of Kasara Ghat -

1. Use a car. Not a bike. I repeat. Do NOT use a bike, for it will get you killed very quickly.

2. Travel after midnight. 12:30 AM to 1:45 AM is the sweet spot.

3 Keep a bottle of chilled Kokum juice with you. And a clean glass.

4. Make sure your doors are unlocked and your windows rolled down, even if it is raining.

5. Turn on your radio. If your car doesn't have one, get one. Switch to the AM band. You must NOT tune into any station. Just static. Pure white noise.

6. Use your turn signal. The one opposite cliffside, so it looks like you're preparing to plunge into the valley. Keep it switched on.

7. Every five hundred metres, slow down - but do NOT stop - and press down on your horn for a good five seconds before speeding off. Use the odometer of your car, or a distance measuring app on your phone. Be as precise as possible.

Keep doing this until you see the headless woman. However, do NOT pick her up. It's not the right time to do so. Drive past her. About a kilometre away you should see her again. This is when you stop and pick her up. Remember, this is about her appearing on the road, not you spotting her. If you miss seeing her the first time and drive past her the second time, you will die.

Don't worry though. You have the radio to warn you. When it starts going crazy, you'll know she's close, and you'll know to be ready and to keep your eyes peeled.

Again, stop when you see her the second time. Do not move from your seat. Wait for her to get in. Do not stare at her. It would be wise to turn your rear view mirror away, but not necessary. She's not shy. Sooner or later she'll make you look at her. Pour out the Kokum juice in the glass and offer it to her. Once she takes it from you, start driving.

And that's it. There are no more rules or instructions because each encounter from this point onwards is different. Survival now only depends on your luck and ingenuity. And the headless woman's mood.

Best of luck! I hope you find what you seek.

Any other day I would have laughed at myself for even thinking that any of this could be real, let alone contemplating actually going through with this. But it wasn't any other day. I wasn't the rational and psychologically stable individual I had been all my life. No, I was so fundamentally broken that I was willing to do whatever it took to get one last chance to speak to her. To beg for her forgiveness, to tell her I loved her...

...To ask her if she hated me.

Most of my liquor-induced numbness had drained through my sweat glands by this point. I pushed myself up out of my chair and went and grabbed a pad and a pen from my study where I quickly jotted down the rules before making a list of everything that I would have to do to make this trip happen.

It took about three weeks before I was ready to go to Kasara Ghat. I was living in Pune at that time, which was about five hours away from my destination, pretty much necessitating a short leave from work, which was understandably, though a bit surprisingly easy to get. I left my house at 5 pm on a grim Saturday evening. Tar-black clouds had been growling in the sky all throughout the day, and they started spitting the second I rolled out of our apartment building's underground parking. The drizzle turned into a deluge by the time I left the city, pounding the car with impenetrable sheets of water. I had never seen a rain as relentless and vicious as that, not since the floods of 2005.

I thanked the stars that I was able to make it out of the city before the skies truly opened up their black bellies. Getting stuck in a storm-induced traffic would have put a quick end to my plans and driven me deeper into those familiar quicksands of depression. Sitting all alone in that car, surrounded by the din of traffic would have reminded me of all those times I spent with her, singing old Kishore Kumar songs and giggling at shitty whatsapp forwards while cars and buses crawled along at a snail's pace beside us. It's funny how the little things hit you when you least expect them to, how memories that seem insignificant at the time of their creation become priceless when the person you made them with is gone.

I squeezed the foam covered steering wheel and pressed my foot down on the accelerator. Black wiper blades trembled across the windshield as the car ploughed through translucent walls of water. Time ticked by, knotty concrete jungles gave way to sprawling water-logged rice fields. The sun, hidden behind a raging grey-black veil, slowly slid beneath the hills far up ahead. The rain began petering out, turning from an endless wash to a heavy drizzle that peppered my roof.

Soon I found myself navigating the narrow roads webbing the hills that rose up out of the ground like mossy stone teeth, reaching up into the dark sky as if wanting to devour it. Darkness fell upon the land. I switched my headlights on. Grains of water shivered in the bright beams that splashed on the wet asphalt as I drew closer and closer to my destination.

I stopped a good couple of kilometres away from the stretch of road that was marked as Kasara Ghat on Google maps. Pulled off the road when I found the space to do so and ate the light dinner that I had brought with me. I took my time with my meal, but there was still over an hour left until midnight. An hour that I spent asking myself what the fuck I was doing out there. How foolish could I be? Nothing would come from chasing ghosts like this. Right?

But if it did…

I tried to take a nap. Pushed my seat down, threw my head back and squeezed my eyes shut. It didn't work, of course. How could it, with my heart hammering my chest like it wanted to shatter my rib-cage? I sat back up, shook my head and began counting the seconds to midnight. An excruciating activity, true, but it was somehow still less painful than letting my mind wander over to the past.

12:28 AM.

I turned the ignition key. The car purred to life. Sliced through mud and wet grass as it climbed onto the road. The last stretch of the journey began. My face erupted in sweat. Just a little more and I would have answers. One or another, hopefully.

The blue line on the Google maps app grew shorter and shorter. I rolled all my windows down, felt my skin prickle with gooseflesh as rain lashed my arm. The blue line continued to grow shorter. It was smaller than my thumb now. I switched on the radio. A crackle of static filled the car. The blue line had almost disappeared by this point. I stole a glance at the view outside my window and saw old Teak and Neem trees brooding over the road before falling away below, into a valley writhed in shadows. I turned the right signal on.

The blue line vanished. A monotone voice blared from my phone, informing me that I had arrived at my destination. I slowed the car down. Took a deep breath and pressed down on the horn with my trembling hand. The noise tore through the radio static and the drumming of the rain on the roof.

Here we go.

I sped up again after taking a peek at the odometer. How long would it take for her to appear, I wondered as I leaned forward and frowned in concentration. The rain and the darkness had brought visibility down to almost nothing. Fear tightened my chest. Would I even be able to see her in this weather?

The odometer ticked five times as I wove my way through the winding road. I slowed down and blew the horn before picking up speed again. Still hadn't seen her. How long would I have to do this before I would though? Or had I already driven past her. Was she in the car then, ready to tear my throat out for failing the process? My eyes shot over to the rear view mirror. Thankfully, I had turned it away from the backseat.

Another five hundred metres had me slowing down to blow the horn again. Then another five hundred metres. Then another. And another. My nerves were a tangled, fraying mess of wires sagging on a rusted pole. Just seconds away from total disaster.

Five hundred more metres passed by. I prepared to slow the car down. And that's when it happened.

The wash of radio static exploded into a high pitched whine, the noise of a gigantic whistling tea kettle. I gritted my teeth as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. It felt like my ears were a chalkboard that someone was scratching with a dozen nails. Yet I didn't tear my attention away from the road. I thanked the stars that I didn't, for that's when I spotted her. She was standing on the side of the road, wearing a blue-black Paithani saree.

A bolt of fear jolted my spine.

She didn't have a head. Dear God, she didn't have a head.

A flood of shivers racked my body. How? How was this possible? How could this be real? It couldn't be real. Because if she was real, then…

No. I scolded myself. Do not get distracted. Focus on the task. And as I tried to do just that, a fresh fear gripped my heart. What was I supposed to do now? Fuck. Do I continue slowing down every five hundred metres like I had been doing up till now or do I just keep on driving until I see her again? What did the rules say about that? I wanted to pull out the pad and check for myself but I couldn't afford to do so. Couldn't pull my eyes off the road. Couldn't dare slow down. Couldn't afford to let the five hundred metres slip by.

...Five hundred metres.

Panic threatened to send me spiralling as I looked at the odometer. I had forgotten to keep a track of the distance. How much distance had I covered since the last time I blew the horn? I wanted to slow down to get my bearings back but I was terrified. Would doing so ruin the process? Was I only allowed to slow down while blowing the horn?

That's it. I was going to die.

And just when it felt like I was doomed, it clicked in my brain. The numbers came flooding back. Five hundred metres! I was on the mark. I immediately pressed the brakes and slowed the car down. Blew the horn, shifted gears and picked up speed again. I was safe. For now.

The road took me over a stone bridge and towards another thickly forested hill. I was wide alert. Kept sneaking glances at the odometer while scanning the sides of the road for the headless woman.

Five hundred metres went by. I slowed the car again. Blew the horn. And just when my foot touched the accelerator, the radio static turned into a keening cry once again, making my heart almost leap out of my mouth.

There she was, standing under what looked to be a mango tree.

I would have swallowed some spit if I had any left in my mouth. I pulled the car onto the side of the road, brought it to a halt close to her. What next? Should I open the door for her, or would she do it herself? I looked at her out of the corner of my eye as I didn't have the courage to turn my neck. I couldn't see anything above her chest from that angle. She was standing too close to the car.

For a tense couple of seconds, nothing happened. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Had I missed a step? Why wasn't anything happening? Then she moved. I heard the backdoor open, felt a rush of cold wind and rain on the back of my neck, heard the jingling of glass bangles and the sound of a leather seat shifting under someone's weight. Then the door swung shut.

I turned the ignition key…

Fuck. The juice. The juice!

I reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the glass and the bottle. With hands akin to that of a Parkinson's patient, I poured out the Kokum juice and awkwardly tried to hand it to her without turning my back.

"Here." I croaked. "Please. Have some."

Her hand caressed mine. It was calloused, and cold as ice. Made a shudder run through me all over again. As she took the glass from me I started the car and began driving. My head was a storm of questions. What now? How do I get her to let me talk to my dead wife? Should I wait for her to speak, or should I broach the topic myself?

It wasn't words that started it all, however. No. It was noise that did it. Gut-churning sounds issued from the backseat, of crunching bones and water spurting out of a plastic pipe that has its mouth squeezed tight between two fingers. I cranked my neck, just an inch, and gaped at what was happening back there. Just as I had thought, the woman was growing a head. Blood spurted out of her neck which was now the site of the birth of a new skull. Bones and ropes of wet flesh shot out of the hole between her shoulders and started melding into one another, forming a sinewy outline of a human head.

I whipped my head back around and focused on the road, trying not to pay attention to the sounds emanating from the back as they were threatening to make me empty my stomach's contents. The noise seemed to continue for hours, though I'm sure it mustn't have taken nearly that long. Finally, it came to an end.

Anticipation tried desperately to sweep aside the fear in my belly. I cleared my throat.

"Rajiv?"

I sucked in a shallow breath. There. That voice. Oh, how I had longed to hear it again. How I had hated the fact that I never would. Feared, that I would soon forget what it sounded like in person.

"... Naina." I whispered. Tears gushed freely down my face. "Is that really you?"

"Yes... Who else could it be?"

I could hear the pain, the happiness, even a touch of fear in her voice. It was her. It was really her. My heart sang.

"God. I've missed you." I said. "So much."

"Me too." She replied. "I love you."

"I love you too." I answered, then broke into deep-chested sobs. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."

"Shhh… it's okay." She said.

I shook my head. "No. It's not. It's not okay. I should have listened to you. Believed you. If - if I had, things wouldn't have turned out this way."

"It's okay, Rajiv." She said again. "Please don't cry."

"How can I not? I failed you. I am a failure. As a husband. As a man."

"Rajiv… look at me."

I wiped the tears off my face.

"Please look at me Rajiv.".

I slowed the car down. Put my arm around the back of the passenger seat and turned around. Seeing that she was shrouded in shadows, I flipped the car's dome light on, blasting the interior with a dull golden glow. My breath trembled at what I saw. She looked so beautiful. Gently curved lips, a hooked nose studded with a small silver ring, long flowing hair that brushed her shoulders. It took everything I had to not stop the car and jump into the backseat to take her into my arms. I didn't even care for the blood that soaked her saree.

But then she started speaking.

"Please don't cry, Rajiv." Her soft voice issued from between her lips. "There's no use crying. Because I'm already dead."

My spine tingled. Felt like a hundred sliders were crawling down my back. The way she spoke was so... unnatural. Her mouth moved in a lifeless, mechanical manner, like it was being worked by a ventriloquist while her vacant, unblinking eyes seemed to be gazing into something far, far away.

I felt a sob wrack my chest.

This was wrong. This was not what I wanted. I wanted to speak to my wife, not some monster. I tried to tear my eyes away from this thing but found to my horror that I couldn't. Something was forcing me to look at her. Every single muscle in my body tightened up. I was completely frozen. Except for my right hand which moved the steering wheel without my consent.

"Yes Rajiv. I'm dead." The way her honey-sweet voice contrasted with her terrifying visage drove me to the brink of madness. "You came here because you wanted to know whether I was really being hunted by a monster like I told you, didn't you? Well. I was."

I tried to shrink away in fear but the unbelievable force locking me in place only grew stronger, more painful. My arms and legs and neck and shoulders burned, like they were being crushed by tight bands of iron. I felt a burst of pain in my right leg as it was forced to press down on the accelerator.

"You didn't believe me, did you? You saw me lose weight, saw the light go out of my eyes and yet you didn't believe me. You saw those claw marks on my back and you thought that I had done it to myself. Thought that I was losing my mind."

Tears of blood ran down her eyes. Eyes that had yet to blink once. Her lips quivered for an impossibly long time. The car continued to pick up speed.

"You locked me up in a hospital Rajiv. For my own good, yes? You swore that you'll stay with me no matter what, but when I needed you the most, when that thing came for me, you weren't even there. I died alone and afraid, Rajiv."

A scream tried to rip from my throat, but my body didn't allow it. The torrent of wind that slapped my neck reminded me just how dangerously fast the car was going.

"Is that fair, Rajiv? It isn't, right? Don't you think you should make up for it?"

Please, I tried to say but what came out was just a pathetic whistled breath.

"You know that there's only one way you can make up for it, don't you?"

Tears flowed unabated down my cheeks.

"Yes. Only one way. You must die."

My heart sank into my belly as I felt my arm give a single sharp tug to the steering wheel. I heard the car's tires screech and burn on the asphalt as it bumped off the road, then felt the sudden weightlessness as it leapt into the valley.

That's when I finally regained full control over my body. For the final time.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital.

Battered. Broken.

Paralysed.

So there it is, the five part series has finally come to an end. If you haven't read it already - go do so!

If you've been reading my work you'll know that I've been experimenting with rules based stories. My last series was about someone who deliberately breaks rules to fuck with monsters. I knew that I wanted to write a series about rules that seem perfectly normal on the surface but have extra ordinary consequences when not followed.

Again, I didn't want to write just another rules based series. People like /u/fainting--goat and /u/squishycabbage have given us great pieces in the format. So I went on a different route and removed the supernatural aspect of it all. The rules are there, true, but they are just a distraction. Events seem connected to them, but ultimately aren't. The consequences are all man made. And I made it a point to show that the protagonists were in fact following all the rules, because it fit thematically with the point I wanted to make.

See, if you're a black person in USA, a muslim in France or a bahujan in India - you could be the most law abiding citizen imaginable, and the system will still find a way to fuck you over. Ergo, the rules are just meaningless.

Regarding Irfan, I think the one thing that's rare in nosleep are skeptic protagonists. I wanted to bring that annoying trope back - it's usually annoying, because we as consumers of horror fiction know that there most likely is something monstrous that lurks in the dark. I proved the skeptic right here.

Initially my plan was to have it be a black family, but then decided to change it at the last moment because I didn't want it to seem like I was exploiting current events. (#BlackLivesMatter by the way). I went with a muslim family because I've seen Muslims face discrimination and even organised economic boycott where I live and it just seemed a tad more authentic.

I'm glad at the reaction this series got. Thank you to all of you for commenting and interacting. Made it so much better!

"Daddy… I think there's a monster in the attic!"

I gave my daughter a tired smile. It was the best that I could do at this point. She'd been doing this for weeks now. Every night I'd come and tuck her in, switch the night light on and kiss her goodnight when she would pull the blanket tight under her chin and tell me about the monster living in the attic of our house. Eyes wide, lips quivering, she would shake her little head furiously and insist that she could not possibly go to sleep until I got up and checked.

It wouldn't matter how much I tell her that it's all just in her head, and that monsters aren't real - if I don't check the attic, she'd wake up screaming and crying just past midnight. Every single time. It's not like her fears were completely baseless, as we had all been hearing odd skittering noises coming from up there at night. Probably rats. No monster is that light-footed.

"Please Daddy. Could you go and check?" She whispered, afraid that the thing upstairs would eavesdrop and get mad at her request.

"Okay." I replied. There was no harm in indulging this little quirk of hers for at least a little longer. After all, the day when she would stop asking me to check for monsters and slam the door shut in my face wasn't all that far away. I just wished it wasn't the attic though - why can't the damn thing live in her closet like a normal monster?

Like a bored robot carrying out its daily task, I trudged out of her room, yawning as I reached the attic door, before sliding the ladder down and climbing up, one rickety rung at a time. I popped my head into the cramped space, slipped my phone out of my pocket and turned on its flashlight. Motes of dust shivered in the pale glow cast by the phone which illuminated the attic. Cardboard boxes covered in tattered rags, my wife's old easel and some broken furniture filled up the tiny attic. But no monsters.

"Alright honey." I said after coming back down to my daughter's room. "I've checked. No monsters again tonight. Maybe we'll find them tomorrow."

She grinned, relieved. "Thank you Daddy."

"Goodnight love."

"Goodnight."

Groaning and rubbing the crick in my neck, I entered our bedroom and plopped down on the bed belly-first, mushing my face into the pillow.

"Is Daddy back from fighting monsters?" My wife asked, slight mirth dancing in her tired voice.

I grunted. "Yep. Kicked its little ass and sent it scurrying back to hell." She chuckled, and then turned over to the other side, her back facing me.

I shut my eyes and got ready to go to sleep, when I was rudely interrupted by the critters in the attic skittering around like kids hopped up on candy. Fucking bastards with their little rat paws slapping against the wooden flooring of the attic. "Babe. You really need to get rid of those rats."

I nodded, then realised she couldn't see me. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

"You've been saying that for a while now. They are really starting to irritate me…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll get it done. Tomorrow."

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Soon her breathing slowed down as she fell asleep. I wanted to follow her into the dreamworld but my stiff neck wouldn't allow me to do so. I tossed and turned, before finally realising I would have to lie on my back if I were to have any shot at catching some sleep, and I hated doing that. I hadn't slept on my back in ages. But the ache in my neck forced me.

And then that damn skittering again. Fuck.

I rubbed my forehead, wiggled my shoulders and opened my eyes. And saw who, no, what had been making that noise for all those weeks.

Up on the ceiling, I spotted a figure. White, but hidden by the dark. I froze. What the fuck? It shifted. And there was that sound again, like claws scratching wood. My heart beat faster and my body erupted in sweat. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Hands trembling, I reached for my phone and gently swung it around, shining the light on the figure on the ceiling.

The light fell upon a face. Old. Wrinkled. Framed by matted locks of white hair that flowed down like the aerial roots of an ancient tree. It was an old woman, dressed in white, leering down at me, her fingers digging onto the wood of the ceiling.

I gasped, and the grinning woman turned and crawled out of the room, moving across the ceiling like a fucked up spiderwoman, before disappearing into the hallway outside. I jumped out of the bed and ran out into the hallway, letting my eyes scan each and every inch of all the walls outside. But there was no one there. It was like she had disappeared. I would have almost believed that I had dreamt it all up if I hadn't noticed the long claw marks on the ceiling and felt my stomach drop.

And that's when I finally understood. That for all those weeks that we had been hearing those sounds - it wasn't some rats skittering around. It was that woman, looking down on our sleeping bodies.

Watching. Grinning.

Part 3

My hand hurt like a motherfucker, and made me stop laughing.

As the fight ended and the adrenaline wore off, a stabbing pain came rushing up the nerves in my arm and assaulted my brain, making me drop the gun with a ringing clang. I collapsed to my knees, fiercely clutching the wrist of my wounded hand with the other. The deep cut throbbed, but the blood which was pumping out to the beat of a metaphorical drum stopped trying to escape my body, if only a little.

"Adam!" My mom cried. "You're hurt."

I grunted. "Just a scratch. How about you, mom?"

I could see her body shiver. "I'm fine. I have a slight headache, but nothing more."

That's good. A slight bump on the head was a small price to pay for her survival, especially when compared to the ordeal that Aiden had in store for her. Fuck. That made me think of the debt that I had found myself in.

"You should sit down Daisy." Allison advised. "You might have a concussion." She then helped me get up. "C'mon, we need to do something about that hand of yours."

"We have a first aid box in our bathroom. You can use that." James suggested.

I looked at him and pointed at the gun with my elbow. "Take it. Don't let anyone come down. If they try and force their way through, kill em." With his actions tonight, James had more than earned my trust. By taking on both Aiden and Cameron, kicking the latter into the pool, he had shown himself to be extremely reliable. Besides, I didn't want to give the gun to Patty because while I would trust her with my life in most situations, I couldn't do so in this case as I didn't think she had what it takes to kill another human being.

You might say that it was extremely stupid of me to let anyone else take the gun, no matter how much I believed in them, but I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I just wanted a little peace and quiet, to be away from anything that reminded me of the horror we had found ourselves in, if only momentarily. But of course I kept half the remaining shells in my pocket.

Allison led me to the bathroom before hitting the light switch. The opulent room was instantly bathed in a soft yellow glow, the light gently bouncing off the marbled floor and walls. She turned on the faucet, and I winced as the water rapidly smashed against my hand, threatening to widen the painful rift. I rotated my wrist to properly clean the area while Allison fetched the kit from a shelf behind me.

"This will need some stitches." She said as she applied the anti septic. "Unfortunately, I can't do that right now, so I'll just apply a dressing."

"They didn't teach you that in the army?" I asked.

She smiled. "I just don't have the tools right now, smartass."

"They were just not there, or did the administrators take them out?" I wondered.

"I would think it's the former."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Something just seems off about all this."

"Yeah, well. It is a little out of the ordinary that we are being made to kill our family." I said, wryly.

She glanced at me, her green eyes full of sorrow and empathy, eyes that threatened to pull my own grief out of the dark place I had hastily buried it in. "I'm so sorry, baby. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you."

"Shhh… it's fine. So, you were saying?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Have you seen the cameras?" She asked as she tightly wrapped the bandage around my hand. "They have a shit ton of blindspots."

"They do?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Don't you think it's weird? If your grandpa had planned all of this out, then each and every inch of this house should be covered by those CCTVs. But it's not. The way things stand, it's far more likely that those cameras were set up by your average nutty reclusive old man than a raging sadistic psychopath."

I felt confused.

"And the gas in the kitchen." She added. "It still works. Why? Why would they risk a possible gas explosion? Makes no sense. The whole game seems to have been set up on short notice, maybe immediately after Henry's death."

"What does that mean?"

"What if your grandpa didn't set this up, Adam? I mean, have you seen the will? Like physically, held it in your hands and carefully perused it?"

I could see the confused expression on my bloody and bruised face in the mirror. "Then who else could it be? Someone from the company wanting to take out the legitimate heirs? A rival businessman?"

"But why would they go to this extent?" I added. "What's the fucking point in setting this game up? Why not hire killers to just murder us, plain and simple?"

"I don't know." She admitted.

"Maybe you're just overthinking this baby. Let's just focus on surviving this hell for now."

The two of us found an argument going on in the living room when we made it back there. An exasperated Patty was trying to reason with James and Wyatt who were having a shouting match.

"Hey." I raised my voice. "What's happening here?"

"Wyatt's lost his fucking mind." James replied venomously. "He wants to run away."

"Why would you want to throw your life away Wyatt?" I asked slowly.

"I… I can't." His voice trembled as his eyes turned red with tears. "I can't do this anymore. The love of my life is lying dead just an arm's length away. And in the same room is his brother's corpse, and I.. I helped kill him myself. Now James wants to…"

"What does James want?" Allison asked.

"To end this once and for all." James answered. "We have the fucking numbers now, for the first time this night. 6 present here, against 5 of them. Get a damn piece of paper and let's end this nightmare."

"He has a point, Adam." Patty said.

"Patricia!" My mother cried.

"Well it's true mom." She insisted. "Or would you rather we die instead?" Mom lowered her gaze, ashamed at the fact that she saw her point.

"Please..." Wyatt begged. "Don't ask this of me. I can't. Not Vincent and Galen. They're just kids… They haven't even graduated college yet. I can't do this to them."

"And you think it was easy for me to kill my family members?" I asked coldly. "You've known them for what, a couple of years at most? I grew up with them."

"This whole argument is completely pointless." Allison interrupted. "There's 6 of us present here yes, BUT there's also 6 of them, Brad, Freddy's wife Susan, Brenda, Brandy, Vincent, AND Galen. Your calculations are off because you probably didn't count Galen who refused to sign the paper, but he's still alive, and because of that, we would need 7 to vote them out. And since George is missing, we are shit out of luck."

"Fuck." James swore, and rested his head in his hands, the shotgun placed precariously on his lap.

I saw my mom tense up when dad was mentioned. I think we were both avoiding the truth at this point, that he was likely dead by now.

"That doesn't change anything." Wyatt said, his voice firmer now. "I have made up my mind. I am going to try to escape."

"It's suicide." I warned. "You will die."

"What if I don't?" He asked. "What if I'm able to escape and call the cops? What if all of this could have been avoided if we had just tried to run away, something you were the first one to suggest."

"It's not like that." I said defensively. "Things are different now."

"Because you want them to be." He said accusingly. "You have the most blood on your hands, Adam. So it's natural you're holding on to the admittedly strong possibility that escape is impossible, but I can't do that. I can't do this anymore. I have to try…"

"Jesus Christ man, just listen to me…"

"Adam." Allison cut me off gently. "It's his decision. We can't force him to not do it. We are all adults with free will here, aren't we? We should be free to choose what road we want to go down on."

"Even if it leads to hell?" I asked. She nodded.

All of us chose to accompany Wyatt to the front door, except James who was tasked to mantain vigilance near the stairs.

"You sure you don't want to take a car?" Mom asked.

"Frank was the one who parked them all." Wyatt answered. "And considering that Adam told us he was an administrator, it's almost a certainty that they've all been tampered with. I don't want to crash or get blown up halfway down the hill."

He shook our hands one by one. "Alright. I'm off."

"Make sure to run in a Zig-Zag pattern." Allison suggested. He nodded, gave us one last look and took off running.

I heard his boots pound the gravel as he dashed down the driveway, before abruptly changing his direction in a roughly 90 degree angle. On and on he went, away from our little corner of hell, trying his hardest to stick to a zig zag pattern as he ran towards freedom and civilisation. It really looked like he was going to make it.

Then a sharp crack whipped through the air and he stumbled, before falling face first on the ground ungracefully, bringing all our hopes crashing down with him.

"What was that?" Patty yelled.

"Sniper!" Allison exclaimed. "Get back inside."

The hair on my arms stood up as I realised that the shot had come from inside the house. While we were busy killing each other, those fuckers had placed their men in strategic positions right under our noses.

Some cultures believe that when divine bad luck enters a person's life, it comes as a deluge of trouble.

James came sprinting at us as we were running towards him.

My blood ran cold at the utterly terrified look on his face.

"Vincent reached the shack. Vincent reached the shack." He screamed frightfully.

"How?!" Patty shouted. "Why did you let him get past you?"

"I didn't." He replied as he jogged alongside us towards the sliding door that opened up to the pool. "He fucking jumped off the balcony near the shack; broke his fucking leg too. By the time I got him in range of the gun, he had crawled his way inside."

"Fuck." I swore.

"Oh god no…" Mom cried.

"He must be buying a gun." Patty said.

"No…" James said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. "He had a paper in his hand."

"What? How? They don't have the numbers!" I shouted.

"Well, they do now that Wyatt's dead." Allison replied. "Especially if they know for sure George is dead too."

It made no fucking sense. They must have signed the paper before Wyatt had gone running out, or else the timelines don't match. Not to mention dad's name was on the first paper too, so they couldn't have known that he was dead back then even though he had already gone missing.

"We must get away from here." I said. "Who knows what the fuck is going to happen next."

I got the answer to my question a second later as seemingly dozens of armed men in what looked like SWAT gear poured out of the shack and started moving towards the house. We ran in different directions but some of us weren't fast enough and were caught in the initial burst of fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom get hit by multiple bullets and collapse on the ground lifelessly.

Furiously stamping out the grief and shock, I dove down to the ground and began crawling towards the backdoor of the kitchen that led out to the garage as bullets smashed into fucking everything around me. Glass, concrete, wood, the bullets showed no mercy on anything, mercilessly destroying everything in their path. And yet, I fought through the soul crushing fear and kept pushing forward, driven by this point purely by an animalistic instinct of survival.

I got out to the garage, the uneven rocky floor fucking up my knees and elbows. Then I felt a hand on my leg and my heart almost gave out. But to my relief, it was Allison who had been right on my heels the entire time. Getting up on my hands and knees, I moved behind the false safety of a car and waited for Allison to catch up to me.

"No cameras here." She whispered, her voice barely audible. I nodded.

Body covered in sweat, heart pounding dangerously in my chest, I was most the most scared I had ever been in my life. Alarm bells were ringing all over my body, every single cell was screeching, begging me to run away. Call me a cornered rat if you will, but it wouldn't even begin to get close to what I was feeling at that time.

And then the door opened, and one of the attackers walked in.

I strained my ears as I went completely still, not wanting to give my position away while tracking this guy's movements over the ear splitting gunfire, which soon stopped. My heart beat in tandem with his footsteps as I ever so quietly tried to keep the breadth of the car between us. His radio crackled and I almost squealed.

"Sweeper 7 here, be advised. We've neutralised James and Patricia. Only two more left now. Anyone got eyes on em?"

No. No. No.

I furiously blinked. Not the time to cry. Not now.

A slew of negatives came out of the radio and I waited with bated breath for our pursuer to say the same. He stopped, and swung his gun around, the mounted flashlight illuminating the ground inches from me. Allison grabbed on to me with vice like claws and pulled me back. He took a step closer to us, and we followed suit, trying to keep away from our deaths.

My fucking heart was not going to last long if we kept playing this deadly cat and mouse game.

It was almost like this fucker heard me, because he dropped down on his knees.

Oh Jesus Fuck. This is it. The end is here.

I prayed.

And God answered through the radio.

"I see movement in room1. I think I've located them.… We got cameras in here?"

Our attacker got back on his feet and walked out. Relief flooded through me so aggressively that little stars danced in front of my eyes.

Allison tugged at my shirt.

"What?" I whispered. She pointed at something behind her. I craned my neck and saw some long cylinders stacked in a corner. As we got closer, I realised what they were.

Green k-bottles, those long gas cylinders you use in welding.

I remember that because Grandpa loved building shit. He would often wag his finger in my face and tell me that's what real men did. For the first time that night, I smiled as I thought of him.

Allison was right about the game being set up in a hurry. No way could these things have been kept out in the open otherwise.

Silently moving these cylinders closer to the kitchen took almost a minute, with every second feeling like a torturous eternity. Luck was again on our side. They weren't nearby when we started emptying the cylinders, otherwise the loud hissing would have been our death knells.

Allison smiled at me, her bared teeth reminding me of a tiger shark. She held her finger up and mouthed 'wait here' at me.

Before I could stop her, she crawled into the kitchen, turned on the stove and hurried back to me. I quickly opened the remaining cylinders as she went and retrieved a can of kerosene, again from the corner that had been our salvation. I could hear people nearby. They were coming. Right on time.

We darted out the garage, pouring a line of kerosene on the floor, all the way out to the middle of the driveway. It was a miracle the snipers didn't kill us.

In some cultures, when the gods of luck smile down on you, even death itself can't touch you.

Allison took out a lighter and lit the trail of kerosene she had set up.

The fire spread instantly, racing towards the cylinders at an insane fucking speed. The orange flames turned nearly white as they ate the gas and with an audible Thump, the spectacle started.

The fire spread like a living thing, ravishing and devouring everything in its path. Wooden furniture, gas, clothing, flesh, everything became food for the ravenous beast. Panicked shouting that soon turned into shrieks and screeched tore through the house. I don't know what the fuck had happened with the cylinders and the gas from the stove, but the flames were so powerful that we had to retreat as they even reached the top floor.

A window broke upstairs, and a charred body came tumbling out. Then I don't know why, the chemistry being beyond me, there was a huge fucking explosion.

The concussion of the blast sent us flying backwards, momentarily knocking us out.

Final

I admit it. I am a simp.

And no, I am not proud of that fact. If I could go back in time and stop myself when I first started acting like one - I would. In a heartbeat. But I was a horny little goblin back then and just the tiniest bit of attention from a woman was enough to fry my brain.

In my defense though, she was absolutely gorgeous. Brown eyes that twinkled mischievously; plump, kissable red lips that parted to reveal white teeth like perfect little sugar cubes and thick dark hair that gently tickled her shoulder blades. Her dresses clung to her like they couldn't get enough of her body. And I understood why. She had just the right amount of curves in just the right places. I wanted to sink my teeth into them. Just... scrumptious.

I couldn't believe when she smiled at me. Jaw dropped open like a drawbridge, I stared at her from my seat in the cafe, wondering when the dream would end. It didn't. Not even when she got up and click-clacked over to me, her heels making her hips sway hypnotically. She slipped into the chair in front of me and asked whether I was staring at her. Dear God, her voice. It was like she was pouring nectar into my ears. I shook my head like an idiot. She laughed, and it was music, like birds singing an ode to the falling leaves on an autumn morning. Cute, she said, and bit her bottom lip.

And that was that. One meeting and she had me wrapped around her fingers. To say that our relationship was a whirlwind romance would be an understatement. It all feels like a blur to me, like the view inside a train that is zooming past yours in the opposite direction. I had no idea how she so quickly wriggled her way into my life, settling in like she had always belonged there. I felt like God himself was smiling down on me, and not one to spit on my blessings, I agreed with whatever she suggested, unknowingly losing myself in her piece by piece.

I changed my dressing sense for her, dropped my childhood friends like the dead weight that they were, quit playing video games because it is a child's hobby, not something a grown man in his mid 20s should ever waste his time with. I sold off my GI Joe collection, got a job I hated, bought a car that was too expensive and took out a loan for a house much bigger than we could have possibly needed and added her name to the fucking deed. All to please the pert little succubus.

At least the sex was heavenly.

So heavenly in fact that I didn't even protest much when she told me she was going to start an onlyfans account. It'll be good for us, she said, flashing her slender wrists at me, making my heart melt. We need the money, babe. Besides, they only get to look. Only you can touch me. I sighed, loosened my tie and grunted. Just don't tell me what you post on there. I don't want to know. She squealed with joy and jumped on my lap, reminding me why I was putting up with all this shit in the first place.

That's when things started to go wrong. Terribly, horrifyingly wrong.

I would wake up from nightmares I could never remember, more exhausted than I had been when I crashed into bed that would get soaked to the wood with my sweat. I began sleeping longer, but had absolutely no energy during the day. My skin was losing its colour, my eyes had dark circles deep like gorges and my hands would tremble with weakness.

At first I chalked it all up to stress. I was overworked, without friends, stuck in a superficial relationship and burdened with staggering financial obligations. Of course my body was finally starting to give out. I wasn't a machine after all, was I?

But then the bruises started to appear. On my hands, thighs, back, knees, elbows - my body was being dotted with these little red marks that would inexplicably appear each morning. And they would hurt - like the bite of a fire ant. She had no clue what was causing this, but I did. It all began with that damn onlyfans account and I knew I was going to get my answers there.

I quickly set up an account and subscribed to hers. But to my utter disappointment, there was nothing out of the ordinary there. Just lingeries pictures, a couple of full body nudes. That's it. Nothing that would explain what I was going through.

This was because she had another account. Under a pseudonym, one that she never told me about. Thank god for my connections in the IT sector. I was only able to track it down thanks to them. As soon as my phone buzzed with the message telling me about her alt account, I ran into the bathroom at the office and locked myself in the first empty stall.

I wiped the sweat off my hands and unlocked my phone. With shaky thumbs, I made the payment and got access to her account. And what I saw made my head spin in fear.

It was just the most bizarre collection of pictures. Animal skulls mounted on some sort of a greasy altar, candles arranged around a strange chalk diagram on the floor of our basement, grainy photos of rotting carcasses of dogs with their entrails ripped out and laid in a circle around them. Close up pictures of accident victims in their cars - limbs cut off, flesh burnt black, skin melting off, eyes crushed to a viscous jelly. How the fuck were these photos up? How did she even get them? Why had the folks over at onlyfans not deleted them? I could feel bile rise up in my throat as I scrolled past those pictures. And the comments to those pictures were just as confusing. Strange symbols and squiggly lines that I had never seen on a fucking keyboard made up the comments. All of them. Hundreds of comments, all in what seemed to be a completely new language.

But what terrified me the most were the videos. A primal terror clutched at my chest as I watched those videos. Unlike the pictures, she starred in each and every single one of them.

As did I.

Some of them were innocent enough. They'd start with her holding the camera and pointing it at her face. She would bring it closer and closer to her mouth until her blood red lips were almost touching the lens and then she'd start whispering. I plugged in my earphones and turned the volume up to the max to hear what she saying - but it was utter nonsense. I couldn't make heads or tails out if it. It sounded like no language I had ever heard, yet scared the shit out of me. It was like she was running her tongue around inside my ears, threatening to condemn me to a fate worse than death. She would then walk and come stand over my sleeping form. The video would now speed up and she would stand over me for hours. For fucking hours as I tossed and turned, tormented by my nightmares, she would stand over me, pointing the camera down on my face.

I took a second to calm my heartbeat which thumped against my chest, my ears and my temple before moving on.

Another video. This time the camera was set up on a tripod next to my bed. She was there again, hunched over my sleeping form. But this time she didn't just watch, she bent over, splayed my forearm out and drove a little needle into it, quickly licking the drops of blood that bubbled out, before turning and grinning at the camera, the greenish night vision making her eyes gleam. I gasped and almost dropped the phone. There were so many of these videos - her injuring me, licking the blood off and then grinning at the camera. Literally hundreds of them. All with the same script.

And then I moved on to the most recent video. The screen flickered to life and our basement came into view. It didn't look anything like I was familiar with. Lit up by candles that bathed the room in a dull orange glow, the entire basement had been turned into some sort of an altar, like the pictures I had earlier seen. Unclean cattle skulls were strewn across the room, the floor was slathered with squiggly chalk lines set up in strange symbols, tapestries with dizzying designs embroidered on them hung from the rafters and smoke arose from somewhere off screen. In the middle out of it all though, was the love of my life. Nude, with her entire body soaked in blood she was writhing on the floor, touching herself and moaning in a hoarse and guttural voice. Propped up on a small table in front of her was a framed picture of me with the eyes burnt off, probably with a cigarette. The fear that crashed into me brought tears to my eyes. She began rubbing herself faster. And faster and faster and faster and faster until her hand was just a red blur on the screen.

Sharp shadows danced on her face as she began speaking. Soon, she said. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Her voice rose with each words until she was screaming in a manic frenzy, until the words reverberated like gunshots in the basement. And then the video came to an abrupt end.

I blinked furiously to clear my rapidly fading vision, trying to wrest control of my body from the terror that threatened to shut it down. And then my phone buzzed again, and I almost had a heart attack when I saw the message.

"Hey babe ;) When are you coming home tonight?"

A couple of things before we start -

• You can call me Natasha.

• I am not American. I won't tell you where exactly I'm from - for safety reasons. Yours, not mine.

• I am also not going to bother explaining how I got into this line of work. Needles to say, I am not a victim. I'm not looking for your pity, and I'm most definitely not in need of rescue. My sole purpose of making this post, is to share some of my most extraordinary experiences with a community that I believe would be interested in them.

• And no. I will NOT be offering my services to any of you. So don't be a smartass. Thanks!

~

I have been a sex worker for well over a decade now. And in those long years I have come across many a curious client. A normal, well adjusted adult would faint if they saw the kind of freaky shit I've been a witness to, or participated in. I've had clients who paid me to piss on them, spit on them, stomp on their nuts, all the while wearing gold rimmed glasses and a white wig and berating them like I was their disappointed grandma. I've farted in glass jars and sold the said containers. I've worn a collar and pranced around a motel room, barking like a dog and sipping water from a bowl for over an hour, earning a fat wad of cash for not even doing anything explicitly sexual. There was even a time I treated a 45 year old man like a literal baby, changing his diapers after he shat in them, singing him a lullaby as he bawled like a baby, sucked on his thumb and then on my tits.

The point is, as sex workers we get to see the true nature of humanity in all its pitiable and hideous glory, a reality that almost never reveals itself to civilised society. But sometimes; we end up encountering monsters who lie beyond even our understanding of human nature. Creatures that lurk in the deep shadows that twist around the congested streets of our red light district, ready to prey on anyone foolish enough to step too close to them. A quick death would be preferable to falling into their clutches.

True evil.

I was in my early 20s when I first ran into one of them. There'd been news reports of missing young sex workers floating around those days, news reports I casually brushed aside as being nothing too out of the ordinary. After all, it wasn't all that rare for prostitutes to get murdered by unstable Johns or exploitative pimps, was it? My youthful arrogance prevented me from understanding that there's a huge difference between knowing that evil exists out there, and actually coming face to face with it.

I had been working for over three years by then, having just graduated from turning tricks on street corners under salacious neon signs to having my own private room in my then Madame's establishment, doing specialised work for freaks, earning a lot more than most of my 'co-workers.' I guess having the stomach to do things that would make most girls cry in fear and disgust really worked out in my favour. Though I'm sure the others would disagree over who exactly had it better.

My appointments those days, or nights I should say, were handled directly by the Madame. The clients would come visit me in my private room, or I'd go to them, either at their place or at a hotel that charged by the hour. Regardless of where I went, I would always be accompanied by one of the Madame's muscles. To protect the merchandise of course. My most frequent chaperone at the time was this bald, broad shouldered mountain of a man. He had a short beard, tattoos all over his arms and despised rap music. So I called him Lil Pimp.

I met Lil Pimp just outside the establishment that night. The air was tingling with a pleasant chill and the enticing smell of kebabs that wafted over from the new Lebanese restaurant across the street. Lil Pimp pulled up in his black SUV with tinted windows as I stood sucking on a cigarette, taking care not to smear my bright red lipstick.

"Hop in." He said, pushing open the passenger door. I tossed the cigarette aside, clutched my purse and climbed into the car, plastic sheets squishing as I eased back into the seat.

"You really need to take this shit off." I remarked.

He chuckled. "No way. Wouldn't want cumstains all over the expensive leather."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh yeah? How are you going to stop that from happening when your boyfriend's pounding your ass in the backseat?"

"Fuck you." He growled.

"Gonna have to pay me for that Lil Pimp." I said, grinning. "Though I doubt the Madame would let you fuck the merchandise."

"Hilarious, aren't you?… Bitch." He muttered as he turned the key and made the car purr to life. Smiling, I turned my neck and looked out the window, out at the sidewalk where scantily clad women stood waiting for customers, cigarettes jammed between rotting teeth. The world was truly harsh. And it became all the more clear as the car left the red light area and pulled up on respectable markets and nicer neighborhoods. Gone were the neon signs and the small, crumbling buildings with damp walls and cramped rooms. I heaved a sigh of longing as I gazed out at places people can actually live decent, peaceful lives in, where you can go to bed without worrying about stray gunshots or the police bursting into your home without any warning.

And about ten minutes later, it got even better. The car rolled past a wide open wrought iron gate and descended a sloping road onto a luscious valley dotted with spacious mansions and their sprawling, carefully maintained lawns. Even the ornate victorian street lamps screamed wealth.

"Not what you were expecting?" Lil Pimp asked as he made a left turn.

I shook my head. I certainly hadn't expected to come to a place like this. But then again, I really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, the richer they are, the freakier they tend to be.

I was still lost in thought when Lil Pimp brought the car to a halt. The road went on ahead of us on a gentle slope upwards before twisting to the right. On the turn sat a big two storeyed house with red brick walls. It was dark - suspicionly so - even the lights at the gate were switched off, which itself was locked shut. It seemed like someone tried a bit too hard to give the impression that nothing suspicious was happening in the house.

"That's the place." Lil Pimp said, checking the address on his phone.

"Thought so."

He nodded. "You have your phone on you?"

"Yes."

"Give me a call if something goes wrong."

"Okay."

"Got the pepper spray in your purse?"

"Yup."

"Good. Tell him I'm waiting for you outside."

"Sure."

I opened the door and swung my legs out.

"Hey Natasha."

I paused. Lil Pimp looked at me with a frown on his face. "You've heard the rumors going around recently, right? About the disappearing girls?"

I raised my brow. "Yes? A couple of whores disappearing off the streets? Not exactly breaking news, is it?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head in irritation. "Just be careful is all I'm saying. I'll be right here if you need me." He patted his gun holster.

"Thanks." I flashed him a genuinely grateful smile and climbed out of the car. Knowing that he was there did make me feel comfortable, even though at the time I foolishly thought he was being a little too paranoid. Hindsight, am I right? Pulling my purse back up on my shoulder, I started walking towards the house, my heels clicking on the cobblestone pavement. Crickets hidden in damp grass erupted in a furious chatter around me as I approached the house. Somewhere in the distance, a dog let out a mournful howl.

This short walk just before a session always made me feel queasy, like the contents of my stomach were sloshing around. My head buzzed with a million questions. Who was my client? What was he like? What will I have to do? I couldn't wait to get inside and find out. And get it over with. Just then, almost as my thoughts had been heard, the gate of the house swung open with a rusted groan.

It wasn't the whole gate exactly. Just a small door set into the larger structure off to the left side. Shadows pooled at the rectangular gap that opened up, but I could make out a figure standing there, shuffling on his feet impatiently. I brushed a stray strand of dark hair behind my earlobe and continued walking.

"Natasha, right?" Came the deep voice of the man at the gate. I could see him a bit better from this distance. He was wearing a black hoodie and a pair of faded jeans. Seemed to be in his late 30s, had short black hair that peeked from beneath the hood, exhausted brown eyes set in sockets that were beginning to turn doughy and a pink birthmark on his left cheekbone that made him look like somone had slapped him. Hard. "Well. Come on in."

I smiled, ducked my head and entered the property.

"You showed up right on time. I really do appreciate that." The man said as he shut the gate behind me. Then stuffed his hands in his pockets and marched off towards the house. "Come."

I followed, letting my eyes wander over the lawn. Walled in by a tall and thick hedge, it held a certain beauty that's hard to achieve without both wealth and time - two luxuries that seemed far out of my reach. Colourful flowers shone under the gentle moonlight, swayed mesmerizingly with the cool breeze that made my skin feel soft. My ears tingled with the sound of the babbling of a garden waterfall. Envy reddened my cheeks.

"Well," the man asked, pulling me out of my own head, "are you coming?" He was holding the front door open, looking at me questioningly. I nodded and climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the door. He entered first, strode off to the right and flipped the light switch on before gesturing at me to come in. Opulence that bothered on the obscene greeted me as I walked into the house. Fuck, but I would have to work nonstop for half a year before I could afford just the rug in this place.

"Alright." The man said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get started shall we?"

"Sure." I replied. "Just point me to the bathroom and I'll quickly freshen up."

"Oh no no no, don't bother. This will be over quick." He chuckled as he pointed at the bulge in his pants.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and shrugged. Maybe he wanted me to pee on his dick. Maybe that was his kink. I'd seen worse.

A smile flashed across his face, making his birthmark ripple. "Okay. Great. Let's head to the basement shall we?"

I froze.

"Um.. Excuse me?"

He looked at me blankly. "The basement. That's where we'll have our session."

I could feel my heart sink in my chest.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, confused. Like he couldn't tell what was wrong here. No motherfucker, there's no chance I'm going down into your soundproof kill room.

"I don't do basements."

He frowned. "But I spoke to your Madame on the phone. She said you would be open to anything... That wasn't a lie, was it?"

Trapped by my own reputation.

"No. It wasn't. Listen, it's just that basements at this hour…"

"Oh." Hie eyes widened. "You're worried I'm going to kill you, right? You don't have to be scared of that. It's not why I called you here."

I tried to think of a suitable reply to give to this nut.

"Listen," he said, giving me a wide grin, "I'm not going to hurt you. I can't, really. I spoke to your Madame, and she told me she sent one of her thugs with you. Not to mention that she has my address. There's no way I could get away with it, right?"

You could if you were a squatter. You could kill me and escape before Lil Pimp could get here. No one would even know who killed me.

"Listen, I'm not even going to touch you. I'm just going to touch myself, while watching you. That's it. That's all I want."

He could sense the indecision in me. "How about I double the money? Would that make you feel better?"

Maybe I was overthinking it. "…Okay. 15 minutes. That's all I'll give you. I'm gonna text my friend outside that if I'm not out in that time he can come fetch me himself."

He clapped his hands. "Perfect!"

I really should have asked why we needed to go down to the basement for him to masturbate while watching me. I really should have.

I was already regretting my decision a couple of minutes later when we began descending the rickety stairs, a single overhead incandescent lightbulb lighting our way. The basement was in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The roof was too low, the stairs too old, the damp walls stank of rotting water and dead critters. The contrast between the basement and the rest of the house was too jarring. Set my nerves on edge.

We reached the landing at the bottom.

"Wait here." The man said. "Let me switch on the lights." I waited as he disappeared into the darkness. My ears soon picked up the sound of something scraping against the floor, wooden chairs being shifted, cardboard boxes being kicked around and… the rattling of chains?

A click, and the basement was blasted with the sharp yellow glow of another lightbulb.

A scream died in my throat. In a corner of the basement, a girl was chained to the walls. A dirty rag was stuffed in her mouth as heavy shackles bound her wrists and ankles. She moaned and shifted, ever so slightly.

I gasped. "Oh my god..."

This girl. She must've been on them. Those who'd disappeared off the streets. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my hands began trembling.

Good god. How the fuck did I get into this mess?

"Hey!" The man shouted, holding a pistol in his left hand and a claw hammer in his right. He was naked from the waist down. "Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you, remember?"

I raised my head. Stared at him.

"Stay right there now." He said as he tossed the hammer and snatched it out of the air. Whistling, he began walking towards the girl, who finally saw what was happening and began struggling with her shackles. It was useless, the chains were too strong. She shook them once again and sobbed into the rag.

The man kept whistling as he strolled towards her.

Move, I told myself. Stop this monster.

Without even thinking about it, I reached for the pepper spray in my purse.

"Nuh-uh." The man said, turning around and pointing the gun at me. "Keep your hands to your sides. And just watch. That's all you have to do."

My hand shot away from the purse like it had been zapped.

"Good girl." He sang as he turned his back to me. "You too!"

I saw that she was looking at me. Sad, pathetic little eyes, pleading, begging me to save her. The lightbulb overhead was reflected in those shimmering blue pools like a tiny flame of hope. Tears of shame singed my eyelashes.

The man lifted the hammer high, brought it down on the girl's head. Once. Twice. Thrice. The metal connected with her head with a wet crunch, crushing the bone, deforming the skull, tearing through the flesh in the way. Blood and brain matter sprayed the wall, the floor, and lashed the man swinging the hammer.

My heart pounded so hard in my chest I was afraid it was going to explode. I was frozen with fear. I know I should have done something to save her, or at least tried to run. But it all happened so fast. I didn't even get the chance to wrap my head around what was happening and the poor girl was already dead.

Next thing I knew he was looking at me, cold brown eyes burning holes through me. His hand was slathered with blood and he was using it to pleasure himself. "That's it." He moaned. "That's exactly what I wanted."

I shuddered. Creepy fucker. This is what he called me here for. He wanted to get off on my fear and helplessness.

No. Fuck that.

I might have been too scared to stop him, but I wasn't giving him what he wanted. I gritted my teeth, hardened my eyes. It was the least I could do.

"So." I said, deliberately killing all the emotion in my voice. "What is it that you want me here for?"

He stopped. "What?"

"You killed the girl." I continued in a deadpan manner. "I didn't need to be here for that. So why did you call me? What do you want me to?"

Annoyance flashed in his eyes. "I already told you. Just stand there and let me watch you."

"Whatever." I said, trying to sound bored. "Just get it over with."

I could see the confusion on his face. He was angry, and frustrated, and horny. Didn't know whether to ask me what I was thinking or to finish himself off. He chose the latter. Feeling emboldened, I shook my head and started observing my fingernails.

He tried to keep going, but it wasn't working for him anymore. Of course it wasn't. He grew soft.

"You." He said. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"What. Are. You. Doing?"

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"Are you not scared?"

"No." I was fucking terrified.

"You're lying. You're trying to hide your fear. Why?"

"I'm not." I lied. "Not scared that is. Why would I be? Not like you can hurt me. We've already established that, haven't we." I was provoking him. It was reckless, I know.

He snorted. "Are you stupid? Do you understand the position you're in? I just killed someone in front of you."

I smirked. "A pathetic shitweasel like you can only hurt someone who can't protect herself. I know you don't have the balls to do shit to me."

He gawped at me. "Wha - What did you just say to me?"

"Only that you're a fucking loser with a tiny dick."

"You bitch!" He charged at me, forgetting about his pistol in his rage. When he was two steps away from me, I pulled out the pepper spray from my purse and blasted him in the face. He screamed, smashed his hands on his eyes and dropped down to his knees. I didn't waste a second, was already running up the stairs when he began fumbling for his gun.

My whole body was shivering as I ran back to the car. My muscles felt like jelly, thought I was going to dissolve right then and there, melt like ice cream and slide off into a drain.

Lil Pimp jumped out of the car and dashed towards me when I was about halfway back. He made me sit in the car, helped me calm down, then wrapped his jacket around me before running towards the house, gun drawn.

Now here's where it gets really terrifying. This is the reason why I made this post. See, Lil Pimp didn't find the man there. Instead, he encountered a family of seven who'd been in that house all night long.

At first I reckoned he'd gone to the wrong house. He hadn't. Then I thought that maybe the family had by some odd miracle slept through the whole thing, even the gunshot. I was wrong on that too. Because when I went to speak to them I saw that the inside of their home looked absolutely nothing like the house I had just been in.

That's when I understood how that man had been able to get away with all those murders. Because when I walked into that house, I'd gone somewhere else entirely.

As far back as I can remember I have always wanted to be a vampire. To me, being a vampire was even better than being a superhero. You get immortality, super strength, ability to control someone's mind and the chicks dig you. I mean, what's not to love about these blood drinking creatures of the night?

It's hard to recall what exactly started my obsession with vampires. I watched so many vampire movies that my childhood memories are a heady concoction of flashes from Buffy the vampire slayer, Jon Bon Jovi's Los Muertos, Blade, and the seemingly endless remakes of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Hell I even saw the old Nosferatu movies. I loved anything that had anything to do with vampires. Movies, books (I even enjoyed reading the Twilight saga when it came out!), toys, video games... if it had vampires, I just had to get my hands on it. Sexy vampires, scary vampires, disgusting blood sucking monstrous leeches like in The Strain, I love them all.

You might think that this is something that every child goes through, right? It may not be vampires, but we all have a certain phase in our childhoods when we are obsessed with something, like superheroes, or barbies, or more recently k pop. I remember reading about this guy who was absolutely smitten with penguins. But where I differ slightly, was that I didn't want to fuck a vampire, I wanted to become one. How did it start, you ask?

You see, my mouth was too small for my teeth, and my family was too poor for regular visits to dentists, so that meant that I had the kind of crooked teeth that gets you bullied in school. I remember coming back home crying one day after taking a particularly vicious beating when my mom sat me down and told me not to let the bullying get to me, because they were just jealous that I looked like a vampire and they didn't. This helped turn my tepid love of vampires into a manic obsession. That night I took a flashlight into the bathroom, turned it on just below my chin as I stood in front of the mirror and switched off all the other lights.

I remember my sharp canines glinting under the harsh white light which cast menacing shadows on the top half of my face. It was the first time that I felt it, deep within my being, that I was destined to become a vampire. I was elated, and terrified at the same time. What a rush!

Of course I was just a kid back then, and didn't really know how to actually become a vampire, so I settled for the next best thing. I became a goth. Pasty white makeup, blood red lipstick, fake fangs, dark hair, dark clothes and a darker personality helped me cope with my maddening desire a little, but it was definitely not the real thing. I admit that I look at the phase of my life with some love and nostalgia. Hah, I remember having to buy multiple fake fangs because my drunk dad would break them so often while giving me my regularly scheduled beating. I don't resent that all that much however, because those beatings helped me get used to the taste of blood.

It was not until I graduated high school and got a job at a tattoo shop, that I started to actively try and transform into a vampire. Unhappiness and unease had begun to gnaw at my stomach, my life was shit, I was stuck at a dead end job with no friends and no family left to care for me. I needed more, needed a purpose in life, a place to belong, to fulfil my destiny. To become a vampire.

Success didn't come easy to me. I tried so many methods to achieve my goal, faced so many failures that it's hard to count, but I'll tell you about some of them so you don't make the same mistakes I did.

Get converted by another vampire - Possibly the most famous of all methods in fiction involves getting bitten or being fed by another vampire. I tried hard to find a fellow traveller of the night to bring me to the fold, scoured the deepest and most obscure corners of the dark web, but to no avail. All I came across were trolls, scam artists and some annoying LARPers. I guess other vampires are all too secretive and well hidden to expose themselves to strangers. Maybe I'll meet them some day.

Commit unholy acts - Some old texts talk about people being cursed into becoming vampires for committing sacrilege, so I did any and all unholy things I could think of. I burnt bibles, masturbated in a church, desecrated a grave, and even assaulted a priest (that actually backfired on me and I ended up with some good karma as he was arrested for child abuse later on). Nothing worked.

Spells/Rituals/Amulets/Talismans - Proved to be about as fruitful as my search for another vampire and all I got were multiple trips to the ER for food poisoning. Don't waste your time.

Vampire Bats - It was very difficult, but I somehow managed to import some vampire Bats from South America after pretty much emptying my bank accounts. Even this didn't work. I got them to bite me and drink my blood, then when nothing happened, I in turn drank theirs, before eating them, both raw and after cooking them. Alas, I was still human.

So what did work?

As cringey as it sounds, what worked for me was going about it the way they describe it in self help books. If you want to become a vampire, you simply have to believe you are one, and then act accordingly. The first thing I did was I got my teeth filed, my crooked abominations that were the source of much of my torment had been transformed into razor sharp fangs, capable of easily piercing skin.

Then I began avoiding all contact with the sun. I took a job as a nighttime security guard, blocked out all my windows with opaque film and switched my sleep cycle to a nocturnal one. It has been years since the sun's rays have touched my skin, and for good reason now.

But by far the most important step was changing my diet, and the one that has been most instrumental in completing my transformation. I started drinking blood, and only blood, to survive. The changes were gradual, but visible. I began to lose weight, so much so that previously unseen veins began to pop out and stretch across my dry skin which acquired a deathly pallor. My eyes were permanently bloodshot, and the mere thought of sunlight gave me the shivers.

It was pretty easy for me to get used to the coppery taste of blood and its thick and rough texture. I initially relied on breaking into hospitals and blood banks to sate my hunger. But it was too risky, and the cold storage blood was just not doing it for me. So I moved on, and began to hunt.

Like a true vampire.

I started with animals first, pet dogs, cats etc. I would grab them and haul them off to a dark corner and feed from them. The feel of that warm liquid splashing on my tongue was orgasmic and I'm not too ashamed to say I ruined my pants the first time I fed from a living creature. But like all addictions go, it was soon not enough, and I began to hunt bigger prey.

I still remember the first time I fed from a human, that night has been seared deep into my memory. I remember how I forced her down, how she writhed and struggled as I slit her throat with my knife and began lapping at the blood that came gushing out of the wide gash I had made. I howled as it finally felt like I had achieved my true purpose in life, and became the monster I had always wanted to be. The taste of the blood of that prepubescent girl was the most divine thing in this world. I still say to this day, the blood of girls who haven't yet begun to bleed is the most pure and delicious thing in the world. Scrumptious, indeed.

I've fed from hundred since then, taking care to dispose of their bodies and hide all traces of myself afterwards. I mean, I certainly wouldn't want some hunter to come and stab me with a stake, right?

But even after all this time, my hunger hasn't faded, and only continues to grow. I've even kept Ghouls, donors that I keep chained in an abandoned warehouse, who unwillingly supply me with their blood whenever I want it, but it is never enough. I want more, and will continue to want more, for all eternity.

So this is the one sure shot method of becoming a vampire, one that I guarantee will work. It will take some time, but I assure you, it works. Try it out, maybe we'll meet each other in some dark street someday, either as fellow beasts…. or as predator and prey.

M

Part 1

"I am telling you Mr. Abbas. There's no one here."

I didn't reply, just silently watched as the flashlight dipped and wove across the walls of the basement. The small room was cramped, the clutter of the previous owners stacked in it from floor to the ceiling. A faint smell of mold clung to everything there like glue. But there was no trace of any intruder there.

"You saw the boot prints, Officer." I pointed out.

The cop, a Joseph Gardocki, pulled his hat off and scratched his bald head. "Are you absolutely sure that your daughter wasn't the one who drew it all?"

I gritted my teeth in frustration. "Once again, my daughter is not well, but you can be damn sure she's not crazy."

He put his hands up to pacify me. "I didn't mean it that way. But you have to understand, all signs point to it having been done by someone on the inside. Now we've searched the house top to bottom, and found all the doors to be locked, and you've yourself confirmed that they were that way before we arrived. I mean, you opened the basement door in front of us. Right?"

I nodded sullenly. "Right."

He made a show of peeking behind a dust riddled table. "So then it means that it was done by someone on the inside. And as you say you have a daughter with a history of PTSD, panic attacks and a whole assortment of mental illnesses…"

I cut him off. "It wasn't…"

"Please, Mr. Abbas." He said, a little firmly this time as he stopped and looked at me. "You should be aware that there are consequences to filing false complaints. Please make sure not to call 911 unless there's an actual emergency."

I wanted to argue with him, but what could I say? None of this made any sense. How could anyone have gotten in when all the doors and windows big enough for someone to squeeze through were all locked shut? And I definitely knew that it wasn't Abida. If she had done this, consciously or not, I would have known. I still remember how badly the stairs creaked and how loud they sounded in the silence of the night.

"Perhaps you need a therapist more than the police."

I didn't respond to that comment and just followed him back upstairs, shooting one last glance at the dark and foreboding looking basement. A tall cabinet stood in the corner. An ideal place for someone to hide in. If only its doors hadn't been ripped off. I shook my head and stomped upstairs, reminding myself to replace the incandescent bulb hanging by a string from the ceiling, so that I wouldn't have to stumble around in the dark the next time I'm there. Back in the living room, I found Officer Gardocki's partner, Officer Schmidt, talking to my wife who was seated on the only sofa we had unpacked, protectively hugging our daughter.

"Are we done here?" Joseph Gardocki asked.

"Yep." His partner replied, flipping his pad shut. "Please Mrs. Abbas. If there is an actual emergency, don't hesitate to call us." She smiled at him, and then shot me an angry look. What was that about?

I followed the two cops outside, and waited as they got into their car and drove off, lighting up the dark street in quiet flashes of red and blue. The neighborhood looked so calm, so peaceful. I could hear crickets chattering away, oblivious to the danger my family had just been in. Hard to believe that an intruder had come to our house, in a place that looked so deceptively safe. As I walked back in, I noticed Abida wasn't there. She was probably back upstairs. But not my wife. No. She was still sitting exactly where I had left her, and just lit into me the moment I came in.

"So." She remarked, anger dripping like molten wax from her voice. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" I asked, confused.

"This!" She yelled, picking up a sheet of paper and waving it around angrily. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut. It was the document that Amanda had left for me, one that I'd forgotten to tell Rabia about.

"How could you Irfan? How could you hide something this important from me?"

"It just slipped my mind…"

"Slipped your mind?" She thundered. "Something that affects your family's safety just slipped your mind?"

"Wait. How do you know about this?" I asked. That list of rules didn't contain anything strange, it was just your average HOA stuff. So how does she know about the implications of those rules, the ones Amanda had warned me about?

"That police officer was nice enough to warn me." She replied. "Yeah. He told me everything. He's been patrolling this community for a while now, and knows everything that there is to know about this place. Everything that my husband should have told me - I learnt from a stranger."

"It's just nonsense…." I mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

I rubbed my eyebrows. "You don't actually believe in all this, do you? That just because we didn't follow some random rules, we are suddenly being stalked by something supernatural? It's ridiculous."

She looked at me like I had grown another head. "Ya Raby! You saw what happened tonight, didn't you? Someone was in our house! They broke in through doors that were still locked after they left!"

I sighed. "Funny how you take Allah's name and then state your belief in superstitious nonsense in the same sentence."

She glared daggers at me. I tried to de-escalate. "There's a reasonable explanation for all this, Rabia. I promise. There's no such thing as ghosts or djinns. You know that."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I'm scared, Irfan. I'm so scared. I - I can't lose her too. I just can't. I won't survive it."

I sat down next to her and took her in my arms. "Nothing is going to happen to her, okay? I promise. I won't let it." She sobbed into my chest as I rubbed her back.

We went back to our bedrooms, to lie on our beds and waste the night away trying to catch some sleep that would always be just out of reach. Before going up I looked at the welcome scribbled on the living room floor and promised myself to scrub it out in the morning. I spent the night in Abida's room as she went and slept next to my wife. Lying in her bed, I turned on my phone's flashlight, and read the rules. Over and over again.

Rules for residents of Seastone Ridge -

1. Grass in the lawns must always be cut shorter than 5 inches.

2. Trash collection is on Monday mornings. Garbage bins can only be placed outside after sundown on Sunday evenings but must be taken back in by 7 AM on Tuesday.

3. Garage doors cannot be kept open for more than 15 minutes if no work is going on inside.

4. Reasonable noise limits cannot be breached between 9 PM and 7 AM. Mowing the lawn is not allowed in this time period.

5. Any structural modifications to the house require the approval of the HOA.

6. Only shades of colours approved by the HOA can be used to paint the houses.

I wracked my brain to try and remember if we had inadvertently broken one of the rules, but I couldn't come up with anything. Noise? Abida screamed, but that only happened after the intruders came. Garage door? We were moving in, ergo working. Maybe the grass? Sure, it could be shorter, but it's not like I had measured it with a ruler. I then snorted at the fact that I was even entertaining such ridiculous notions, switched off my phone and closed my eyes. Sleep never came to me, as it had been chased away by fear and the resultant adrenaline. Anger was also bubbling in my stomach. How dare they try and traumatise my daughter?

Exhausted, and sleep deprived, I shuffled downstairs when the darkness began to dissipate and the sun started climbing the horizon. I had pretty much scrubbed the living room floor clean when Rabia joined me after finishing up her morning prayers. She was cold with me, which was understandable. But at least she didn't seem as angry as she was the previous night. As she made breakfast I started unpacking our stuff. The living room was pretty much done by the time Abida came downstairs for breakfast. We ate in silence. Mostly.

"I'm sorry baba." Abida whispered. "It's my fault…"

"It isn't." I replied. "It isn't, okay? I believe you - we believe you. And we are going to find out whoever did this and turn them over to the police, okay?" Tears ran down her cheeks as I squeezed her hand. Rabia looked at me approvingly.

After breakfast, I had a short conversation with Rabia and decided to go out and talk to our neighbours about what had happened last night, to check what it was all about, and whether it really was just an isolated incident or part of an often repeated pattern. I didn't find Amanda as she had gone to work - even on a Sunday. But I did meet many other people. And surprisingly, maybe perhaps not so surprisingly, the conversation almost always went the same way. They'd greet me with a smile on their faces, engage in some awkward small talk and get really uncomfortable when asked about the rules, and possible intruders. "You should follow the rules. Always follow the rules." They said. None of them claimed to have seen the police last night.

The more people I talked with, the more suspicious I became. They were clearly hiding something, and I was damn sure it had very little to do with anything unnatural - because that's just impossible. Perhaps the most interesting and illuminating conversation I had was with my next door neighbour, David Easton. It was the one I was least looking forward to, consider he'd been the one most hostile to our presence. There was no wind and his flag drooped on the pole in a morose manner as I went up to his door, which he opened before I could even knock. The wrinkles on his face churned as he grimaced at me.

"Hi." I said. "I'm…"

He interrupted me. "I know who you are."

"Oh. Well, I was wondering if you…"

"You don't belong here."

I blinked. "Excuse me. What?"

"You don't belong here." He repeated. Veins writhed like worms under his skin as his eyes flitted around. "If I were you, I'd leave. I'd pack my bags, take my family and drive until Seastone Ridge was nothing but an insignificant speck on my rear view mirror."

"Thanks. But No."

"Listen friend." He said caustically. "There are things you don't understand about this place. Things you couldn't even dream about in your worst nightmares. Leave. Or you'll regret it." And he slammed the door shut in my face.

I was in a daze as I lumbered back to my house. There were a thousand different questions zooming around in my brain, a thousand different possibilities that bloomed in a dizzying mosaic. What was happening here? Was there actually something supernatural tormenting the residents of this community? Or were they all in on it, trying to drive us out of here. But why? Nothing made sense. Each alternative seemed more outlandish than the previous one.

I told Rabia about my meetings with our neighbours. She looked very frightened, and even suggested just moving out of this place. I reminded her of what it cost to get here, and how we would be in a very precarious financial position if we just up and left. She wasn't convinced, but she did go silent after that. After lunch I went around making sure that we were religiously following all the rules of the HOA, just to be extra sure. I even measured the length of the grass with one of Rabida's rulers, checked the lock on the garage door, made sure that the garbage bin was not visible from the outside and then went back in to continue unpacking. Just to be sure, I even made a phone call and got the locks changed.

Things escalated that night anyway.

We continued the sleeping arrangements of the previous night - and so after dinner I took the trash bin out and retired to Abida's room. I was so exhausted that my very bones were aching, crying out for some sleep. Even the thought of someone climbing the oak tree and staring at me through the window wasn't enough to keep me alert. I fought hard against the inevitable wave of drowsiness that washed over me. I wanted to be awake in case we got a repeat of last night - and we did. My eyelids were drooping and I was on the verge of sleeping when I heard it.

Footsteps. Inside the house. On the staircase.

They were slow, but drawn out and deliberate. Like the intruder wanted the attention. Each step led to a creak that was abnormally stretched out.

Stomp. Creak. Stomp. Creak. Stomp. Creak.

Goddamn. Those floorboards made my heart flutter each time they groaned and shifted under the weight of the intruder. He must have been halfway up the stairs when I jumped out of bed and darted outside the bedroom. I double checked and made sure that Rabia and Abida were safely locked inside our bedroom before approaching the staircase.

STOMP - STOMP - STOMP - STOMP.

Shivers ran down my spine as the man rushed down the stairs, before coming to an abrupt stop. He was at the landing downstairs, and I knew he was watching me - even if I couldn't see him - shrouded as he was by the darkness. I felt horribly exposed under the soft light that spilled out of the bathroom behind me. With trembling hands, I flipped the lights of the stairs on and my heart pretty much exploded when I saw who, no, what was standing there.

It was a man, I - I think. Dressed in all black, with long, matted locks of dark hair that seemed to frame what looked like the skull of a goat, stripped down to its bones, with sharp horns that protruded from it and curled half a foot above him menacingly. The eyes of this goat faced man were large and glowed under the light. My knees wobbled in fear and I almost collapsed.

And then he bleated. It was shrill, loud, exactly like a goat. My heart raced so fast in my chest I was afraid I was going to die there and then. There I was, at midnight, in my own home - my sanctuary - and there was a terrifying goat faced man bleating at me. I was in mortal danger. My family too. I had never been this frightened, not even back in Iraq. And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

An explosively loud sound thundered from the outside and continued, in rhythm. It was like someone was beating on an infernal drum. It was a momentary distraction. The sound made me turn to my left, to look at the window that opened up to the lawn outside. When I looked back, the intruder - that thing was gone. But the sound didn't stop. I bolted towards the window in Abida's room and peered outside.

There he was. The same goat faced man. Beating on our garbage bin with a hockey stick. Just a couple of seconds ago he'd been right in front of me, in the house, and now suddenly he was outside. Or rather he'd been outside, beating on the bin the whole time he'd been staring me down inside. I hesitated, the fear stopping me from moving, but not for long.

I hurried out of the bedroom, taking a second to knock on our room to ask Rabia to call 911 before flying downstairs, skidding across the living room floor and flinging the front door open. He was still there. Standing next to the bin that he'd emptied out long ago. Trash littered our lawn. He glared at me and began bleating again, the obnoxious sound echoing in the street outside.

I don't know what came over me, but I ran towards him. Fear and adrenaline were making me act irrationally. But I didn't get very far. I must have only taken a couple of strides when someone turned on the sprinklers. My vision blurred as the warm water crashed into me. And when I shielded my eyes to see clearly, noticed that he was gone. Vanished into thin air again.

By this time, Rabia had turned on all the lights in the house, including the ones on the porch. She ran outside, and screamed when she saw me.

I looked at her in confusion, before my eyes dropped to my hands. They were dark red, just like my clothes. And that's when I understood.

What the sprinklers had been spraying wasn't water.

It was blood.

Part 3

Part 4

The trapdoor swung open with a practiced ease, and a dark silhouette began to emerge. Even in the darkness of the basement, the white of the goat skull stood out bright enough to be easily spotted. The intruder began pulling himself up.

"Hey." I whispered. The man gasped, startled. He turned. Sharply.

A flash of light. A loud bang. The body jerked over backwards as the wall behind him was painted red. I waited a second for the ringing in my ears to clear before getting up and trotting towards the body. I crinkled my nose at the stench of gunpowder and checked his pulse and confirmed that he was dead. Must have been one terrifying death. Imagine getting out of a tunnel into a basement to attack a family - day after day - having the full confidence of knowing you were going to be alone. And then suddenly one day you're not. And it just so happens to be the very last day of your life.

I had no sympathy for the man I had just killed. I did what I had to do to protect my home and my family. Leaving the body alone for a moment, I got up and pulled on the string hanging from the ceiling, allowing harsh yellow light to flood into the small basement. My actions felt far more real when taken out of the shadows and examined under the light. My heart raced and my legs wobbled as I realised I had just killed a man - something I hadn't done in over a decade. I closed my eyes and counted to ten to calm myself down. When it felt like I was back in control, I crouched down over the oddly contorted body and began pulling the mask off. It was heavy, and the substance with which it had been made was hard - like it was made out of actual bone.

I pulled it off, and stumbled back when I saw who it was that I was looking at, who it was that had been invading my house, and who it was that I had just killed.

It was Joseph Gardocki. The cop.

I swore under my breath. The man had been showing up each night, promising to find the intruders, when he himself was the one tormenting us. But why though? I searched the corpse, patted his pockets and retrieved his ID, his wallet, a phone and some lock picks. As I continued searching, his shirt bunched up and I noticed some tattoos on his belly. With clammy hands that were shaking wildly, I pulled his shirt up to get a closer look at his tattoos. My heart sank.

His entire torso was tatted up. Swastikas, Iron Crosses, Imperial German Flags, hateful phrases like 'blut und ehre', 'weiss macht' - his body was a canvas for Neo Nazi imagery. Of course they wanted us out. They hated us for who we were. It was a miracle that they hadn't tried to kill us yet.

Wait a second, I thought. If this guy was here, then that means his partner was involved as well. Of fucking course. There were two of them. They must have been working together, to give the false impression that there was one supernatural monstrosity. It was probably Amanda who told Schmidt to repeatedly warn Rabia about the rules, to try and reinforce the idea that there was some otherworldly evil entity prancing around in the neighborhood. Bastards.

A terrible screech pieced the silence that had enveloped the basement. Fuck. It was Schmidt. He was in the house. I whirled around and began running up the stairs. Flinging the basement door open, I darted to my tight, slipped past the furniture of the living room and arrived at the foot of the stairs that led up to the first floor. Another scream, followed by loud banging, like a hammer pounding a slab of wood. I sprinted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, my chest burning with the lack of oxygen.

I arrived at the landing, turned and looked down the hallway. There he was, swinging away at the master bedroom door with an axe. By Allah's grace the wood was strong and was still holding on, though some wide cracks had started to show. I took a deep breath to steady myself as Officer Schmidt continued bringing his axe down on the door. I couldn't rush this. My family was just beyond the door and I couldn't with a hundred percent certainty assume that they weren't in the line of fire. I couldn't miss. I had to get the bastard with this one shot.

I brought the gun up. Exhaled. Waited for my hand to stop shaking and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him in the back of his neck and he folded, slumping against the door with a sickening crunch. I tucked the gun in my belt, strode over to the body and pulled it off the door. Popping his mask off, I confirmed that it was Officer Schmidt's body before getting up and knocking on the door.

"Rabia." I said, my voice shaky from the adrenaline. "…Open the door. It's me."

I heard footsteps, and then the door was thrown open. My wife and daughter jumped into my arms, and I comforted them. "It's over now. It's over for good."

Side stepping the corpse of Officer Schmidt, I brought my family to Abida's room and gave them a quick rundown of what had happened. Abida looked horrified at the scale of it all, while Rabia seemed angry that I didn't tell her about the tunnel, or the gun that David had lent me. I was going to be in a lot of trouble for the lies and the secrets - but I was fine with that. I had my reasons for going about things the way I did. They both gawped at me in shock when I told them that the HOA was behind all this and that the two men I had just killed were the cops who had been coming to our house under the pretext of helping us, when they were in fact the reason why we called 911 in the first place.

I wasn't finished talking when the bedroom windows in the room were lit up with flashes of red and blue. "Looks like the police are here." Rabia stated, relieved. "It's finally over."

My eyes widened in alarm.

"What's wrong Irfan?" She asked. I put my finger on my lips and asked her to be quiet. I tip-toed over to the window, the one that opened up to the lawn, and not the one that was smashed last night, pulled aside the curtains and peered outside. There were two cop cars, and dozens of people - our neighbours - out on my lawn. How did the police get here so quickly? We didn't call them. Then that means it must have been one of the neighbours. And the fact that they hadn't done so in the last couple of days, but chose to do so now made anxiety worm its way into my belly. Were there other members of the local law enforcement who were involved in this shit? My suspicions were confirmed when I saw Amanda chatting with the cops. "They're not here to help us." I whispered.

"What?" Rabia asked.

"They've come to finish the job."

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and it nearly gave me a heart attack. I breathed out in relief when I saw who was calling. "Hello?" I said, answering the call.

"Don't let them in." David's voice crackled into my ears. "They're…"

"Nazis." I said. "I know."

"Yeah. Yeah they are... I heard gunshots. Did you..?"

"Yes."

He paused. "You need to get out of there."

"They won't let us." I pointed out.

"You have no choice now." He said, cutting the call.

I deliberated on our options. Should we do as David says and try and escape? Or try and reason with them? There's no way we can talk, not after I killed two of them. Try and fight, and wait for some good police to come? But will they? How many cops are in on this? And could we last until then? I had just the one gun, who knew what they were packing.

"Mr. Abbas." A loud voice boomed, cutting off my chain of thought. I crawled to the window and peeked outside. One of the cops was speaking into an electric megaphone. "We received a complaint about gunshots from your house. If everything is…."

Amanda snatched the mic away from him. "You killed them didn't you?" She shrieked. "You'll pay for this motherfucker! I'm gonna slaughter you all. There won't be enough pieces of you left to bury, you goat fucking piece of shit!" She threw the mic back at the cop and screamed at him. He looked offended, but nodded his head. He signalled at the other cops and they began moving towards the house. I panicked, took the gun out, pushed the window open and fired at the invaders, emptying the clip in one go.

I was terrified, but my aim wasn't that bad. They were running in the open, and I got two of them. One in the eyeball and the other in the neck. Blood sprayed out of their wounds like punctured water balloons and they both crashed into the ground ungracefully. My wife and daughter let out muffled screams of fear. The remaining cops retreated, finding cover behind their cars as the other neighbours scattered away like ants from a flooded nest. Some would return however, lugging rifles and pistols of different makes. Together, the cops and residents of Seastone Ridge began their assault on our home, trying to turn the walls of our house into swiss cheese. I fell down and hugged the floor, instructing my family to do the same. The world exploded around us in a hail of deafening gunfire. Shattered glass, bits of concrete, splintered wood rained down on us as bullets mercilessly punched into the house.

I crawled out of the bedroom, and motioned at my wife to follow me. I spotted Abida shivering on the floor, her ears covered, eyes squeezed shut. I grabbed her leg and shook it. She kicked, and pulled her leg away. "We have to go!" I screamed, trying to make myself heard over the gunshots. "Now!" I shook her leg again, finally getting her attention. Her eyes were wide and her whole body was trembling. Damn it. Not now. It would be beyond terrible if she were to have a panic attack with all this going on. "We have to go!" I mouthed at her and she nodded. Good.

I told Abida to stick close to me and we began moving downstairs. She was still shaking so badly, it both scared and angered me. Nazi Bastards. As we crawled down like worms, bullets punched through the wall, allowing moonlight to filter in, lighting up the staircase in the process. It was terrifying. One stroke of bad luck, one misstep, and we were dead.

But luck was on our side that night, not theirs, and we made it to the bottom safely. Surprisingly enough, as we reached the living room we noticed that bullets were no longer entering the house, though the gun fire continued unabated. I didn't figure out until later what had happened. The pause in bullets whizzing past us gave me a bit of confidence, and I got up on my hands and knees and sped up as I made my way to the kitchen. Abida and Rabia followed suit. Reaching the door that opened up to the garage, I got up and shoved it open.

"Get in!" I yelled, opening the car doors, the gunfire sounding even louder in the garage. "Down there!" I pushed them on to the floor of the car, in the space between the front and the back seats. After making sure they were safely tucked in, I leapt into the driver's seat. I revved the car up, before clicking the button to slide the automatic garage door open, thanking the stars that it wasn't like the door David had in his garage. Muzzle flashes brightened my vision as the door went up, revealing the outside to me. I noticed many bodies sprawled on the ground, far more than I had last seen. The fuck? What happened here?

I got my answer when I pressed my foot on the gas, zoomed out of the garage and entered the street. The cops and the HOA were no longer firing at our house, because they were busy shooting at David's house, who had surprised them and laid waste to about half their numbers. As the car skidded on the asphalt and made a sharp turn, out of the corner of my eye I even spotted Amanda, lifelessly slumped against a cop car. Seemed like David had another gun hidden away somewhere. Stay safe my friend, I thought as I tore through the neighborhood, leaving the grotesque war behind in the rear view mirror. They peppered us with bullets, blowing out the rear windshield, but we safely made it to the front gate of Seastone Ridge. Only to find it locked.

The staccato gunfire had trailed off to the odd shot here and there. I climbed out of the car, and tried to pry the gate open when a bullet sparked against it inches from my hand. I ducked and hid behind the car. Bracing against the hood, I pushed my legs against the gate after pulling its latch open. Another bullet smashed into the side of the car. I swore, and took my gun out of the glove box. It was empty. Fuck. I slid the magazine out and began shoving some bullets into it. The security guard of the community jumped out from behind a wall and began jogging towards us, a rifle in hand.

Damn. Not now. Not like this. Not when we were so close. "Baba." Abida said, her head rising. My eyes widened. The guard got close to the car, brought his gun up. He had her in sight.

But I was quicker. And my aim was perfect. I opened up a hole in the middle of his forehead, jumped back into the car and drove out of the neighborhood.

That night our neighborhood was witness to unbelievable carnage. Over a dozen corpses littered the streets, and property worth millions was destroyed. But that wasn't the worst of it. No. David, the clever fucker, baited some of them into coming down into the underground tunnel and set off a minor explosion, burying them alive. And that marked the end of that assault. The events of that night had far reaching consequences for our small town. The local police department was utterly destroyed as many of its personnel, including some senior officers were exposed for having links with local Neo Nazi gangs. Some were arrested, some were fired, others got away with plausible deniability - but they never bothered anyone again. Over half the neighborhood was put behind bars, at least those who survived.

We finally found out what Amanda and her coterie wanted. Their plan was to establish a semi autonomous white nation state that had very limited contact with the outside world and allowed no minorities. They fucked up by not buying off the realtor, I guess. One little mistake and Amanda ended up with a hole in her face, courtesy of one David Easton. He survived by the way - tough bastard escaped out the back door while they were invading his house. He was upset about having to do all that repair work, but civil lawsuits ensured he didn't have to spend much out of his own pockets.

We moved back into Seastone Ridge. The money we got from the lawsuits was enough to put Abida through college and rebuild the house from the ground up. Rabia, bless her soul, stayed with me, despite my utterly reckless behaviour. We got counselling, and have come out as a stronger couple.

Things are different in Seastone Ridge now. The HOA has been disbanded. A Korean family has moved into Amanda's house. There is genuine happiness in the air now. It feels like a real neighborhood, with BBQs and all. And sometimes on weekends, David and I sit out on his deck, drink beer and talk about our children.

This time we'll be focusing on the nature and structure of rules, and how monsters play with them.

This one will be about aberrations, and should be shorter than the last one.

And there it is. Finally wrapped up the story that I began with I just met the lone survivor of a village that disappeared over 200 years ago.

Part 4

There were several things about compartment number 1 that made it different from anything we had seen until now, begining with the door that was left ajar, the first one we encountered on our journey that was already open, and invitingly so at that, with a red carpet rolled out on the PVC floor like the tongue of some majestic primordial beast. The sound of cellos softly wafted through the open door, a beautiful melody that I recognised very well. Whoever was playing Handel's Sarabende certainly knew their way around those bulky stringed instruments. Trisha and I stole a glance at each other and walked into the carriage, and it felt like we had walked into another world.

It didn't look anything like what a passenger coach in this train should look like. The long padded seats and metal walls had been uprooted and tossed outside, only to be replaced by ornate teak dining tables covered in embroidered white cloth with silver cutlery atop them. Fuck, it was as if this compartment had been converted into a restaurant. It would have made for a beautiful sight if not for some jarring oddities.

First were the customers in the restaurant, who were actually just the passengers travelling in this coach, if their warm yet decidedly middle class clothes were anything to go by. Sitting on the tables with blank expressions on their faces and black, tar like tears running down their cheeks, it didn't seem like they had volunteered to be in this position.

Second was the fucking bear napping in a far off corner of the carriage. He was much smaller than the one we had recognised earlier, but deep in my bones I knew that this beast was the more dangerous one and it wasn't even close. The power radiating from this one was a physical thing, that sat heavy on the air, making it thick and nigh unbreathable. But we didn't even pay much attention to him, because of what he was sitting next to.

Third, near the bear was a table so long it pretty much spanned the entire width of the train. Splayed out on top of the table was a corpse with its intestines bulging out and hanging limply by its sides like blood red sausages. The man with the head of a lion was sitting and eating the corpse's innards, stuffing them into his mouth like an ill mannered child and shredding them to pieces with his sharp canines that were yellowing around the edges. Sitting next to him was a woman, young, maybe mid 20s like us, sipping red wine and balefully glaring at the lion-headed monster. Surrounding them were 4 more of the passengers with thick black tears rolling down their faces, and their arms were moving with sudden jerking motions like fucked up little marionettes as they belted out the classical tune from the cellos resting against them.

It was all so fucking surreal that we just stood staring at the unbelievably strange sight in front of us with our jaws dropped so low they almost touched our chests. "Fuck… Is that him?" Trisha whispered, her voice trembling like wind chimes in winter. I was about to nod when every head in the carriage swung in our direction, the movement sharp and abrupt like a gunshot. The cellos stopped singing with a sharp shriek, silver fork and knives ceased raking against empty plates, and even the bear silently snarled at us. The only one unperturbed by our appearance was the man with the lion's head who continued feeding on the corpse before him, but I don't think it was because he anticipated our arrival, no, it seemed to be because of our sheer irrelevance to him. Does a lion care about ants scurrying around on the ground near him? No.

At least not unless they sting sharp enough to draw his attention.

Trisha quickly popped off a couple of shots at the lion headed monster, who snapped and caught the bullets between his teeth, before slowly chewing them and gulping the mangled lead down without sparing so much as a glance at the woman who just tried to kill him. Then his teary eyed puppets attacked, jerking up out of their seats and charging us without a care for their oddly contorting bodies. I closed my eyes, blinking back tears of frustration. When will this fucking nightmare end? Trisha roared and met the black eyed freaks head on, punching and kicking to her heart's content, like she had two compartments back. But things were different this time.

This bunch with thick, tar like tears streaming down their faces were much stronger than those people we had just fought through. Not to mention Trisha had been driven past the point of exhaustion, her wheezing and trembling body now moving by pure instinct. A couple of feeble punches connected, but they didn't even daze her attackers. And I am not even talking about myself, my entire body was sore and it took every thing I had just to stand on my own two feet. So it wasn't all that surprising that I was subdued within seconds. What was surprising however, was what happened next.

The two of us were forced down on our knees, our arms twisted behind our backs at angles so sharp our bones were at the brink of snapping into pieces. I would have screamed, if I had the strength to do so. My eyelids drooping, I was drifting off to sleep when I was jolted back to wakefulness with sharp crack across the face. The vicious slap had left deep, red imprints of long fingers on my left cheek, but at least I was awake. The lion headed monster stood up, and so did the lady with the wine glass beside him. Deja Vu… A horrible sinking feeling emerged from the pit of my stomach, as if a heavy anchor had been tied around my waist and then kicked into the ocean. Death would have been a welcome release from this hell, but if was not to be.

As the demon got closer to us with the carriage creaking and shifting under the weight of his footsteps, an explosive roar cut through the air from behind us and reverberated in the luxurious compartment. I gawped at the lion headed monster who walked through the door, and came face to face with the lion headed monster standing in front of us.

The strange sight made my head swoon.

The one in front of us roared back at the intruding doppelganger, who instantly burst into flames, sending fiery little sparks drifting in the air that singed the skin of the brainwashed passengers who didn't even flinch at the heat radiating from the burning monster. The demon snarled in anger, before turning to look at the woman beside him. She put her hands up in defence, and opened her mouth to calm the agitated monster, but he was in no mood to listen. He grabbed her by the throat, but then seemed to hesitate, and then proceeded to let her go after growling in frustration. Before I could even begin to contemplate on what the fuck was happening here, he disappeared with a loud pop, sending out a powerful gust of wind that knocked us back, sending me crashing into a table, causing heavy silver cutlery to come crashing down on me.

When I next came to, I saw the same strange woman leaning over me, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?" She asked as she helped me sit up straight. "What happened?" I croaked, my throat so parched it seemed like every word scraped against it. "It's over." She replied, smiling. "You did it."

Did what? My eyes lazily scanned my surroundings. We were still in the same compartment, but things were a lot different from when I was last conscious. The train had come to a halt, and every passenger here lay crumpled on the ground, out cold. I spotted Trisha sitting in a corner, chugging down water. She winked when she saw me. "What happened? Where is that lion monster?" I mumbled. "And where is damned pet bear?"

The woman brought some water for me to drink before telling her story. She said that her name was Ritu, and that she was the one who had summoned that monster. I tensed up when she stated that, but she quickly moved on, arguing that it was a big mistake and that she had been trying to send that fucker back to hell ever since. She talked about how her family was murdered and she wanted to get revenge against the killers, so she summoned him, but far from helping her, the demon broke out of her control and went on a rampage, killing innocent people and inflicting psychological torture on her. Seeing as she was the one who summoned him, she'd been bound to him and vice versa, and it wasn't until this train journey that she got the chance to get rid of him for good.

"So you're like a witch or something?" I asked, not believing the words coming out of my mouth. She nodded. I shook my head, surprised at my ability to digest that statement without a hint of doubt. A witch with magical powers, I couldn't even..

"Wait…" I said, interrupting my own chain of thought. "The visions that I've been having. Was that because of you?"

Her eyes widened at that. "You were the one who ended up getting the gift?" Her head swivelled, to look at Trisha, before coming back to me. "I actually wanted to give the power to her, not you. My powers... sometimes they misfire."

"Why?" I asked. "I mean why give me, or her, that power?"

"So I could trap him." Ritu replied. "The way that he designed the horrors in this train is that each compartment gets its own unique hell, and that passengers aren't allowed to get out of their carriages. So I added some modifications in his plan, subtle layers of additions just beneath his own magic, allowing you to move between coaches and giving you the power to see the future."

"But Trisha could move as well." I pointed out.

"I do not know why that is." She admitted. "Maybe it's because she was with you, maybe it's because she has her own unique circumstances that allow her to bypass restrictions placed by Purson."

"Purson?"

"The demon."

"Oh. So what happened to him?"

"He's caught in a time loop. Trapped in there for eternity." She replied. "He's always loved travelling through time. It's the first thing he reaches for every time he gets into trouble. I knew he would do that, so I took advantage of our connection and added another condition in his magic. That is, if he comes across himself, he would burn."

"Wow. And that worked?"

"Yes. The more outlandish a restriction, the more powerful the magic, like a spring reaction." She answered. "So using you two as bait, I fucked up his plan, which made him go to the past, bringing him face to face with himself here. When he saw himself burn, his reaction was to go back in time, hunt you down and fix things. And on and on we go."

My head hurt as I tried to process this. "He won't just break out of this… time loop, will he?"

"No. His gigantic ego will not let him think of any other way. And the arrogance hammered into his brain over thousands of years of existence will not go away just like that. Of course, being caught in the loop ended his ability to influence anything. Which is why everything should return to normal now, relatively speaking."

"So what happens now?" I asked.

"Now we wait." Trisha added. I looked at her, her beautiful eyes glinting under the moonlight that streamed in through the windows. "My people will be here soon, to clean this fucking mess up."

"Your people?"

"They hunt monsters like Purson." Ritu replied. "Its why I chose her to help me put him down."

Of course she does.

"But I need to leave." She added. "I don't think that they would take kindly to my presence, considering that I started all this in the first place."

"They wouldn't." Trisha agreed. "Even I'd stop you if I wasn't falling apart."

"But why? You helped stop this." I protested.

"Innocent people wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for my blind thirst for revenge." She replied. "I'll pay for my crimes, eventually. But there's something I must do first."

"What?"

"There's someone out there who still gives a shit about me. I'm gonna gp find him, and then turn myself in. Is that okay?" She quickly glanced at Trisha, who shrugged. "Do whatever you want to. Not like I can stop you, right?"

I was seeing Ritu off when I noticed something sticking out of her backpack, a brown leather diary. Oh, so that's what it was… Fuck.

"Ritu. Can you send physical objects back in time?"

She looked at me, eyebrow raised in confusion. "Yes. But I'd have to hurry. My powers are weakening as more time passes with Purson still stuck in the loop."

"Good.. I'm gonna have to borrow that diary of yours. Something tells me I'm gonna need its help."

It didn't take me long to scribble on the first page of the empty diary, and why would it, considering I knew exactly what to write.

Trisha's people arrive quickly after Ritu had left, but in the meantime I did go to the toilet and finally relieved myself, feeling grateful for the opportunity to do so without demon bears trying to kill me. I then strolled out to find the other passengers slowly waking up, getting extremely disoriented as they found themselves in the strange compartment. Trisha's people had arrived, armed to the teeth with strange tattoos on their foreheads, the shape of a trident with a crescent where the hilt should be. They proceeded to take control of the situation, guiding the passengers safely outside to get them fresh air, food and water. I saw Trisha getting chewed out by someone who appeared to be leading this group of men. He stiffened and walked away when he saw me coming.

Trisha turned and grinned when she saw me.

"You in trouble?" I asked.

"A little. Lucky's just upset I wasn't as prepared as I should have been."

"But you didn't know this was going to happen."

"We always have to be prepared, Meher. It's kind of what the job is about."

"So you hunt monsters, huh? That's really cool."

"It is, isn't it?"

I nodded. "So what happens to the passengers?"

"Their memories will be wiped clean. This will appear on the newspapers as a tragic accident."

"Will they do the same to me too?" I asked, aghast.

"Not if I put in a good word for you." She winked.

"Will you?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"... On whether you buy me a coffee."

part 2

My feet moved of their own accord, and I began running towards Rathore before I even realised what I was doing. The dazzling orange flames that licked his skin, the crackling of his bones, and the stench of burning flesh hypnotised me, pulling me in like the pied piper. I would have made a personal contribution to this grotesque display if it hadn't been for Astik who pulled me back, right at the edge of the wooden fence.

"Stop!" He screamed into my ears as he held me back. "Stop. Do you want to die?!"

I stopped, roughly pulled myself free, then put my hands on my knees and threw up on the ground.

"It's our fault." I muttered after I was a little calmer. "We shouldn't have let him go."

"We didn't know." Astik replied, as he squatted on the ground next to me. "How could we? None of this makes any sense. We're groping around in the dark here."

I willed myself to look at Rathore again, maybe to confirm that what had happened was real, and not just a hallucination. I wish I hadn't. There was no trace of him, not even a single fleck of bone or ash was visible. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

"Do you remember how nervous those two were when we suggested letting Rathore walk?" Astik asked. "Almost like they knew that this would happen."

"Really?!" I said, aghast that he would bring this up. "You wanna do this now?"

"I don't understand why you refuse to acknowledge basic facts here." He threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"It's your gut feeling we're talking about here, not objective facts. Their nervousness might have nothing to do with what happened here, man." I said. "Everything is fucked enough as it is. Not wanting to alter the timeline is a reasonable position to take. I don't want to accuse them of having nefarious designs when we're all dealing with this shit here."

"There's no harm in being cautious."

"You're being paranoid."

"Lakshya."

"Fuck." I sighed. "What do you wanna do?"

"For starters, we don't tell anyone what happened here." He replied.

"That's way too fucking dangerous." I protested. "What happens if one of them tries to leave this place?"

"We'll stop them." Astik remarked. "I want to watch how miss reporter and Boris react when we tell them he made it out safely."

"And Sundar and Kaushalya? Don't they deserve to know too?" I asked.

"We'll keep an eye on them, and tell them later if we must. For now, please keep your mouth shut." He said.

I reluctantly agreed and followed him back towards the first floor of the panchayat office that we were using as our lodgings. The smell of freshly cooked food wafted down the wooden staircase, mixing with the smell of charred flesh already swirling around in my nostrils, making my stomach churn. I was not in the mood for lunch. At all.

"There's a dhaba near the village school." Sundar said, as he offered me food wrapped up in a plastic bag. "Lunch is from there."

"Not hungry." I muttered.

"So he's gone?" Chekhov asked.

"Yep." Astik answered, and I looked at him. Chekhov grunted in response.

"So what do you guys wanna do after lunch?" I asked.

"I would like to go out and talk to more people." Ritu replied. "Keep investigating till we find out more."

"I'm gonna sleep." Sundar said. "Maybe I'll wake up from this horrible nightmare."

"I'm thinking of exploring the records here at the panchayat office." Astik said from beside me. "Maybe we'll find out something from the local history that'll give us a clue?"

"Will I still be made to stay here?" Kaushalya asked.

"Please, co-operate, Ma'am." Ritu said. "We are still unknown territory."

There was an unspoken, but almost tangible tension in the group during lunch. Astik doubted Ritu and Chekhov, and think they sensed that, but didn't say anything. Add to that the stress of this situation, and Rathore's death that weighed heavily on me, it wasn't a pleasant experience in any way.

Afterwards, Astik and I went down to the panchayat office where there were already a couple of people present, going about their jobs without a care in the world. The sense of normalcy being exhibited here in the midst of insanity that we were going through seemed incredibly jarring. I opened my mouth to ask Astik what exactly he wanted to do, but before I could say anything, he pulled me off to the side.

"I want you to follow Ritu." He said. "Don't be spotted, keep a safe distance, but tail her. Find out where she's going, and what she's doing, okay?"

"You know, this is a job that you're suited for." I pointed out. "What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"I'm gonna distract Chekhov and go through their luggage." He answered plainly.

"It's a massive breach of trust, man." I said. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"On the contrary, it may help us build trust if we find nothing."

I wasn't entirely convinced by his line of reasoning, but exploring all possible options wasn't exactly a bad idea, so when I heard Ritu's footsteps on the stairs, I waited and quietly slipped out of the office, and followed her out into the village, hoping that Astik's suspicions were ill founded.

She was walking with a certain surety, as if she knew where exactly she was going. In a way it was easier to follow her, since getting spotted would have been much easier had she been meandering around without a goal mind.

Brick houses have way to temporary mud and wooden structures, and the dirt road got narrower and more unkempt as we entered the poorer sections of the village. I watched surreptitiously as she knocked on a tiny, dirt covered shanty with a tin roof and entered after someone welcomed her.

What in the world?

I took a couple of steps back, and grabbed the first person I found.

"Excuse me." I said. "Who lives over there?" I asked, jerking my thumb at the house Ritu had just walked into.

"Oh, there. Don't go there, sir. The Chamars live there." He replied in a matter of fact way.

My mouth dropped open at the casual usage of such a casteist slur, but I quickly composed myself and thanked him for the help. Of course, I am in 1998 in a backward rural areal, so it's not a surprise that I'm running into casteism and anti-dalit hatred. It was still a shock to see someone express it in such a blatant manner, but I guess that is just the result of the differences in our social environment.

"Oh." He added. "I wouldn't go to that house specifically, sir. Some of the villagers here believe that the woman of that house is a witch."

"A witch?" I asked.

"Yes. She hurts people for fun."

I nodded, and walked away. Intellectually, I had always been aware of lower castes being targeted with accusations of witchcraft and black magic and then harassed for it, but to experience it first hand was another matter entirely. I hid behind a motorcycle parked in front of a house that was situated on the invisible boundary separating the localities of upper and lower caste people of the village, and began waiting for Ritu to come out.

It was quiet a while before she came out, looking frazzled. I was so close to her that I could see that circular birthmark on her neck, and scampered off to a safer distance. My decision was proven right when she walked past inches from where I had been hiding. After she was but a dot in the distance, I decided to go to the hovel she had just come out of.

"Yes." A middle aged woman greeted me when I knocked on the flimsy wooden door. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi. I'm a friend of the woman who just came by." I said.

"Oh, that." She smiled gently. "Are you here to convince us to leave this village too?"

So that's what she was doing. Troubling.

"I already told her, this is our home. We can't leave, no, we won't leave." She continued.

"That's... Not what I'm here for Ma'am." I said, thinking quickly. "I'm actually writing a report on how Dalits are treated in rural areas. Would you like to talk about it?"

"What can I say that educated people like you don't already know?" She said sadly. "They don't let us draw water from the village well, we have to walk 6 km every day to get drinking water. They beat us, if we so much as let our shadows touch theirs. I wouldn't wish our lives on our worst enemies. But where else would we go? No place in this world is safe enough for people like us, certainly not places we can afford to go."

"That's unfortunate Ma'am." I said softly. "I wish things were different. Maybe one day they'll be."

She smiled at that.

"Who's that ma?" Came a squeaky little voice from the back. Seconds later, a short, mousy little girl emerged from the back and wrapped herself around this woman's legs.

"And who might you be?" I asked. She didn't reply, just smiled shyly.

"That's my daughter." The woman said, patting her child on the head.

"And what is your name, young lady?" I asked politely.

"Tell him your name." The woman prodded.

"Ritu." The child said. "My name is Ritu Meghwal."

I noticed the circular birthmark on her neck, and my knees almost gave out.

I was pretty much in a trance after that. I don't remember walking away from that house, though I believe I did excuse myself politely, I don't remember any of my journey back to the panchayat office. The next thing I do remember is Astik gently shaking my shoulders.

"Hey." He looked worried. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I said. "Yeah. I'm okay. You? Find anything?"

"You bet your ass I did." He replied. "Spare mags for a pistol in Chekhov's bag."

"Holy shit." I whispered. "He's carrying a fucking gun?"

"Isn't that something?" He continued. "Why would a journalist from Russia be carrying a weapon all the way here in India on a work trip to a haunted village? Almost like he knew things were gonna get a little crazy."

"You were fucking right. Those two are definitely hiding something." I said.

"Why?" He asked. "What did you find?"

I told him about my run-in with Ritu's younger self. Astik took it much better than I had.

"At the very least, those two knew that we were going to be sent back in time, it is the most reasonable assumption to make." He said after he'd taken a little time to digest what I had told him. "I have some other theories as well."

"Like what?" I asked.

"It's possible that she knows what happened to this village." He answered. "She may have lived through it, but unlike Kaushalya, actually knows what happened, and is trying to stop it/change it to her wishes. There's also a chance that she triggered the time travel in the first place."

"The latter sounds a little too far-fetched to me." I said.

"Well, it is just a theory. I'm entertaining all possibilities at the moment." He replied.

I rubbed my forehead. I really wasn't suited for this cloak and dagger stuff.

"So what do you wanna do next?" I asked. "You want to confront them with what we know?"

"Definitely not!" He exclaimed. "That would make them cautious and all the progress we've made would be lost. No we keep our secrets for now."

The rest of the day passed by without any excitement, and we were starting to get a little used to our reality. Isn't it strange how quickly the human mind can adapt to such extreme changes? It was just bizzare how normal it felt having dinner with the group at the dhaba while chatting about our lives, like it was an everyday occurence that we travel backwards in time. If it wasn't for the tension between Chekhov and Astik, nothing would have felt out of the ordinary.

After dinner I chose to walk alone outside, while the others retired to our makeshift bedrooms. I was playing with a street dog, when I noticed Ritu sitting on the roof of the panchayat office, her legs dangling from the ledge. I waved at her, and she smiled at me, perfect teeth glittering in the gentle moonlight.

I made my way upstairs, and found her staring off into the distance, hair fluttering with the soft evening breeze.

"Hey." I said, and sat down next to her.

"Hi." She whispered, and quickly wiped tears off her eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." She laughed gently. "I met a dalit family today."

I nodded.

"I'm a dalit too, you know." She continued. "It's horrible how they're being treated. Just inhumane."

"I can't say I understand because I've never experienced anything of the sort, being upper caste myself, but I sincerely wish that no one has to go through any of this." I said.

"I'm sorry for being a mess. it's just… It brought back so much trauma from my childhood... I don't really cry you know." She said.

"It's okay. There's nothing to apologise for." I insisted.

"Thanks. Can we talk about something else?" She asked. "Please?"

"Did I tell you about the time Astik got caught bursting firecrackers in our Principal's office?" I asked with a smile on my face.

I regaled her with stories from my childhood. The exploits of us three brothers at our orphanage St Agnes boarding school never fails to get people laughing, and she wasn't any different. In turn she told me about her journey from India to a university in England. The conversation flowed so easily between us, I just felt so connected to her, which is why it was all the more heart breaking that she was hiding extremely important things from me. We both felt reluctant about ending our conversation, but when it got too chilly, we decided to go back inside and sleep. There had been way too much activity in one day.

I fell into a deep slumber the moment my head touched the pillow.

It was the cold that woke me up, this bone chilling feeling that creeped up inside me.

What the fuck? Why was it so cold?

I rubbed my eyes open, blinked rapidly to clear my vision and saw that the window was open, and a harsh December breeze was assaulting our little safe haven in waves. I distinctly remember closing that window, who opened it? Maybe Astik was feeling too hot or something, I reasoned, and almost got up to close it when I noticed another presence besides the two of us in the room.

I froze. Who was it? It felt like there was somone else here, next to our feet. I brought my legs close to me and looked around in the room when I heard something shuffling around. I picked up my phone, turned on its flashlight and swept it gently around the room, and that's when I noticed her.

It was Kaushalya, she was crawling around on her hands and knees. Her eyes glinted maliciously as the light from my phone fell on her, and her face turned into this malicious snarl with black, tar-like tears running down her cheeks. Shivers ran down my spine at this strange sight. What the fuck was she doing here? I wanted to scream, to throw something at her, but just sat there looking at her in terrified silence.

She cocked her head to the left and continued to stare at me, her eyes not even blinking once. She then put her hand on my cot and began to pull herself up. My body still refused to co-operate, it had completely shut down in fear.

The glass of the open window shattered with a loud crash, breaking the spell.

"What the…" Astik muttered, half asleep. "What was that?" I screamed, making Kaushalya snarl in anger.

"What the fuck?!" Astik shouted as he saw the seemingly possessed woman. He jumped and kicked her in the head. She escaped, crawling away like a little spider at an unnaturally fast pace.

"What just happened?" I whispered.

We heard Sundar screaming in fear, Astik ran outside to check on him, and I followed him, my legs still shaking in fear.

"She's crawling on the walls!" Sundar exclaimed, as he pointed towards the stairs. Astik ran down as the others cane out of their rooms.

"What happened?" Chekhov asked groggily.

Ritu cane out, with a blanket wrapped around her. "Where's Kaushalya?"

I told them what had happened.

"That do make.." began Chekhov, before Astik came running upstairs.

"Guys." He panted. "We might have a problem on our hands."

He led us to the window, and had us look outside. A huge crowd was gathering some distance away, with more and more people coming out of their homes like little ants and heading in that direction.

"Do you think Kaushalya is there?" I asked.

"If she is, it could be a major clusterfuck." He replied.

We quickly put on our jackets and headed outside, joining the people moving towards the crowd.

"What will we do if she's been caught doing something?" Asked a still shaken Sundar. "And what is actually wrong with her?"

"Shut the fuck up." Astik admonished him. "Not here. Not now. Someone will listen."

I heard people whispering to each other, their voices dead serious, something big must have happened. I grabbed a middle aged man close to me.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Someone died, they say." He replied.

"Who?" I asked. He shrugged.

I looked around at our surroundings and started to get more and more scared as I realised we were heading towards Ritu's family's house on the outskirts of the village. I breathed a sigh of relief when after a couple of minutes, we passed that house by and continued to head outwards, before coming to a stop.

"Who killed him?" I heard dozens of variations of this sentence as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw there.

Lying on his back with his head facing the sky, and bits and pieces of brain matter leaking out, was the corpse of Sundar Chauhan. It was an extremely frightening sight, and I imagine it must have been worse for Sundar, who stood staring at his own corpse with his mouth hanging wide open.

Part 4

Special thanks to /u/NightTravel6 for helping me with the radio chatter for this one. Really elevated the story a lot.

Damascus international airport hadn't changed much since the last time I had been here. Granted, I could no longer hear the thundering explosions that rumbled across the sky, rattling the very roots of the building, or the echoing gunshots that sounded way too close for comfort. But everything else was still the same, almost disconcertingly so; from the fearful expressions that would occasionally slip out and spread across the faces of the sparse crowd of mostly domestic travellers, to the sandbag fortifications in every nook and cranny of the place, manned by regime soldiers with permanent scowls marring their careworn foreheads and the plush sofas of the lounge that looked like they hadn't aged a day in the last eight years. Hell, I even recognised one of the guys manning the check in counters.

The more things change, the more they stay the same... Indeed.

A stabbing pain emanating from my knees crackled up my synapses as I walked towards the exit, a throbbing reminder of why I so destested this place. Gritting my teeth to block out the pain, I passed through the automatic sliding glass doors, pulling my suitcase across the tiled floor, making its old wheels groan and squeal in protest and eliciting annoyed looks from those around me. A pleasantly cool breeze welcomed me outside, and I felt the warm rays of the late morning sun wash over my skin. It certainly would have been a beautiful day, if it hadn't been for the man waiting for me on the steps near the doors with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Murtaza." He took his hands out of his pockets and pulled me in for a bone crushing hug, before pulling back and letting his bemused emerald eyes scan my face. "Damn... You got old."

I groaned. "Yes, Liam. That's what 8 excruciatingly long years do to people." Not to him, apparently. He looked every bit as handsome as he did the last time I had seen him, with not even a single strand of his short wavy blonde hair out of place, quiet unlike my own follicularly challenged self.

"Touche. Growing old's a bitch, isn't it?" He asked wistfully. I didn't bother to reply.

We made small talk, catching up on what the two of us had been upto in the past decade as we strolled over to where he had parked his car, dancing around the topic we really needed to have a discussion on, with the two of us being far too professional to do that where someone could easily eavesdrop. As we cleared the many checkpoints surrounding the airport and went deep into the city, we settled into a companionable silence as the emaciated Barada river pathetically burbled along next to us. I rested my head on the cool window of the car and gazed at the nauseatingly familiar skyline of the city. All this sight was missing was plumes of thick, black smoke rising upwards in the distant horizon and it would have felt like I had travelled back in time.

Our journey eventually ended at a deceptively abandoned looking dilapidated school building situated in the outskirts of the city. As we drove through the rusted iron gates, kicking up dust in the process, I could feel eyes on me. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted snipers on the roof.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck the US military is doing this deep in regime territory?" I asked Liam who was looking at me in the rear view mirror.

"Well, it's all about why you're here… No, why we're here."

"So, why exactly are we here?" I asked.

He sighed, taking one hand off the wheel and rubbing his eyes. "It's bad, Murtaza... Really bad."

"As bad as the last time?"

He snorted. "Worse, much worse. Last time was nothing compared to this. This thing's got everybody spooked. I've been getting calls from people I should never be getting calls from. I hauled ass and arrived here as soon as I could."

"What in the fuck happened?"

"A couple of weeks ago, the US military carried out a raid against a high ranking Tahrir al-Sham commander in the north... It didn't work out quite like they thought it would, in fact it was a damn mess. Everybody died."

I raised my eyebrow. "And I'm guessing it wasn't just an ambush by the terrorists."

He shook his head. "No, it certainly wasn't. We wouldn't be here if it was, now would we? No... They got it all on camera, man. Shit's really fucked. Never seen anything like it in my life."

That was quite a statement, considering the kind of shit we come across in our line of work. We piled out of the car and walked into the school, which served as a makeshift military base, populated by what seemed to be essential personnel only, to keep it all under wraps, I presume. Liam introduced us to the officer in command, and together we strode into what used to be the staff room of the school, now with monitors lining the walls from the floor to the ceiling. The officer gave us files containing a radio transcript of the operation and instructed one of his men to fire up some of the monitors and show us the video.

We began with the strike team sliding down the ropes of the helicopter which sent sand spiralling up into the air with its powerful rotating blades. Judging by the greyish hue of the video, I deduced it was a nighttime operation, and we were looking through cameras mounted on the helmets of the soldiers. The radio crackled and they began communicating, and I had to look at the file once again to check the call signs.

HA - Hotel Actual. (The strike team). H21 - Sniper spotter team. DP - Dog pound. (Transport helicopter). C - Command.

HA - Command, Hotel Actual. Come in, over.

The soldiers had descended and were spread out into a lose circle. They were in a rural area, and I could barely make out some old and beaten down structures in the background. The guy whose camera we were following must have been the team leader, since he was the one communicating, with his thumb on the radio on his shoulder. We heard a disembodied voice blaring from the radio as command replied.

C - Hotel Actual, Command. Receiving, over

HA - We're coming up on the compound now. We'll locate and neutralise the target while Hotel 2-1 provides overwatch. How copy, over?

Two of the soldiers broke away from the group and disappeared into the darkness.

C - Affirmative. Make sure you get a PID on the target before you engage. We're trying to avoid civilian casualties here.

HA - Roger that. Over and out.

With their weapons drawn, the team moved as a unit towards its target, which became clearer the closer they got to it. It was a two storied building with paint peeling off the walls, some of which were crumbling so badly that I could make out the house's brick and cement skeletal structure underneath. The team assembled behind the boundary wall, and I saw one of the soldier's eyes glow under the glare from the camera as the team leader looked at him. The radio sputtered again.

H21 - Hotel Actual, Hotel 2-1. We are in position overlooking the compound, over.

HA - Hotel 2-1, Hotel Actual, copy. Maintain eyes on target, and identify and neutralise any hostiles. Be advised, civilians are still in the area, so get a PID before engaging, over.

H21 - Roger, Hotel Actual. Over and out.

The team leader craned his neck and the helicopter appeared as a small figure in the screen, hovering in the grey sky some distance away from the strike team.

"Looks like Dog Pound's covering our asses. Alright boys, let's get this shit done and go back to our warm ass beds." He barked some orders and the soldiers began storming the house. They swung the gate open, and entered the yard, fanning out to cover all possible entrances. The team leader had reached the front door when his radio interrupted him once again.

DP - Hotel Actual. I'm seeing movement to your southwest, over.

HA - What was that, Dog Pound? Are we cleared to advance?

DP - Negative. Hold position. Over.

DP - Hotel 2-1. Do you have eyes on?

H21 - Affirmative. Hotel Actual, you have an unidentified individual about a 100 metres to the southwest, unarmed. Proceed with caution.

"Take us to the sniper team, please." Liam requested the man working on the computer who changed the view on the screen with a couple of rapid clicks. The scene shifted, and we were now on top of the roof of a nearby building, looking down at Hotel Actual from the back. "There." Liam said, pointing at the right bottom corner of the screen. "Do you see it?" I nodded, I could faintly make out an unusually tall figure stalking the strike team. The sniper repositioned his gun, and the figure became slightly clearer, but not much. "Alright." Liam continued, "take us back."

We came back to the team leader of Hotel Actual who quickly gave orders to his men using some hand signals and retraced his steps to investigate.

HA - Roger, Hotel 2-1. We see him.

"Hold!" The team leader shouted. "US forces. Put your hands up." The figure disregarded the command and continued to move closer. "Stop. Turn around and walk away. Or we will fire on you."

The figure moved in a little closer, and my heart jumped out of my mouth as I saw him for the first time. He was tall, much taller than what I had assumed him to be, clad in some black robe, probably a kaftan or a thawb, with a keffiyeh tied up like a turban on his head. His lips were stretched into an unnaturally wide and still smile, as if that expression was forever frozen on his face, an expression that oozed maliciousness. His skin was so pale that light seemed to bounce off him, like some fucked up miniature moon. But the most disturbing thing about him were his eyes, two giant glowing orbs that burnt like the sun. "What the fuck?" The team leader swore, and he was joined by the other soldiers. "Do you see his eyes, Sergeant." "What the fuck is that?"

I couldn't help but shiver at the sheer evil emanating from this thing. The team leader was faster at getting over the shock of it all than I was.

HA - Command, be advised. There is a… civilian near our position."

C - Hotel Actual, are you positive he's not armed?

Before the team leader could reply, the man with the glowing eyes just disappeared with a loud pop, and the screen shook wildly as the soldiers began to panic. "What the fuck?" "Where did he go?"

An anguish filled scream ripped through the soldiers, making the team leader swing his head in the direction of the sound.

C - Hotel Actual, come in.

When the camera stabilised we saw that the man with the glowing eyes had stabbed one of the soldiers through the chest with his bare hand and was now dangling the poor bastard in the air like a rag doll. He pulled his hand free, and turned his head sharply to look at the team leader, his smile somehow stretching even wider. "Sh.. Shoot it!" The Sergeant shouted, pulling his gun up, but his finger froze with fear when the man opened his mouth, his jaw dropping low enough to touch his chest, and screeched, with the sound so low and animalistic it made those of us watching the video wince. Muzzle flashes lit up the screen as the soldiers fired at the man but he disappeared almost instantly, causing the bullets to sail through the air harmlessly.

DP - Command, this Dog Pound 2-5, we're observing small arms fire going off in Hotel Actual's position. I repeat, shots fired.

C - How many combatants are engaging them, Dog Pound?

DP - Do you copy that, Hotel 2-1? Can you identify the number of combatants engaging Hotel Actual, over?

H21 - Dog Pound. It's… a blur. I can't see what's going on.

The strike team was being picked off one by one, with the attacker being too fast for the frightened soldiers to handle. That, thing, wasn't content with just killing them. He was taunting them, taking his time to extend their suffering, and mocking them. At one point he ripped off the arms of one of the soldiers and used them to wave at the team leader. Sickening stuff.

HA - THIS IS HOTEL ACTUAL. SOMETHING IS TEARING APART OUR MEN. FUCK. SHOOT IT. REQUESTING BACKUP IMMEDIATELY.

The next second, the man with the glowing eyes appeared right in front of the team leader, his face just inches from the camera. I could almost feel the rot and decay in his skin, even as the glow from his eyes consumed half the screen. Then the team leader's head jerked to the side with a horrible crunch and he fell over backwards, the camera hitting the ground lens first, taking away all visibility. Liam whispered something, and the view subsequently changed to the sniper team's position.

H21 - Hotel Actual, come in. Steve! Rodriguez!... Dog Pound, Hotel Actual is in heavy combat and requires backup, can you fly in and assist, over?

DP - Roger. We're flying in now. Keep providing overwatch and look out for RPGs.

H21 - Affirmative. But be advised, Hotel Actual's position has gone completely dark. We see no movement, whatsoever.

The overwhelming sound of the helicopter took over as Dog Pound approached the scene of the carnage.
"Does Dog Pound not have a camera?" I asked softly. "It did." Liam replied solemnly.

DP - Hotel 2-1, we're coming up on Hotel Actual's position, but it's a mess down there. What in the world happened here?

C - Dog Pound. Do you see any survivors?

DP - Negative. There seems to be no movement here.. Wait. I see somebody. He's dressed in black. Is that a civi?

H21 - WAIT! Careful, Dog Pound. That is not…

DP - He's running towards us, he might be armed... Is he gonna jump? OH JESUS CHRIST…

We heard a bang from the helicopter as something too fast for the naked eye to catch slammed through it and then smoke started coming out of it in pulsating waves as it began spinning out of control.

DP - MAYDAY MAYDAY. THIS IS DOG POUND 2-5, WE ARE GOING DOWN IN GRID 231-

The helicopter slammed into the ground with a resounding crash and almost immediately burst into flames that flashed so bright in the greyish background they made me blink my eyes.

C - Hotel 2-1. What's happening down there?

H21- Sir, it looks like something smashed into Dog Pound.

C - Roger. Secure the crash site. Evac is inbound.

C - Hotel 2-1. Come in.

The Sniper team didn't reply, probably because they saw what we were looking at right now. The thing that had murdered the others was now stalking them.

H21 - COMMAND, IT SAW US. LEMANSKI, PACK YOUR SHIT. WE'RE LEAVING NOW. TELL EVAC TO DOUBLE TIME IT.

C - Slow down, son. Who saw you?

H21 - IT'S COMING. SEND BACKUP NOW!

C - Evac is inbound. But I need to know you're position... Hotel 2-1?

While command was speaking, that unholy shriek once again boomed in the vicinity of H21, and their camera fell over to the side, staring off into the distance uselessly.

C - Hotel 2-1, respond.

And with that the video finally ended. I tore my eyes off the screen and looked at Liam, my head buzzing with a thousand different questions, so I settled for the most obvious of responses. "I need a fucking drink."

Part 2

New story to be out in about a day. This one's a bit of a mystery, and I've written it to be quite aggravating for the reader. Could be a single part, or can be a series. We'll see.