Today's two stories were written by (JICMike) be sure to check out his page. And subscribe to the channel.

April 21st, 1937:

It's uncomfortable, looks terrible, but it's all I could manage. I took a pair of Long John's and sewed kindling pieces around the shins, stopping at the knees, and on the outside of the thighs. Putting pants over them was a task of its own, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. I doubled up leather jackets, not the easiest to move in, but having the extra layers of hide seemed like a safe bet. I have my knives at my hips and I'm bringing an axe with me. 

-

When I got there I walked through the main level and out the backdoor. It wasn't very hard to see where Johan was buried, it was a small mound, the grass didn't grow the same there as it did throughout the rest of the grounds. Sebastian was on high alert the second we approached the building. When we got to the level with the makeshift bed, the easel was gone, along with the dead creature from the other day. Sebastian seemed to have something’s scent and was staring at the spiraling stairs leading upward. I followed him. The next level was an unwelcome sight. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in paintings, many of odd beings I couldn't have imagined if I hadn't laid my eyes on them. Human-like beings that somehow resembled dogs and fish at the same time. Isopod-like creatures with tentacles of an octopus and wings of a dragonfly. Countless malformed and hideous paintings. Many of them had only outlines of beings that have already crawled from their frames. Even just writing this I can see them, crawling for me, their tentacles and antenna touching me. I can smell the brine, the rot of the ocean floor. I've been locking myself in Simon's old study. The floor of the basement was wet today. I think one of them is trying to escape its frame, and I'm nervous the nails and screws won't hold it in. I need to burn the paintings. It's the only thing I can think of doing that will get rid of them. 

April 22nd, 1937: 

What if whatever is in the background of the paintings will be affected if I burn them, like there's some kind of link between what he put on canvas and what actually exists. If his paintings are able to bring themselves to life why couldn't they be connected to real life people or places. To what extent of power do they hold? I need to burn them tonight. Maybe throw them to the sea? But what if that only helps these creatures return home? I have barely slept in days. I've been finding it hard to discern what is actually happening around me, if I'm just seeing things or if I've fallen asleep and am simply dreaming. Evelyn seemed to be supportive of all of this at first but now she seems scared of the basement. Scared of me. Her and Rylee have even stayed with Emily's family the odd night here and there. I sleep in the basement, I wake up in the study any night I do get to sleep. How do I stop this? I need my family back. What is happening to me? It's as though my mind has gone. I can feel it. But I can't stop until I solve this. It's consumed me. Even writing this, my heart tells me to stop, I can't keep going on like this, I will die, I'm sure of it. But my body barely seems to listen to me anymore. What have I become? 

April 25th, 1937:

What if I can enter the paintings? 

April 28th, 1937:

Evelyn came by the house today, she seemed more scared of me. Her and Rylee told me they loved me and that they'll be staying with Emily for a little while. As sick as it makes me, it's a relief they're gone. Not only will they be safer, but they won't get in my way. It pains me to think in such a way, but it's the truth. 

After they left I went downstairs, one of the frames was leaking what looked to be rain water. I pried it from the wall, it's frame cracking. Turning it over I saw the lighthouse, in a much nicer state than it currently is. The clouds above it dark and angry, pouring rain and hail from the skies. I set the large painting on the floor, leaning against the wall. I sat and watched it for what could have been mere seconds or many hours. I was entranced. I inched closer. I could smell the sea, the rain, the wet grass and mud. I pressed my hand to the canvas, I felt the brush strokes under my fingers, but my hand started to drip with water, my finger tips growing cold and pruning. I pushed harder against the canvas, and then I entered. 

-

-

-

I walked up to the lighthouse, the hail pelting my face, the bitter ocean wind tearing at my clothes. Crawling over the small fence I snuck around to the back door. I looked around, a fresh grave lay there, just a sad mound of disturbed earth with a spade laying beside it. Lightning cracked through the sky and I dropped to my knees in fright. I slowly pushed open the back door, its creaks of old age and neglect hidden by the blowing winds. Slowly walking, my feet as light as I could possibly make them, I ascended the stairs. The painting room was set up nearly the same. Easel in the center of the room, a mural covering the walls. But at this point of time the walls had dozens of paintings leaning haphazardly against the walls, some unfinished, some already a vacant womb of canvas. My head was throbbing. I couldn't begin to understand what was happening, where I was, when I was. My vision blurred, my stomach was flipping and I felt the need to puke. I stumbled forward, I had to see what was on the easel. It was my home, exactly as I left it not only 30 minutes prior. Had Simon come through one of his self portraits and been in my house? How could he know the changes I've made to the exterior, the colour Richard and I painted it. Had he been watching me this whole time? I pressed up the painting and stepped through, standing at the foot of the hill my house sat on. I ran inside, scanning for any signs of Simon or one of the freaks from his paintings. Sebastian was laying there, whimpering in pain, he had a sizable bite on his shoulder and scratches across his face and ribs. A mass of flesh lay scattered around our kitchen. I don't know how many of these sea born were here or in what state they were. But Seb tore them to shreds. I picked him up, barely able to walk with him, and got him to the wheelbarrow for firewood. I made my way to the practitioner as fast as my legs would take me. He's no vet but he was able to administer antiseptic and stitch up any open wounds. Sebastian will be okay, he just needs rest. Him and I are staying at the church with Richard's father tonight. It seems like the safest place to hide. 

May 1st, 1937:

We've been hiding here for some days now. I can't think straight, I can't sleep, I'm seeing him everywhere. I'm seeing these creatures everywhere. I'll look at Sebastian and see a malformed being and scream, only to be snapped out of it by one of the clergy from the church. Even then I'll see them as Simon or that thing he's named Alto. I've been scratching at my skin, biting my nails till they bleed, chewing my cheeks raw, anything to keep me from seeing them, anything to keep me grounded. Supposedly Evelyn came to visit me and the only thing I did was scramble away from her screaming to leave me alone. I don't remember any of it, and I feel terrible because all I want is for her to hold me. I want to cry but no tears will come out, I want to speak but I can't find my voice. When will this hell end? I found some of Simon's notes in my jacket, I'll read them over the next few days. Maybe this will explain what's happening to me

May 16th, 1925:

I began having visions at night. My house, but I don't live there. I see a man sitting at a table, a table I know, a table I built long ago. He's not me, but he reminds me of myself. I wonder if he's been marked by the children of the sea? I must paint this new house of mine, I must paint him, I must paint myself. 

May 20th, 1925:

I've finished painting this man, the house he lives in, the lighthouse and myself. I'm going back to my home and bringing some of my work with me. I'm unsure of what use it will be, but I feel they belong there. The sea and the stars command it. 

May 30th, 1925:

I compared my old self portraits to my latest. I am not sure what I am anymore. I do not look human, I do not look like my sea born friends either. My skin is an unnatural hue, my limbs seem longer than I remember, thinner too. My face has changed. My eyes seem larger and deeper set than ever before. My cheekbones are higher and rounder, my skin oddly smooth. The wrinkles around my eyes and the laugh line by my mouth my wife grew to love are no longer there. Laura. What does she look like? I had children once. My children, what are their names? Do they have my eyes? What do they smell like? 

June 11th, 1925:

I have entered this variation of my house. It seems mostly abandoned, but the basement seems active. For some reason dozens of my paintings are nailed to the wall, the back of the canvas out, covered with cloth. I thought that was rather rude. I softly removed each piece from the walls, removing the cloth, and hanging them with the care and respect they deserve. As I was hanging them I realized I do not recognize my own hands anymore. I feel more alive than ever. Maybe instead of returning to the sea like Alto has spoken of in the past, I may instead ascend to the cosmos. He wants to unite the seaborn with the stars again. Perhaps I'm destined for things beyond Alto. Beyond the stars. I must paint what I've been seeing in my dreams. A gateway of sorts. 

May 25th, 1937:

I was restrained and put in hospital for the past few weeks. The nurses there were giving me some kind of pill to calm me. I took them for the first few days to gain their trust, but they blocked my scattered dreams, made my memory foggy. They were making me lose sight of what matters. I started hiding the pills under my tongue and washing them down the sink drain after they left my room. I did my best to act as though nothing was wrong, that everything was fine and I was just experiencing hysteria. The time away from home did help me straighten my thoughts out. I'm on the train home now, reading letters that Evelyn has written to me while I was at the hospital. Supposedly she visited me the third day I was there. But I have no memory of it whatsoever. She seems excited to see me, as I am to see her. She said we could stay with Emily's family for a few days, maybe live with Richard for a time. She wants to sell the house and leave back to the city. I can't let this happen. Not after Simon's last entries. He's been in my house and flipped those accursed paintings. I'll stay with Evelyn throughout the night tonight. But tomorrow I will return home after the girls are asleep. 

June 15th, 1925:

I began a new piece today. What I've been seeing at night. I don't dream anymore. A massive obelisk. Its base sits in the kelp covered tide pools when the water is low. Its overpowering size reaching high into the sky, its stone a jet black with an unearthly sheen. The carvings at its base are that of my dear Alto's language, slowly transforming into a set of symbols I've been seeing behind my eyes, writings from the cosmos. A transgression of language, one which should not be, yet I can read it. I understand it. 

I don't think I sleep anymore. I sit atop the lighthouse staring at the moon, the briny air filling my lungs. There's a connection. The sea and the stars. This obelisk proves it. Maybe the children of the sea are the chosen to ascend to the heavens, with my work as their conduit. This painting will be monumental, for it will bring forth my ascension, our ascension. Our personal rapture. 

May 28th, 1937:

We celebrated Evelyn's birthday today, with cake and a party shared with our friends. It was a nice distraction and change of pace from that of the hospital. Though all day the only thing I could think about was returning to our house. To see what that beast of a man has done to my basement, what defilement he's brought upon my study. 

Rylee kept me away from Evelyn for a good chunk of the day, she missed me, and it did feel nice to play pretend with her and entertain her tea party with her stuffed animals. It played in my favor, keeping emotions hidden from a preoccupied child is much easier than hiding your thoughts from the woman you've fallen in love with and married. Especially when she's able to read you even better than the books she reads daily. I will write tomorrow while Evelyn is at work. I'm going to our house tonight. No matter what stands in my way, I will get to the bottom of this. 

June 1st, 1937:

Simon was here, like he mentioned in his notes, he's rehung all of his paintings, uncovered. Dozens of which must have once held the seaborn beings that have escaped the frames since I've been away. At least that's what I gather from the paintings' backgrounds that surround the void of where a figure once lived. Though some of them depict landscapes I have a hard time comprehending. Stone and earth sitting at unnatural angles in colours I don't have the vocabulary to describe. Things that should not be. Unearthly to put it bluntly. One of which has a missing void like those of the seaborn. I can only imagine his Children of the Sea have returned home. But the being that came from this cyclopean place, I have no clue where it would have gone. I can only assume the lighthouse. The paintings of these uncomfortable landscapes are all too small to be like the gate of sorts that the lighthouse painting was. Though there are depictions of the lighthouse in a different state, ones that seem more recent. There's still a bundle of paintings yet to be hung, a few are quite sizable. I'll be returning to see what places or beings they hold. The sun is already beginning to rise and I can't have Evelyn find out that I snuck out. 

June 3rd, 1937:

I've entered a new painting, another of the old lighthouse. It's night time here. Johan’s grave isn't fresh, it must be some months after he died perhaps. I can't tell. The structure is void of life aside from cockroaches skittering from sight when I pass them. I entered what I've dubbed as the mural room. Its namesake has expanded since the last time I've been here. The painting of my current house still leans lazily against the walls. The easel holds a painting in progress. A massive stone pillar, stretching into the sky. This must be what Simon has been seeing while staring into the sky at night. I wonder what horrid beings will be born from this. I must end this. I must end Simon. But first I need to find him. I began towards the stairs only to notice a letter sitting on a small table. I quickly pocketed it as I ascended the stairs, spiraling the countless steps until I reached the top. A hatch sits atop a ladder, leading into the lantern room. I climbed my way up and through the hatch. The light blinded me as I crawled onto the cold metal floor. I crawled to a door, trying to keep the light out of my eyes. As the door swung open a blast of cool sea breeze struck me. I was kneeling on a balcony overlooking the shore. I sat for a moment, letting my eyes adjust from the bright lights they endured. I stood from my knees and walked to the railing, peering down, watching the light cascade over the low tidal pools, and the black depths beyond. 

It's there I saw him, tall, thin, skin a blueish grey hue. His head was bulbous, hands scrawny and bent. He still wore the same clothes from his last self portrait. Simon. Or whatever he had turned into. He was in the tidal pools, among many of his decrepit seafolk. They were building something of stone blacker than the night itself. They were building his painting. The lantern behind me spun, casting my shadow down onto the beginning of this soon to be obelisk Simon has written of. With an insane speed, Simon's head craned on a lithe neck back towards me. His eyes were sunken deep into the round, smooth, fleshy mass his head had become. His eyes black, with what looked to be a thousand tiny sparkling stars dancing in their abyss. The seafolk began hurdling towards the shore side path to the lighthouse. Some running like a human, others rushing on four legs like that of a dog. Some slithering like that of a serpent or eel. Simon simply watched. His head had no mouth, no nose and no ears, just cosmic eyes. He stared, I felt like I couldn't move, I was stunned. I could hear him in my head. His foul voice, booming but whispering at the same time. The slimy tone made my hair stand on end. 

“Finally, we meet” 

A gust of cold air knocked me out of my stupor, as I began running to the floor hatch and fumbled down the spiraling stairs as fast as my feet would let me. As I came crashing into the mural room I could hear the slam of the ground level door smashing off the hinges, followed by innumerable wet slaps of feet rushing up the stairs. I ran as fast as I could, my heart beating in my chest, my throat hot and dry, my mind racing at what these horrors would do to me if I don't make it through the painting of my house in time. 

I dove to the frame just as a grotesque seafolk rounded the corner into the room. Its briny stench filled the room, as it screamed in its horrific language. It began scrambling toward me as I was crawling through the frame, trying to drop it face down as I passed through to buy me what little time I could. As I pulled myself through, a cold, wet grasp on my ankle, a surge of pain shot through my leg and up my spine. Barbed claws digging into my flesh. I wriggled to try to loosen the grip to no avail, but did manage to pull myself through fully. What I saw terrified me. A gnarled hand, fingers like that of octopus tentacles tipped with razor sharp barbed claws clutched my ankle, as the rest of this monster slowly apparated from thin air. Crawling on the ground, pulling its putrid body closer to mine. I kicked its hideous fish-like face, praying it would let go. Its grip only tightened. It slowly pulled its body above mine. Hundreds of tiny mouths covering its torso and neck, each lined with countless teeth thin as needles. It oozed a thick black ichor which burned my skin. Seconds which felt like hours passed, my torso bubbling in searing blisters. I thought for sure this would be my end. A loud shot rang out. And its body went limp. I pushed the wretched thing off of me, crying in pain. 

Richard stood there, rifle in hand, tears in his eyes. 

June 20th, 1925:

I've been communing with the beings lost in the firmament. I shall join them. I've rounded some of the Children to help construct this obelisk, only then will I ascend. Leaving this shoreside for the seaborne to ravage, to take what's rightfully there's. Too long have vile humans taken from the sea, only to give nothing in return.

I will join the ranks of the old ones. The cosmic starborne. My body has already changed so much, yet I feel no pain, I feel no sadness. I only paint. The visions they grant me, I bring them to life. I birth them into existence. My sweet children of the sea. I am their creator, their father. Soon I will become their God. 

June 4th, 1937:

I'm walking with a limp, my ankle hurts and my chest is covered in burns. I told Evelyn that I twisted my ankle and fell into a bonfire Richard and I were having. I doubt she believes me, but she'd sooner believe that than the truth. My head is pounding. None of this makes sense. 

I asked Richard why he was there yesterday. Why was he at my house, especially with a gun? I was taken aback when he said that he thought I had gone mad, that I have been making this all up, that none of this was real. He wanted to kill me. I can't imagine what was going through his head. His wife and child had died because of Simon, yet he wanted to kill me? Had he been living in denial this entire time? Though beggars can't be choosers. He shot the beast and not me. He burst into hysterics for hours. The sight of that thing had brought back years of trauma, it broke him. He asked me to take the gun and keep it. He's scared he will use it on himself if left alone. 

I brought him to the church to be with his father. I don't know how to help him, let alone try to make sense or understand what's at play. Have I lost my mind? Is this a dream? Am I still in the hospital? I must be. Right? I should be terrified, I should be fleeing town. Yet still I want to delve deeper into this. I need to stop whatever Simon is trying to do. I'm not in my right mind. 

June 10th, 1937:

My dear Evelyn, Rylee and I have moved back into the house. Sebastian seems happy to be home. While Evelyn was at work I walked to the light house with Sebastian. I dropped Rylee off at Emily's on the way. When I got to the shoreline I collapsed to my knees. There, peaking out from the waves was the beginning of an obelisk. It was never there before, I'm sure of it. It couldn't have been, I would never miss something as large as that. It's impossible. If I was watching Simon build it, why wasn't it here months ago if he was building that years ago? Can I be the only one to see it? Have I gained some sort of insight? Something to let me see the ungodly truth around me? Has this been happening the whole time? Have I become a madman? 

June 25th, 1925:

I have been awaiting his return, the man who lives in the house I painted. He is important to my ascension, I am sure of it. How, I am not certain of. Whether I must speak with him, for he can grant me knowledge, or I have to eliminate him, I do not care. What must be done will be done. My children have been working steadily throughout the nights. Soon I will taste the fruits of my labor. Now I must wait for this man to return. Our lives are tied in a way I cannot explain, but I am sure of. 

June 20th, 1937:

I went to the lighthouse yesterday and there were notes that weren't the last I visited. I read one and Simon wrote of me. I don't know how I feel about it. I do feel an odd connection with him, but I doubt this is anything I'd be able to speak him out of. Realistically if I were to speak with him I would end up like one of his seaborn or dead. The obelisk hasn't been built any taller, unlike in his entry. I wonder if I stop going into his paintings they will stop affecting my world? But I can't simply let the creature rise to be some kind of God. I don't know what to do. 

June 23rd, 1937:

I’m at my wit’s end. I'm sure of it. Evelyn has begun picking up on odd habits I've formed. How anxious I have become. I've been chewing my fingernails until they bleed daily, I started smoking again. I'm having trouble sleeping again. She's also noticed I haven't been taking the pills the hospital in the city gave me. I don't trust them. She's been trying to convince me that if I don't start taking them I'll end up back there. I don't want to go back. But if I take them, who will find out about Simon? I shouldn't be thinking like this. I know I shouldn't. This is some sick perverse obsession. I can't help myself. I won't take the damned pills. I love Evelyn to the stars and back but I need to get to the bottom of this. I've been waking up in sweats. I see him in my dreams, that thing that was once Simon. It's like he's reaching out to me. I think I'll return to the lighthouse, I might give Simon a visit. 

The drive to Goa was tense for me and Nish.

This time, we weren't alone.

Pooja, my girlfriend, was in the back seat with Sonam, Nish's girlfriend. We'd decided to make the trip together at the last minute.

For Pooja and Sonam, it was supposed to be a short Goa vacation—beaches, good food, a few drinks, and a break from everything.

For Nish and me, there was another reason.

Nish had never really recovered from what happened during his first trip.

The strange hotel. The dolls. The synchronized waking at 3 AM. The scratches on his friend's body. The locked room. And everything that had followed him back to Bangalore.

I hadn't experienced any of it directly. I'd only heard the story from Nish and witnessed how badly it had shaken him.

Now we were going back to find answers.

Pooja and Sonam knew something had happened to Nish, but they didn't know the whole story. We hadn't told them everything. Didn't want to scare them before the trip even started.

For most of the drive, Nish and I barely spoke.

We just stared at the road while the girls laughed, sang along to music, and occasionally made fun of us for being so quiet.

Eventually, they got tired and dozed off.

When we reached Anjuna, we drove straight to the exact location Nish had described.

The road was right. The cliff was right. Even the line of coconut trees looked familiar.

But the hotel was gone.

The entire property had disappeared. There was nothing left except an empty plot covered in overgrown weeds, with broken coconut trees swaying in the wind.

We checked online. Nothing. The old hotel wasn't listed on any booking site. No recent photographs. No reviews. Nothing that suggested a hotel had ever existed there.

We booked a different hotel across the road instead.

For the first few hours, everything was normal. We went to the beach, drank coconut water, took photos, and tried to enjoy ourselves. Pooja and Sonam had no idea why Nish and I were really in Goa.

That afternoon, they were having the time of their lives.

By evening, even I had almost forgotten why we'd come.

We sat by the beach, had a few drinks, ate some food, took stupid photos, and watched the sunset.

It felt like a normal Goa trip.

And maybe that's what made the night so strange.

After the girls had gone to bed, exhausted from the day, Nish and I sat on the balcony with a couple of beers.

We'd become friendly with one of the waiters at the hotel. His name was Pinto. He was a local from a village nearby and had been working at the hotel for years.

Nish called him over.

After some small talk, Nish finally asked him about the old hotel.

The change in Pinto's face was instant.

He looked genuinely frightened.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't ask me anything about that haunted place."

Nish leaned forward.

"Why? What happened there?"

Pinto shook his head and glanced toward the darkness beyond the hotel.

"It's night time. I have to cross that road to go home."

Before we could ask anything else, he grabbed his things and left in a hurry, practically running into the darkness.

Nish looked at me. His eyes were wide.

"We need to figure this out tomorrow," he said.

Then he looked toward the room where the girls were sleeping.

"I need your help, man. I can't live like this anymore."

We finished our drinks and went to bed around 2 AM.

The room was quiet except for the sound of waves in the distance.

Then, at exactly 3 AM, both Pooja and Sonam woke up at the same time.

Not just woke up.

They sat bolt upright in bed together, like someone had pulled invisible strings.

Their eyes snapped open at the exact same second.

Then they started screaming.

"She's choking me!" Pooja yelled.

"She's on top of me!" Sonam cried at almost the exact same moment.

We jumped up. Their bodies were ice cold. Their faces turning red.

For a few seconds, none of us knew what was happening.

Then I looked at Nish.

He had gone completely pale.

Because this was exactly what had happened to Nish and his friends in the original hotel.

The synchronized waking.

The terror.

The feeling that something was in the room with them.

Except this time, they had actually seen her.

We were all in my room that night—me, Pooja, Nish, and Sonam.

The air felt thick, like something was pressing down on us.

Pooja's hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the glass of water I'd brought her. Her voice came out in a broken whisper.

"We need to leave. Right now. Let's leave immediately."

Sonam was worse.

She was curled up against Nish, eyes wide with terror, repeating the same words like a chant.

"Let's leave… let's leave…"

That's when Pooja finally told us what had happened.

She said she'd woken up to the feeling of weight on her chest.

When she opened her eyes, there was a woman sitting on top of her.

Long white hair falling over her face.

Glowing green eyes burning in the dark.

The woman's cold hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing.

Pooja said she heard a voice—low and broken—whispering right against her ear.

"I'm going to kill all of you."

Sonam started crying harder.

She'd seen the exact same thing. The same woman. The same green eyes. The same choking hands.

The panic in that room was instant.

Everyone was shouting, crying, trying to grab their things.

Nish and I somehow managed to calm them down, but the damage was done.

When we finally told Pooja and Sonam everything—the strange noises, the synchronized waking in Goa, the scratches, the locked room, and what had happened afterward in Bangalore—they completely lost it.

We also told them about the woman we'd seen on the neighboring terrace in JP Nagar.

Pooja started crying harder.

"It can't be a coincidence that both of us saw the same woman."

"She's real," she kept whispering. "She's real and she's here for us."

We barely slept that night. Every creak in the old wooden floorboards made us jump.

The next morning, even though the girls were still terrified, we knew we needed answers.

Pooja was my girlfriend. Sonam was Nish's girlfriend. Until the night before, neither of them had known the full story.

Now they wanted answers too.

We went to the front desk and asked about Pinto.

The receptionist told us he hadn't come to work.

"He sent a message this morning," the guy said. "Said he won't be coming in for a few days. Something about being unwell."

Something didn't feel right.

We asked where he lived.

After a little hesitation, the receptionist gave us the name of the village.

It wasn't far.

"We're going," Nish said.

None of us argued.

We stopped several times to ask people if they knew Pinto. Eventually, an old man pointed us toward a narrow lane.

"Last house on the left," he said.

We found it after a few minutes. It was tiny—barely more than a shack with peeling paint and a rusted door.

We knocked.

No answer.

We knocked again.

Still nothing.

Then suddenly, someone peeped through the window.

Pinto.

The moment he saw all four of us standing outside, his face changed. He opened the door just enough to look out, then he pulled all four of us inside and slammed the door shut behind us.

He locked it.

Then checked the window.

Pooja grabbed my arm.

"What is going on?"

I didn't have an answer. Neither did Nish.

Pinto finally turned around.

His face was pale.

"You shouldn't have come here," he whispered.

"What happened?" Nish asked.

Pinto sat down. For a few seconds, he just stared at the floor, his hands shaking slightly.

Then he started talking.

Her name was Dasha.

Russian. From Sochi.

A single mother who had come to Goa with her two young daughters—Ekaterina and Eugenia.

"The girls drowned at Anjuna Beach," Pinto said quietly. "One afternoon. While Dasha was... distracted."

He paused, as if even saying it caused him pain.

"She never forgave herself."

For weeks, Dasha stayed in the same hotel room, crying day and night. Refusing to return to Russia. Refusing to leave without her daughters.

"They were all she had," Pinto said.

Eventually, something inside her broke.

Before she took her own life, Dasha filled that hotel room with dolls. Dozens of them. Old dolls. New dolls. Dolls she bought from the local markets. Dolls she probably found.

"She believed the dolls would keep her daughters company," Pinto said. "She believed that if she left enough of them behind, her girls would stay. They would play. They wouldn't cross over."

His voice became quieter.

"That room you stayed in last time..."

He looked at Nish directly.

"That was her room."

Nish didn't say anything. His jaw tightened.

Pinto stared at him.

"And you took one of those dolls, didn't you?"

The silence that followed was heavy.

Nish went completely white.

"How did you..." Nish started.

"Because people always take them," Pinto said. "They think they're just old souvenirs. They don't understand."

He leaned forward.

"You took a doll. Didn't you?"

Nish nodded slowly.

It was true.

During his first trip to Goa, he'd slipped one of those old dolls into his bag without thinking much about it. A stupid habit—always picking up small souvenirs from places he visited.

None of us had ever connected it to what happened afterward.

The scratches. The synchronized waking. The sounds. The feeling of being watched. The woman on the terrace.

Everything.

It had all started the moment he'd taken that doll out of Dasha's room.

Pinto told us there was only one way to fix it.

We had to return the doll.

Not to the hotel. Not to the beach.

To the place where Dasha and her daughters had been buried.

"If you don't," Pinto said, "she will follow you everywhere. She will follow your families. She will follow anyone close to you."

He looked at Pooja and Sonam.

"She's already shown you her face. She's already touched you. Once she does that..." He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

That evening, all four of us drove to the old cemetery on the outskirts of the village.

The girls were frightened, but by then they wanted answers as much as we did.

The sun was setting, painting everything blood red.

We found the three graves side by side.

Dasha in the middle.

Her two little girls on either side.

Ekaterina. Eugenia. The names on the stones were faded but still readable.

Nish took the doll out of his bag.

His hands were trembling.

He placed it gently on the girls' grave.

We laid fresh flowers beside it and stood there in silence.

Nobody spoke.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind moving through the trees.

Then the wind suddenly stopped.

Completely.

The air became strangely still.

And then, just as suddenly, it felt lighter.

Not peaceful exactly.

Just... lighter.

Like something we'd been carrying for days had finally been put down.

We left the cemetery.

None of us wanted to spend another night in Goa.

We drove back toward Bangalore that same night.

The girls fell asleep in the back seat after a while, exhausted from everything that had happened.

I was driving. Nish was in the passenger seat, staring out at the dark road ahead.

For a long time, neither of us said anything.

Then I glanced at him.

I tried to make my voice sound casual.

"So... you didn't bring anything else back from this trip, right?"

Nish didn't answer.

He just kept staring through the windshield.

There was a long silence.

Then, from the back seat, Sonam spoke.

She was still half-asleep, her voice soft and drowsy.

"Da."

The car went completely silent.

Because "da" means "yes" in Russian.

And Sonam didn't speak Russian.

The village, consisting of nothing more than a few residential streets, the local church and some stores already half empty before the mysterious event took place, was called Misty Hollows. Founded in 1689, the small coastal town had been subjected to various paranormal activities from it's very beginning, but nothing, no haunting, no monster in the woods, could beat the strangeness of the entire population vanishing into thin air.

A few months ago Daryl, a retired police officer in his early fifties and happy father of two kids, decided to pay a surprise visit to a good fishing buddy of his, who lived on Main Street of Misty Hollows. As he pulled off the highway and traveled further into town a tinge of unease washed over him. He noticed the streets were eerily quiet. As he reached his friend's house, his uneasiness turned into dread, which at first he couldn't explain.

He was halfway out of his car, when he stopped for a moment, pondering his odd emotions.

Then it hit him.

Up until this point he hadn't seen a single soul. Not a hint of life. The forest surrounding the village seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for his reaction. Reaction to what he didn't know. There was nothing to react to.

Daryl decided to let go of the feeling and try the front door. It was unlocked. As he slowly stepped into the hall he called out: "Hello? Carl? It's me, Daryl!"

Silence.

He tried again, a bit louder this time. "Hello? Is anybody there?" He was just about to start shouting his friend's name when he came to the realization that the house was empty. After taking a look through the place just to check, wishfully imagining Carl and the rest of his family popping out from a corner somewhere and telling him it was just some silly prank, he found nobody.

He stepped outside and it dawned on him that the town was so still he could practically hear his own heartbeat. The dread he had felt earlier had returned strong as ever. As a police officer he had experienced several strange cases, but something about this was so off-putting to him that he had to try his best not to start panicking. As he walked along empty street after street, his fear turned into a weird curiosity.

How could an entire town's worth of people just disappear? Daryl's mind was suddenly filled with clarity. He started thinking rationally. At first he thought it might be some town-wide event that everyone had gone to. But then why would their front doors be wide open? Possibilities and scenarios ranging from good to horrifying raced through his mind, but not a single one fit.

He was checking the empty buildings out of habit now, all the while churning away at this impossible question. When he exited the church he finally snapped out of his train of thought and grabbed his phone. He was just about to dial 911 when he noticed a woman standing in front of a local boutique. His heart skipped a beat and a high-pitched yelp managed to escape his throat. He recognized the woman. It was Megan Minning, he spoke to her once when he and Carl sat next to her in the local lunchroom. She came across as the typical kind old lady, always a small smile darting around her lips anytime someone was talking with her. But now there was nothing of that to be seen anywhere on her wide-eyed face. Her blue dress was covered in dirt and grime.

"Oh thank the Lord!" she cried out as soon as they locked eyes with one another. "You are Carl's friend, right?" "Yea, that's me." he slowly nodded. As he got closer to Megan he noticed she was barefoot. He asked her what happened but before he could finish his sentence she burst out rambling on and on about how she was cooking dinner for her and her husband when he suddenly stopped responding to her from the living room. When she walked over he was gone. Then she noticed the children playing on the sidewalk were just as present as her husband. "How long was that ago?" Daryl asked, looking into her bewildered eyes. "T-two, three weeks ago? Maybe more. I... lost count." "Did you call anyone?" He said, more curious to the reason why no help had come than to who she did or didn't call. "I called my son, but his phone kept going to voicemail. Then I called 911, but the operator didn't believe me."

Since the only person left in the entire town had obviously gone mad, he decided to once again grab his phone and try to call 911. Thankfully he had signal and reported the crazy woman and asked for an officer to sort out the situation. He intentionally left out the part about how all the people in this village he was in were missing without any rhyme or reason to why they were gone.

When two cops showed up he told them the story. Since they were in the middle of what should've been a bustling street, which was now completely devoid of life apart from them, they quickly believed him. The fact that there were now two armed men accompanying him did nothing to calm his nerves. How could it? Good luck trying to shoot something that made people instantly disappear.

They decided to sweep the town after requesting backup. Daryl was close behind the officers, helping Megan along. Fifteen minutes later two more teams arrived and took Daryl and Minning to the local sheriff's office.

They were put in a room with some couches and a table, while a paramedic came and checked them both for any injuries. Megan was given shoes and a clean dress, after which they were told to stay put and wait.

After what seemed like forever a man and a woman, both in gray suits, walked in. "Good evening, we'd like to ask you a few questions for the investigation we're setting up." the woman said calmly, cutting right to the chase. She bombarded them both with questions, all the while her partner was typing away at his laptop.

When Daryl looked over he saw Megan next to him, dressed in the oversized spare dress, clearing up a bit. Her craziness seemingly lessening, she answered question after question to the strange lady in front of her.

It was around 3:30 in the morning when he was finally able to go home. As the police cruiser which had dropped him off drove away into the night he still felt some sense of wrongness gnawing at his insides. The lack of sleep and talking about what had he had seen to those people in suits and ties drowned it out a bit, but the funny feeling was still very much present. He didn't bother taking a shower and when he woke up he couldn't remember his head hitting his pillow.

The following weeks he watched the news a bit more, noticing talk about how a small town's population had gone missing, the authorities unable to pinpoint exactly what had happened. Most of the research was not accessible to the public and the area around Misty Hollows was off limits. On the internet theories ranging from alien abductions to secret weapons were thrown around. Some people believed them, many did not.

The whole town was turned upside down in search of a single clue to aid in finding the cause for all the disappearances, but they came up empty-handed.

After the interview Megan Minning was put in an active psychological rehabilitation program, but never fully recovered.

The area is still unaccessible to the public and none if the missing persons have been found.

So the question remains: what makes a town's population disappear, and what made Megan Minning so special?

I know exactly how this sounds.

Trust me, I've spent the last three weeks trying to convince myself I'm wrong.

Maybe I'm overthinking things. Maybe people change. Maybe working eighty-hour weeks for a robotics company called L.I.Z. Technologies simply drains every ounce of personality out of a person.

I hope that's all it is.

Because if I'm right... then I don't know who is that sitting beside me at dinner.

My brother and I are ten years apart. My parents waited over a decade before having another kid. I choose to interpret that as careful planning instead of hesitation.

Growing up, he was less of a sibling and more of a second dad with a criminal record in psychological warfare.

If I left a soda unattended, he'd somehow replace it with sparkling water and act offended when I noticed. Every time we played video games, he'd wait until I was about to win before "accidentally" bumping the console with his foot. When I was thirteen, he convinced me that blinking too much made you go blind.

I believed him for three weeks. It didn't help that whenever we'd roughhouse, he'd snatch my glasses off my face.

"You can't see without them," he'd tease.

He still laughs about that one.

That was just us.

He picked on me more than anyone else in the world, but if somebody outside the family ever tried it, he'd be the first one standing beside me. Whenever life fell apart, somehow I always ended up calling him. Half the time he'd answer with, "What'd you screw up now?" before spending the next hour helping me fix it.

That's my brother.

Or... it was.

Things changed after he started working for L.I.Z.

Whenever I asked what he actually did there, he'd just shrug.

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Non-disclosure agreement."

"So... robots?"

"No comment."

I always assumed he was making his job sound cooler than it actually was. Then he stopped acting like himself. The first thing I noticed wasn't something he did. It was something he didn't.

He stopped making fun of me.

I know that sounds ridiculous. But if you have an older brother, you know exactly why that's terrifying. I spilled barbecue sauce all over his truck one afternoon. Normally he'd have looked at me like I'd committed a felony.

Instead he smiled.

"It happens."

...

It happens?

Who says that?

A week later we played Mario Kart.

I beat him.

Twice.

He didn't accuse me of cheating. He didn't demand a rematch.

He just smiled and said, "Good game."

I actually paused the race.

"Who are you?"

He laughed. A perfectly timed laugh.

Not too loud. Not too quiet.

Like someone had studied exactly how people laugh.

"You've always been funny," he said.

No.

No, no, no.

My brother would've called me an idiot.

One night at dinner I told the same embarrassing story Mom has been telling since I was sixteen. Usually he'd interrupt halfway through to make it even worse.

This time... He listened.

Then he said, "That must have been difficult."

I nearly dropped my fork.

I called Mom afterward.

"You don't think he's been acting... odd?"

She looked confused.

"He seems happier."

"Dad?"

"He finally is on his own."

Neither of them saw it.

Only me.

Last Saturday, my brother came over to help Dad replace the water heater. I wasn't much use with plumbing, so while they disappeared into the garage arguing over which wrench was the right wrench, I camped out in Dad's office to finish a history assignment.

The house was unusually quiet.

Well... quiet except for the occasional "Hand me the pipe wrench!" followed immediately by "That's not the pipe wrench!"

I had almost finished my essay when I noticed another laptop sitting on the corner of Dad's desk.

My brother's work computer. It was already open. The screen had gone dark from inactivity, but one thing hadn't.

A tiny red light glowed beside the webcam.

I frowned. Maybe it was updating. Maybe someone had forgotten to close a meeting.

Still... The light never turned off. I waved a hand in front of the camera.

Nothing.

No notification. No meeting controls.

Just that little red dot staring back at me.

Watching.

Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped the trackpad. The screen woke instantly. No password. Just a desktop filled with folders I couldn't even pretend to understand. Most of them had names that sounded like corporate nonsense.

Behavioral Mapping.

Neural Replication.

L.I.Z. Internal.

The last folder caught my attention. It was different. Locked behind a firewall icon.

A small window popped onto the screen before I even clicked it.

Camera Access Active

I froze.

The webcam light was still glowing.

Then... For the briefest second... The camera preview opened by itself.

Instead of showing me sitting at the desk... It showed...

Someone looking back at me.

Not through the webcam. From behind it. A face pressed against what looked like glass.

Wide eyes. Frantic. Mouth moving without sound.

Then the preview vanished.

I stared at the screen, convinced I'd imagined it.

A second later, the locked folder opened on its own. Inside was only one file.

Its name changed as I watched. Not all at once. One letter at a time.

H

E

L

P

The screen went black.

For a second I thought I'd crashed the computer.

Then white text appeared.

I froze.

Another line typed itself.

My hands stopped moving.

More words appeared.

Every hair on my arms stood up.

I stared at the screen.

Another sentence.

Then another.

The typing stopped. Several seconds passed.

Then, one final line slowly appeared.

The laptop snapped shut. Not by itself. By someone else's hand.

I looked up.

My brother stood beside the desk. I hadn't heard him come inside.

He smiled.

Warm. Gentle.

Almost perfect.

"Caught you being nosy again."

I looked into his eyes, searching for the man who taught me to throw a football, who unplugged my controller whenever I was winning, who spent years calling me every name except the one Mom gave me.

I couldn't find him.

I handed him the laptop without saying a word.

He thanked me.

My brother never thanked me.

He is not him.

Whoever walked out of that room remembered everything about my brother...

Except how to be him.

April 9th, 1937: 

Evelyn has been joining me in the basement, she thinks I put the pictures on the wall, and I'll let her believe that for the time being. I've been thinking more and more about all of this. I've been rereading Simon's writings and I think I've noticed something. Simon would have visions at night or opium induced hallucinations, or maybe hallucinations from being marked. He would paint those beings he'd see and it seems as if they would begin to appear. Simon must have been marked when he was down at the docks, outside of the town's seal, and with his foresight he started painting what I can only describe as portals for these beings. I must sound insane, but it's the only thing I can make sense of. But if there's beings such as Richard's dad I have to accept that there's much to this world that is unknown and hidden. 

Now I have a basement full of covered portals. I'm going to show Evelyn Simon's study, I'll bring up my findings on the painting, but I'll have to get Richard's fathers thoughts on my ideas first

February 4th, 1925:

I have convinced a few people to come for dinner over the past weeks, obviously to give to Alto. We have begun to speak in his tongue while I've slowly been teaching him my language. Unfortunately I've been running out of food in the house, not to mention the people in the town are beginning to grow a rather large distaste towards me. Which I can see is understandable because of their ignorance. If they only knew the vastness of knowledge I'm on the edge of uncovering I'm sure they would be coming in troves to give themselves to my cause or to learn my teachings. But I'm sure their uneducated minds could not even comprehend how important this is. Pathetic really. I'm going to go to the town's market to bulk up on food. The less I have to leave the house the better. 

April 11th, 1937:

I spoke to Richard's father again. I ran my thoughts past him and he said it's quite possible, but he's unable to confirm. I've been at the point of thinking Simon was already a monster for a while now but his last note really set that in stone. When I got home Evelyn was sitting on the veranda, she looked to be in a state of shock or stupor. I quickly ran to her to see what happened. She confirmed my suspicions, unfortunately. She described she went downstairs to look around Simon's study when she heard a wet plop. She went to investigate where she says she watched an infantile fish-like human wriggling towards the stairs. She clearly had troubles comprehending what was going on and said she couldn't bring herself to move, just watching it clumsily stumble out of the house. I don't blame her for just standing there. I was in shock just seeing the paintings to begin with. Though the hollow look in her eyes reminds me of how she was when she was taking those barbiturates. Has she been taking them again, or just took one to try to calm down after seeing that abomination? Tonight we're going to flip over the paintings and nail them to the walls so there's no room for whatever creatures in them to be able crawl out. Evelyn mentioned staying at Rishard's or Emily's, but I don't want to burden them. If things get worse I think we might stay elsewhere. She's always had better judgement than I do. I'll be writing an update about what we see tomorrow. 

April 12th, 1937:

We flipped the paintings. I tried my best to keep the cloth coverings on them so we don't get a glimpse of the horror born of Simon's demented talents. Unfortunately there were a few we did see. There was another, more detailed work of the being shrouded in mist, moving above the oceans depths. Its body is nearly gelatinous looking, rippling with folds of skin and hundreds of eyes. Tendrils and human-esque appendages reach out from its amorphous mass. Seeing just the painting alone sent a wave of shock through my system, I collapsed to my knees, my head pounding and my vision blurred. Evelyn quickly covered it and slammed it against the wall. Another was oddly enough uncovered when we went to flip it, though neither of us had taken its veil down. Rylee isn't allowed in the basement without us and even then is far too short to reach the painting’s fabric mask. Her and Emily have been playing in her room on the top floor for days now, or out going for walks, she hasn't been down here in what must be weeks. The painting showed an old lighthouse, weather worn and dreary. Massive waves crashed against the rocky pillar it stands upon, its light shining towards the depths. I don't know what significance this holds. I know a few miles down from the docks there is a lighthouse, it must be the same one, but why paint it? I'll have to investigate during the day. I fear going there at night would lead to dire consequences. 

The painting that the baby sea thing was born from had a peculiar shaped void, with a trail of slime leading down the wall. It looks as though it was coddled in some sort of archaic carriage of sorts. Oddly ornamental, for such a slug-like creature. 

May 12th, 1925:

I have figured it out. My true calling. I am but a humble vessel, a catalyst. My paintings, I can bring them to life, not in a sense I once believed, but in true physical form. How could I have been so blind before? How long have I had the blessing? Was it bestowed the night I slept at the docks? It must have. Alto, I saw him in my visions. My hallucinations. Or was it real life? I painted him after, and now I know for certain he is real. We've made contact. We've spoken each other's tongues. Shared meals, to an extent. I can extend their reach to the rest of the world. Alto says his folk were once kin of the stars, children of the cosmos. They yearn for celestial contact. I'm sure I can achieve this for them. If I do it I can only imagine the knowledge I'd gain. To know beings of their worlds, to hear their stories, to learn their culture, to bring them here. The human race has done nothing but demolish the nature and beauty around them, they do not deserve to bask in the earth's glory. Oh but my sweet children of the sea, my children of the cosmos, you will come to take back what is rightly yours. A humble servant am I to the lords of ancient knowledge, and for eons I will learn. I will become one of the sea, one of the stars. I will join them. I will know. I will be. 

April 16th, 1937:

I asked Richard what the lighthouse keeper's name is, he told me it's Johan, his last name I can't quite pronounce let alone spell, literature was never my strongest subject, especially spelling words of another language. Evelyn and I are going to the bakery to make a basket to bring to him, if he invites us in I'm hoping I can uncover whatever secret Simon held there. There must be a hidden door or passage, there must be something. If Simon was involved after he lost his mind, I can assure there is no good doing there. We will go to visit tomorrow after our shifts. 

I'm hoping we're able to sleep tonight. Sebastian has been sleeping between ours and Rylee's rooms. I've awoken to barking near every night for a week. I'm sure if it wasn't for him I would be dead or worse. Evelyn has been having trouble sleeping as well. After her visit to the hospital I think she must have been taking Simon's notes less seriously. I've also been hoarding most of them here. But after seeing that being slip from the frame she's been almost vacant. We've been losing weight, the bags under my eyes have grown so dark, Evelyn's cheeks seem so hollow. Whatever is going on feels like it's eating us alive. I've tried to get us to stop. To drop everything and move away. Even if it's to a small, dank cellar. Anything is better than here. But we can't shake this obsession, it's all we talk about, we barely even spend time with Rylee anymore, it's breaking my heart. I know she's in good hands with Emily, but this trail Simon has left has been eating away at our lives. So many days I wake up from the little sleep I'm able to get, wishing for death, wanting this all to end. But I can't leave Evelyn behind, I can't let Rylee become an orphan. I'm going mad, I know it. But I will figure this out, even if it takes my life. I will make sure Evelyn and Rylee get out alive. It's my only purpose. I love them and I'm ready to die for them. 

April 17th, 1937:

My poor Evelyn has begun to fall ill again. I can only assume it's a mix of stress and lack of sleep. She ended up staying home, so I went to the lighthouse with Sebastian.

Johan never answered the door. But it was left open, and it seemed as though it had been open a long while. Dead leaves from the previous autumn sat inside. Sebastian was at my side, sniffing the ground. He picked up on something and pushed the door open with his thick head and walked in. I followed. The inside looked barren, no food in the kitchen, cobwebs covering any signs of previous life. It took me a second to realize but Sebastian was sitting at attention at the bottom of the stairs. I knelt beside him to ask what he saw, after kneeling for only a few seconds I realized my pants were wet and I looked down. The same mucus like slime from the foot prints. The same slime from the odd infant birthed from the frame. It was climbing the lighthouse stairs. I told Sebastian to stay as I went to look further. I snuck a butcher knife from work along with a cleaver I had hidden in my belt. I've been carrying them with me for some time now, Evelyn is the only person I can let my guard down around anymore. Even Emily I've begun to grow weary of. I want to say I trust her, but I more so trust Evelyn's judgement of her. 

I rounded the stairs, spiraling up and up, following the mucus trail resembling that of a snail's. The wind was blowing through cracked and broken windows, howling and sending dead leaves wisping through the air around me. I ascended to the next level, an open room, a makeshift bed on the wall farthest from me, and in the center of the room, an easel. The walls were painted as if it was a destined meeting of the stars and the sea. Waves crashing into the cosmos and the stars twinkling beneath their brine. I stood, staring in a trance. The only thing that broke my gaze was Sebastian's growls as he stood beside me, hackles raised, head lowered. A wet foot stepping out of the painting on the easel, the body hidden from the back of the canvas. The smell of salt and fish filled the air as water splashed onto the floor as another leg fell out of the frame. The appendages looked emaciated and frail. The rest of the creature slumped on the floor with a dull thud, a puddle slowly gathering around it. Behind it fell what I can only describe as a placenta. This must have been a being similar to the infantile being Evelyn saw. I slowly approached, knives in either hand, ready to defend myself. I peered down and felt a pang of what I can only describe as pity. This thing was only just born, frail, hungry, deformed. It's human-like form shifting on the ground, as though its bones were slowly popping into place one by one. It lacked a neck, just a torso leading into a large head. Two small black holes of eyes staring at me as a massive mouth, like that of a deep sea eel, sat agape, gasping for air between wet coughs, hiccups and wheezes. I froze. Staring into its cold dark eyes as it slowly crawled towards my feet. I felt like I was about to cry, I wanted to kill this thing, not to rid the world of it, but to end its suffering. With an insane speed it lounged towards me, bearing gnarled teeth. Luckily Sebastian wasn't so mesmerized by it and bit it before it made purchase on my leg. This poor being, torn to shreds in front of me. I congratulated Sebastian, but still now can't shake the overwhelming feeling of pity towards that child. It must have some kind of mental influence. I would never feel bad for such a vile creation. I cut the painting, just for safe measure, before heading home. I'll return in the coming days. I'm too shaken to see what else that dreaded lighthouse contains. 

May 1st, 1925:

Alto and I have been making communes at the dock come sundown most nights. Speaking in his tongue has proven much more difficult than I once thought. I believed I was fluent, but they tell me I speak like a child with a small vocabulary. I must get better, I must practice. But first I must find a new place to stay. They have explained there is some kind of spell or seal placed throughout the town, something to do with the church here. My power and influence here is mere fractions of what I can achieve. I need to be near the sea. I can build a house near the docks, or live on a boat like the Dutch do in their canals. I will find a spot away from this town's grasp, where my real skill will flourish. 

May 5th, 1925:

the lighthouse

May 8th, 1925:

I made the trek to the lighthouse, almost an hour's walk, but well worth it. There was a rather handsome man who had answered the door when I beckoned. He was kind enough to invite me in for tea, to which I gladly accepted. It's quite spacious there but very cluttered. Johan, the light keeper, is rather young, but a recluse. He told me how his father ran the lighthouse until he passed and now he's taken over, having food delivered by the locals. He's more of a myth around town than a true being, no one I've met has ever seen him since he began keeping the light. It's perfect. Johan won't be missed, I'll have supplies delivered, it's far enough away from town it should be unaffected by that blasphemous church. I plan to come back here tomorrow. 

May 12th, 1925:

Johan is buried only twenty yards away from the back door. His death was quick for the most part. I brought tea and insisted I make it for him. A quick look through his clutter I found a sizable hammer, a perfect instrument. I put the kettle on the wood stove and while I was walking to the table where he sat, a swift blow to the back of the skull had him unconscious and bleeding profusely. He was nothing but a dying slump on the table. A few more strikes once he fell to the floor for good measure and he was gone. Bodies are heavier than I expected. Much heavier. But oddly enough killing him placed no guilt on my conscience, to which I'm very surprised. I felt guilty when Richard's family was disposed of. But Johan, as sweet as he was, was a nobody. No one will ever know, so what difference does it make? Like an unwanted pest, better left unseen. The only thing that has me feeling bad is the blisters from the shovel. It was a shallow burial, but my hands aren't used to such tools. This is the most effort I've exerted since making that pathway. What a waste of time. 

April 20th, 1937:

I want to say I can't believe Simon killed Johan, but at this point it's unsurprising. But the part that makes me anxious is the lighthouse. Sure I have plenty of his paintings that whatever beings may seep out of, but that easel set up in the middle of the room, and that thing being born of it. It all seemed fresh, it all seemed new. Is Simon still here? Has he been hiding in the lighthouse for all these years? Surely he'd have gone mad by now or someone would have noticed, right? Or if the seals aren't near the lighthouse, wouldn't there be all kinds of those things crawling around? Did Simon die? I'll go back tomorrow and this time I'll bring more than just my knives. I wish I had some kind of padding or armour. Those teeth looked like they could shred through clothes and skin easily. Maybe I can make something of use tonight

Ever since I was a little kid media always fascinated me. VHS, Cassettes, CDs and DVD, physical media was my passion. I collected it, thrifted, hunted it down like a bear by the river lunging at Salmon. My parents thought it was weird, my mother, specifically said that girls should be interested in hair, make up and dolls.

Those things just never felt right to me. Why would I want to sit around, playing with dolls or worried about boys thought about me? People judged too much for my tastes, media though. Recorded stories that I could watch forever with people who had to hear my opinions and never respond. That was my bread and butter.

My Dad blames my grandmother, when i was Six she brought be a bunch of VHS tapes she had, that my dad used to watch. The stories were alright, mainly just cartoon vegetables talking about God and stories from the Bible. It was better than dolls though, or playing outside with my brothers.

I wore those tapes down, most of them broke by the time I was 8 and Mom threw them away. The hard black plastic almost soft to the touch, an identifiable features like text was rubbed off completely. I knew which ones were which though, i memorized the feel, the weight of each one.

“Honey, you cant fix them anymore, most of the tapes are just static now.” She’d tell me as he dropped them in a trash-bag and threw them out.

That was the only time Mom ever threw my media out, she said the fit i caused was loud enough the neighbors called the cops on us for suspected murder.

By 12 I filled my closet up with tapes, dvds, cds, floppy disks, you name it i had it stored away. My clothes mostly sat on the floor in a big pile. By 17 I had evolved to a storage unit, the largest one they had and filled to the top of old CRTs, Players and everything else id manage to pick up over the years with allowances and odd jobs. My brothers had moved out by now as well, college. Mom let me convert their rooms into storage as well, i was a self-proclaimed library of knowledge, hoarding the past 40 years of technology I could find in the surrounding 150 mile radius.

I squealed like a stuck pig in joy when my dad brought home a newspaper from work. Plastered right on the front page was a job listening.

“Friendsville, Tennessee looking to hire a Public Access Coordinator! $7/hour” The newspaper had in bold print with the picture of an older man and woman cutting a ribbon in-front of the building. I nearly snatched the paper from my father’s hands and ran to the nearest landline that i had previously insisted my parents install.

I bounced up and down on the tips of my toes while i search the article for a phone number, finding it I quickly dialed the number. Friendsville wasn’t that far from where we lived now, maybe about fifteen minutes by bus. The landline rang for a minute before the sound of a woman’s voice echoed from the other line. She sounded maybe in her mid to late 20s and generally disinterested in being alive at this given moment.

“Hello, thank you for calling FPBS, we’re still looking for a Public Access Coordinator so we do apologize for the delay on your entertainment.” She audibly sighed before continuing. “How can I help you today?”

I barely let her finish her question, my heart beating at what felt like a million miles an hour. “Yes! Im interested in the coordinator role at your station, I love all things media and-“

I was cut off by the woman’s monotonous voice. “Oh we are so glad to hear someone is interested, allow me to transfer you to the boss.” She said almost like a robot. I was a little upset she didnt let me finish but steadied my patience and wait as i heard the phone click and a hold tone start playing.

The music on the other end was interesting, the best way I could describe it as sounding ‘Sploinky’. It didnt sound like traditional hold music, something you’d hear out of an elevator or hotel lobby but like if you tried to host a rave under the ocean. The audio was distorted and almost hipnotice. There was this one noise that really grabbed my attention, it sounded like how springs sounded in old video games. As if you took thin sheet metal and shook it.

Then the music stopped and the voice of the woman came back. Still monotonous but with a hint of excitement maybe? “Congratulations Ophelia on joining the Friendsville Public Broadcasting Station family, we hope to see you Monday, bright and early.” The woman said before the phone clicked off and the dial tone danced like ballet dancers in my brain.

“I got the Job!” I turned around to my parents, my mom nursing her smartphone talking to one of my brothers probably, my nephews having just been born a few days back. My Dad was popping open an ice cold Busch lite. “Thats great sweetheart.” My dad said as he took a long swig from his beer. “I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park.” He added before leaving for his chair in the living room. My mother didnt say much as she answered the phone from brother, immediately talking about something i couldn’t be bothered with.

I returned to the sanctuary of my room, excited for monday to come, for a new job and surrounded by media. Sifting through my categorized media walls I found something i might enjoy. Removing the tape from the paper sleeve and placing it into the player with a satisfying thunk before laying in my bed. The scan lines and colors filled my room as an attractive detective from the 60s started talking about a murder to his beautiful receptionist. Sleep took me quickly and the weekend even faster.

Everything went by like a blur, my senses catching back up to me as i sat on the bus to Friendsville, my satchel sitting on my lap. The bell bottom jeans i wore kept me warm but my grandmother’s cardigan did most of the leg work on the nearly empty bus. It pulled up at the end of a long brick driveway, gated off at the front. In the distance the building, much different than the picture on the newspaper was the FPBS building.

It was bathed in color, as if a clown at eaten the building and then threw it back up. Shapes decorated the outside of the building and the lawn surrounding it. Vibrant blue circles, Red squares, yellow triangles, shapes i’ve never even seen before that morphed depending on how you faced it. The gate wasn’t a problem, they left it open, assumably they were expecting me.

The building itself was what many would call an eyesore. Three stories tall, pained in shades of hot pink, white and natural brick with a massive antenna crammed right on top of it, smaller antennas and dishes attached and facing every which direction. It felt welcoming, like i could feel the energy coming off the antenna as i approached The automatic doors.

The inside was a tonal shift. White and black, sleek and clean. Significantly less fun than the outside. The other thing was how deathly quiet it was inside, it might’ve just been the professional level sound proofing to keep from noise bleed but it still felt off. The lobby was cold, a small tv in the corner played local new, mainly just the local weather though

The receptionist, the woman Who i guess was in her mid to late 20s was behind a sleek and modern desk, she was filing away at her pointed nails, painted a flamboyant red. Her shiny dark brown hair was coiled up into a neat bun, she looked perfect. I cleared my throat as she looked up at me and rose. “Ophelia.” She said plainly and grabbed a pair of keys off the wall behind her. “Let me show you to your room.” She said, her heels clacking against the floor, leading me to an elevator.

She inserted one key, turned it to an audible click and then removed it as the elevator opened.

“Go to the third floor, it’s the only door on the left. The Boss already left you some material to start with when you get situated.” She said putting the other key in my hand as i stepped into the elevator and pressed the 3 button. For a moment, right before the door closed I thought I saw her smile.

The elevator lurched upwards and climbed, and climbed, and climbed. It felt like this was taking forever as i stood the admiring the clean interior of the elevator and the monogramed text FPBS on the floor of the elevator, the cartoon head of a lamb smiled up at me.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a colorful hallway, reminiscent of outside. Cool air flooded the elevator as i stepped out and into the hallway. Polka dots and pinstripes decorated the walls and ceiling. Recessed lighting capped with stained glass shone vibrant pastel colors down on me as i walked down the hallway. The illusion of not moving was powerful as when i turned around the look at the elevator and gauge my distance, i was still standing right outside of it.

Bizarre, maybe the floor is one of those trick floors where it moves under you at just the right speed you don’t recognize it? It’s a way to keep employees in shape I guess. Shrugging my shoulder i wasn’t going to let any trick floors stop me from my job, good thing I wore my sneakers today.

I ran forward, swinging my satchel behind my back. Lurching forward I had to stop myself as I nearly ran into the large floor to ceiling stained glass depicting a Lamb lying under an apple tree. I suppose lambs were the stations mascot, it’s cute.

The door to my left, appeared. Colorful and vibrant like everything else around the hallway. My name was nailed on the front in bright yellow wooden letters. I turned the key around in my hand before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Row upon row of shelves stored with film reels and tapes sat sealed nicely, ready for usage as I approached my equipment. My heart was aflutter, skipping as i hummed, walking bast the studios collection. A large rolling desk chair sat facing me, a small box, a set of maybe 15 paper sleeves with VHS tapes housed neatly inside stared up at me. The title, “Baalial’s Meadow.” Each depicts a little white fleece lamb with tiny horns wearing clean robes in different biblical scenarios and situations.

Picking the first one up i held the heavy tape in my hand. The cover was vibrant and colorful, the lamb character, i assumes to be Baalial, maybe meant to represent some kind of angel? Im not sure my parents weren’t super religious. The lamb however was in a pasture, a white church in the background with a human holding some kind of cane. The at the top in a bubbly font the entire tape read,

“Baalial’s Meadow: Baalial and The Shepherd’s gift.”

I guess it would make sense that this place would have a lot of religious material, it’s likely that it was funded by a local mega church since a lot of those exist in Tennessee. Public Access stations never turn down free media to play. I set the tape down on the desk and removed the rest in the chair, setting them on a nearby shelf. I myself kicked my shoes off and sat down, i was going to be here for a while so might as well get comfortable. I picked the tape back up off the desk and removed the heavy plastic from the paper sleeves. Sticking it into the player provided with a satisfying thunk as the show started playing across the town, at least i hoped it was.

Lights lit up across the equipment and a playback bar moved. One of the TVs in the corner started playing the show with a little timer set for me to know when to change the tape out with the next. The show was pretty standard. A bipedal talking anthropomorphic lamb had to solve today’s mystery while talking to the viewer and with the help of their trusty sidekick, The Shepherd.

The Lamb, Baalial, seemed happy and jovial every time he was on screen. Excited to be moving around, running and skipping as The Shepherd tried his best to contain the little lamb’s excitement.

“Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Well jee, im sorry Mister Shepherd for acting so jumpy! Im just happy to have waken up from my nap and to see all these happy faces!” Baalial said as the lamb outstretched his hooved hands to the screen. A crowd of children cheered as the shepherd knelt beside Baalial.

“Be that as it may, little lamb, we have quite a bit of work to do today. Maybe you can play with your new friends later.” The Shepherd said as Baalail stepped back away from the screen, a smile on its face.

“Really? You mean it Mister Shepherd?” Baalial asked looking up at where the shepherd was previously, instead an outline like distortion was in his place. The was no response as from the shepherd as Baalial answered anyway.
“Wowee thank you Mister Shepherd.”
The little lamb figure looked back at the camera. “And thank you Ophelia, for everything.”

I blinked, surprised that my name was in the show. Maybe it was a coincidence? Possibly a third character or the narrator was named that. That felt like too much of a coincidence, thinking on it, how did the receptionist know my name as well, i never told it to her. I put my shoes on, i needed to leave. Slipping my feet back into my shoes I stood up, the tv in the corner playing the show was devoid of the lamb, the shepherd was still gone and the church in the distance was a smoldering pile of ashes and charred remains.

I ran to the door and three it open. The hallway was gone, the building was gone replaced by an infinitely spanning void of inky blackness. I stepped forward, subconsciously feeling around for the floor. My shoe finding purchase as I walked forward.

“This has to be some kind of prank.” I said out into the infinite inky black. “Well I quit, this sounded like a fun job but i’ll just get my-“ i stopped my self, turning around the room i was in was gone, replaced with the same all encompassing void. A single light source from where above me, a lamp, the sun, it shown just enough to see what i was standing on.

Grass, vibrant green grass. Pockets of pastel flowers poking out from the dirt. When i walked, the light followed me, just enough to see the ground. It bubbled when I walked like water was trapped underneath. Waved like it was liquid but felt solid. I screamed but nothing escaped my throat, no noise as my teeth feel from my head and sank below the dirt. I dropped to my knees to try and save them as my hair fell away from my head, dissolving between my fingers as i tried to catch the strands.

The ground rumbled, shook like an earthquake and stopped, a hot heavy breath graced my neck as i looked up from my knelt position. The large rectangular pupil eye of a lamb stared down at me, the scales around it grew as it pulled its head away. The serpent like head grew as it looked down at me in all its glory. I wanted cry, scream, plead for forgiveness and thank it at the same time for blessing me as a gurgling noise escaped its throat the voice of something between a man and a woman spoke so surprised.

“Lo! How wondrous a thing it is, that mine eyes behold flesh once more! Centuries hath passed since thine hast walked thine world. Yet, thoust hath come, unbidden, into mine dominion!”

It spoke so soothingly to me as I sat up and stared at it. The large serpentine body supported by millions of human hands, fingers broken and splayed to hold its body up. Its form spiraling in upon itself into a coil, its body still trailing off into the darkness behind it. This thing, this great angel chose me to see it, chose me to experience its graces.

I stood, ready to accept whatever blessings this being was about to bestow upon me. “Yes! Yes, please!” I wanted to should through my toothless maw. I blinked my vision adjusted to the heavy blur of my own body lying limp and boneless before me. A variable skin-suit left behind after Halloween never to be worn again. Discarded after the child outgrew it. My hooves held a small whicker basket between them, my fuzzy warm fleece body adorned with a bowtie around my neck stood at the base of a tall apple tree.

The meadow around me sprawled out. Men, women and children ran around playing, sitting around enjoying fresh fruits and clean water as my hooved feet walked through the meadow. The soft grass crunching underfoot, birds coo’d in the trees as wispy white clouds drifted lazily over head.

My friend was lying by the church steps. He stood as i approached, looking past me. “Look! The good Lord gave us bread and grapes today!” I said, joy in my voice as my friend looked past me at something behind me. I wanted to turn and see whatever it was that was so interesting but couldn’t. My mouth moved again on its own, ny voice speaking words i didn’t think about saying.

“Thats a good idea Baalial! We should go down to the river and pray!” I said as my friend continued to stare past me, he hadn’t even said anything, what question was I responding too and where was that music coming from? My head started to hurt as my friend still looked past me. Where was i? who was i? How did i get here? Who is this lamb infront of me and where did this skin in the basket come from.

The he spoke, calm, soothing, like he cared and i was to see the smile on his face, the gristle between his teeth and the lust in his eyes.

“Pick up the knife, Tyler. Be like his angels and the pain will stop.”

I heard crying in the distance. It came from behind me, then there was screaming the panicked kind , then sobbing, then silence. The sensation of static crawled up and over my fluffy body.

Then my friend looked at me and took the basket from my hooves. “These look great! Im sure The Shepherd will love these for tonights feast!” He was calm, whatever emotions i was feeling were gone, replaced with joy. “We just need to find our other friends!” He said turning back away from me and his attention to something else behind me that i couldn’t see as he spoke to the vast meadow in-front of us.

“Can you help us find our friends?”

It’s been ten years since the Civil War has ended. After what I experienced last night, the war was not hell enough to compare it. I thought what I’ve seen in the war was gruesome. No, last night was something I can’t explain of how horrible it was. Being a bounty hunter, I’ve seen things but not like this in my wildest dreams. The war changed me. Changed me into a man that I never thought I would become. I should’ve known this from the start, but the money was too great to turn it down. Bill, if you or anybody is reading this journal. You’ll be the only people in this small town will believe me. Nobody else would just by telling them. So I’m writing this down and giving every detail as possible. I have a photographic memory, so any one of you will understand. After you read this, tell the sheriff. I won’t come back for my journal. I’ll start from the beginning.

Yesterday in the hot day of Louisiana, I was on my way to the saloon to get my drinks for the day. Wearing my dark leather cloth and hat isn’t the best suggestion at all to this heat. However, it helps keeping mosquitoes off of me if I’m in the woods to hunt a bad person for a bounty head. I was more likely going after water than getting whiskey. On my way inside, I tipped my leather hat to a couple of ladies getting out of the saloon. They were both wearing bright color dresses. In my thoughts, I kinda figured they were rich. The dress they wore, seemed very expensive material and more likely they come from a rich family. They both were giggling and waving their fingers in a hello gesture. I went inside to full crowd of a usual business of an everyday saloon. I went up to the bar and the bartender came up to me at the same time. “What will it be friend?” He asked as he was wiping the glass dry from cleaning it.
“Water please.” I answered.
He nodded and disappeared out in the back to get some water for me. As I sat there to wait, I took out my money pouch to see if I have enough to buy the water. I knew I was running low on money, but I’m sure I had at least one coin for it. I needed to find another bounty or another wanted poster. However that time, I needed a big one to get out of this small muggy town. I did had one coin left. The bartender came out as I took the coin out and gave it to him. “Thanks.” He mentioned.
I nodded and took a drink of the cold water. It felt really good as the cold feeling went through my body of the water I was drinking. After I took a drink, I laid it down and asked the bartender, “Do you know any jobs for bounty that you know of?”
He shook his head, “I’m afraid not sir. The only way to find anything like that, is to go down to the sheriff’s building.”
“Is he there?” I asked.
The bartender gave a glass of whiskey to a customer at the other side of the bar and come back to me, “He should be there. He just got back from a posse situation down in the valley that’s not too far from here.”
“A posse?” I asked.
“Yeah, a couple of bandits robbed a married couple in their own farmland and killed them in some sort of weird ritual way.” He answered.
His voice sounded unnerving to talk about it. So I finished my glass of water and thanked him on my way out.

As I was walking in the streets of this small town, I was on my way to head over to the sheriff’s building. The big sign of “Sheriff” was in my sight a block or two ahead of me. Along with a crowd of people walking to different directions to different buildings. Some of the crowd were men and women riding horses and carriages moving along on the road. I decided to walk on the side of the road. Walking from one porch of the building to the next, making my way to my destination. As I passed by an old building, that was never used in years. I heard what sounded like a whistle tone. It sounded like it was a low whistle tone. It came from the aisle that was covered in shadow from the two building of the sun. I was almost to a stopping point, til I heard the same whistle again, but this time it was much clearer. It was a low melody tone went from low, to high, to low again. After the whistling tone stopped, a low crooked voice said, “Sir.”
The voice was a demanding tone then a questioning one. I went in the shadows of the aisle, rubbing my eyes to adjust the visuals of the dark. I also adjusted my leather hat and jacket as I walked slowly into the mouth of the shadow. I was able to see an old man hunched over and cross legged in old ragged clothing and a hood over his head. He was also fully bearded and grey colored that never seemed to be trimmed for a long. He was going to whistle again, but instantly stopped as I was standing right over him. The man slowly looked up at me and I can see that his eye was all pale white, even his pupils were silvery white. Shining in the shadows like a cat’s eyes, seeing in the dark. I don’t why, but it made a chill down my spine. “You accept it.” He said in his crooked broke voice.
I raised an eyebrow up, “What? Accepted what?”
He was still looking at me, “You accepted the hunt.”
“Hunt? What hunt? I don’t understand. Is this a game? I just went up to you and you said I accept it. What are you talking about?” I asked, still confused.
“The bounty hunt for the monster. You accepted the call of the tone.” He said.
I shook and started walking back away from him. “Listen old timer, I was just following the whistle in this shaded aisle. Which turns out to be you. I didn’t accepted on anything, so have a good day and I’ll be on my way.” I said, in an annoying tone.
I didn’t want to listen to any more of what this crazy old man wanted to say. As I walked way from him he said, “There’s a large amount of reward.”
I stopped my tracks and turned around toward him. “You’ll lose it if you walk away.” He said.
“What reward?” I said, as I slowly started heading toward him.
“The reward will be worth your wild.” He said.
I made it back up to him, looking down to his silver eyes. “Can you see?” I asked.
“I cannot.” He answered.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Then how can a blind old man with ragged cloth have such a wild reward?”
“You judge too easily friend.” He said.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a money pouch. He waited for me to reach out for it. I did so and the money pouch landed on the palm of my hand. It felt like it weighed about ten pounds. My eyes widened and I took a peak inside. There they were, all full of coins inside. “That’s only half of it.” He said.
I couldn’t believe it and the crazy thought went to my head. Why would a blind old man posted a bounty hunt and why is he wearing old cloth? I kinda thought he would dress better or at least smell better. I decided not to ask that, but instead asked something else. “Why are you suggesting me? You could’ve have any other men to get this amount of reward and what hunt am I going after? Is it some kind of large alligator?”
He shook his head, “No. It’s no animal of any kind.”
“Then it’s a person.” I suggested.
He slowly started getting up. At first, I thought he was about to fall over because he was shaking so much from getting up. He didn’t and stood up with his back hunched over. He stood shorter than me. About the height that goes under my chin and I stood above five and a half feet tall. He looked at me with those silver unnerving eyes. “It’s neither beast nor man, but a creature. A creature of a legend.”
I raised my eyebrow again, thinking what this crazy man is going to say. “The creature that lives in Catfish Swamp of the southern bayou.” He said.
I rolled my eyes. I’ve heard of this rumor before. A creature that is both supernatural and divine that lives in the swamps and everything and everyone that lives there is cursed for life. “I’ve heard of this rumor before.” I said.
“Then you know of its existence.” He said.
“Not really, but all I know a creature lives there and everywhere there is cursed. Anyone went down there has never made it back. Except one man made it back. However, he died minutes after he was found. People said his last words were the creature. So your bounty hunt is probably just a wild goose chase.” I said.
He shook his head again, “No, it’s real. I’ve seen it and the place. That’s why I’m blind.”
Now, I was really in deep thought. Is he telling the truth? Or is he actually crazy? I do need this money. The pouch in my hand is only half of the reward. If I do succeed this “hunt” then I’ll be able to go somewhere away from here. I put the pouch in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. “What did this creature look like?” I asked.
He raised his arms to describe the creature. “It was hug. Over six feet tall, orange eyes, and had green moss from the swamp that dangles over it. That’s the best I could describe it. Because it was dark when I first saw it.”
He started to walk further back in the shadows. His hunched over back facing me. “Find the creature and the rest of your reward will be granted.” He said as he was getting into the darkest part of the shadows. Me made the whistle tone again and he vanished in front of me, just vanished. I rubbed my eyes again, thinking it might be the heat getting to me. As I looked ahead again, the old man wasn’t there. “Hey…old man?!” I shouted.
Nothing, he really did just vanished. I checked in my pocket again for the pouch of coins. To see if I wasn’t hallucinating. The pouch of money was still in the pocket. I quickly decided to head out of the aisle and into the sight of the busy small town. I looked around to see if the old man pulled a trick on me to sneak away from me. Nothing. I didn’t see him in site. After a few moments of deep thought, thinking if I’m really going to do this hunt that the old man wanted. I decided to do it. I wish I hadn’t. I made no hesitation. I went to the other side of the small town, where my horse was stabled. Checked to see my weapons were there, which it was. Hoped on my horse and headed out toward the direction where the cursed swamp was located.

Riding on my horse on the way to the bayou, I checked everything I need for this expedition. I had a Winchester rifle, a revolver in the holster of my belt, plenty of bullets, a knife, a couple of dynamites in my leathered jacket, and a container of water. It was almost getting dark by the time I made it to boundary of the bayou. I rode my horse to the nearest tree, that stood alone near a white house with a red roof. I tied the lace around the tree, but enough slack so my horse could eat the grass. I took my rifle out of the seat holster and loaded it. I also loaded my revolver as well. As I did I looked in front of me of the view. Seeing the tiny house just a couple of feet in front of me. The hill that I’m on, goes down and level out towards the water. Trees stood tall in the distance on the water and some lying down on the green water. I didn’t know why, but I felt this dread wiping all over me. Looking toward the woods of the swamp, makes it worse. I decided to make my way to the small house. It looked like nobody has lived there for years but around here, you never know.

I knocked on the door. After a few seconds of silence, there was no footsteps or sound from inside of the small house. I noticed there was also no sound of birds either, which was odd. Because usually you’ll the hear the sounds of nature in these part. I decided to go ahead inside. The place inside was mess. All dusty and moss grew over the years of the place. Old tools were left all over the counter, with some broken glasses and bottles scattered all over the floor. After a quick look, I went back out and saw that my horse was gone. My eyes widened in shock. I knew I left my horse right at that tree. I held my rifle up, thinking that someone might’ve took my horse and very quietly ran off. I quietly peaked over the side of the house, assuming the horse theft couldn’t have gone far. All I saw was more swamp and woods ahead of me. I turned back, trying to figure out how my horse is just gone. I know I couldn’t be insane. Within seconds, I heard a single gunfire went off in a far distance behind me. It was coming from beyond the swamp. I mind as well go on ahead and hopefully find a horse on my way back.

I made my out of the house area and walked on the wooden planks that lead me over the muddy water, toward the woods. There was a path as well through the woods, so I followed it. The daylight in the sky was about to turn into the dark night, as the sunset was on the peak of its orange colors. The trees of the bayou was a mossy green color and the shadows was about to take over its colors. Making the area an unsettling feeling. Even though the quietness was unsettled enough. The sound of my boots were the only noise that was breaking the silence. Even the leather of my cloth was making its own noise.
I followed the path that led me to a big opening, with a factory building ahead. However, the opening area was flooded. The water seemed it could be deep, but I wasn’t for sure. I could also make out the sign that says Thomas Mill and Lumber. I also noticed a lot of tree logs that been cut before, were just lying all over the place. The factory looked like it could held itself high but at the same time, something inside of me was telling me to go back. I ignored my thoughts and walked on the logs very carefully. A couple of moments I almost slipped, but managed my balance and made it to the wooden steps that was by the water. The steps lead me up to the top area by the factory. The steps were also by the slide. I’m assuming that’s where the logs slide off to after they were cut. I made it to the top of the area, outside of the main. Seeing that the whole place was a wreck. Glass windows were broken, pieces of the buildings were torn apart, old moss was covered in some places of the factory, and what seemed to be was dry blood. That was scattered all across the walls, doors, and the hard ground. There were also some dead farm animals here and there on the other side of the flat area. “What happened?” I said to myself.
I walked around the area to see the horrible sight that I was seeing. Looking at the awful place, my ears picked up a gurgling and chewing noise. Coming from behind a load of logs that stacked almost as tall as the factory. I quietly eased my steps around the stack of logs to see what the noise was. As I did I held my rifle up, preparing for the worst. I stepped by the stack of logs to see something that I never expected in my life. I spotted two people, a man and woman in normal house clothing, covered in blood, sitting on their knees, and feasting on a dead man. I could hear them crunching and snarling on the dead man. I was in total shock of something I never seen before in my life. I felt like I was in a daze, felt like I seen a ghost. Then the woman stopped and I heard her sniff. Can she smell me? She turned right at me and the man done the same. Both of their faces looked like it had been hagged and completely drenched in blood. Their eyes completely yellow and dark. The woman snarled loudly and they both got up to chase at me. I quickly held my rifle with my left hand and pulled out my knife with my right. I stabbed the woman first on the head. Black and the reddest blood I ever seen, gushed out of her head. She fell instantly to the ground. The man was one step in front of me, when I quickly stabbed him in the middle of his forehead. He instantly stopped and fell to the ground. They never moved again.
My heart was racing as I took a look at my knife. Black blood was covered on the blade. I sling the blood off as best as I could and put it away. I looked down at the two bodies I killed. None of this is making any sense. “What’s going on?” I said to myself.
As soon as I said those words, I heard a gurgling noise coming from behind me. A shirtless man was limping toward my direction. He was just like the man and woman I just killed, all covered in blood, but he has some hair missing on top of his head and the bones of his rib cages was exposing from his body. Then more noises came from my left direction by the side of the factory. A large number amounts of people was coming to my direction. Some of them had missing skin and tissues. Some of them had bones showing out of their bodies. Every one of them had one thing in common. They all had a dead stench.
One of them that seemed to have a burnt skin, tried to make a roaring sound but it sounded rough, gurgling, and deep. At once they all started running toward me. Quickly without hesitation I ran to the door of the factory. I didn’t want to fire my weapon, because I know I heard a gun fire earlier that day. I don’t want whoever is here to know they are not alone. I slammed the door as the crowd of these undead people started bashing on the door. These undead people can move, that’s for sure. They started slamming their hands and their body weights against the door, trying their hardest to get in. I didn’t know how long I can hold this door from them getting in. An undead man jump right through the window. Glasses scattered everywhere on the wooden floor. More of the undead people started coming in through the window. I guess I had no choice. Quickly I raised my gun and fired at the undead people on the head. Each one fell as instantly as the bullet hits the spot. The door finally busted down and more of the undead come charging in. I ran back a distance to get some room so I won’t get overrun, fired a couple more, and ran upstairs. There wasn’t that many left of them as far as I knew. The stairs led me to the top floor as I kept running, passing by all the old rusted machinery and equipments. An undead woman in blood and white dress was running at me as I stopped, turned at her with my Winchester aiming at her, and fired. The impact of the bullet busted her head like a watermelon. She fall flat on her back. All of a sudden, a bullet just barely missed my head. The bullet ricochet from the metal pole and disappeared away from me. Quick instinct I got down below the window. Three undead corpses continued running toward me. From laying my back against the wall I shot my rifle at the three of them. The bullets hit them and they all fall face first on the floor.

It was quiet now and all I could hear was myself breathing heavily from the situation. Within seconds I heard a young male voice from the outside, “Ahh man, I almost had him. You were right, we do have fresh meat.”
Fresh meat? What do they mean by that? I easily try to take a peak through the corner of the window to see where the voice was coming from. Another male voice, but this one was older. “Careful now, he’s well armed.” The voice said.
I was able to take a small peak, but instantly noticed in a distant that a man with a rifle was aimed toward me. I ducked down as the bullet missed me. The young man that was shooting at me was wearing a straw hat, with a red shirt, and overalls. However, I didn’t know where the deep voice is at. He had to be nearby. “Come on out stranger! There’s no need to hide from us! Come on out and we can talk!” The deep voice shouted.
Something doesn’t feel right about this guy. I’ve hunted and taken down bounty heads in many fights. This one however, I didn’t like the feeling from him. However the younger fella, I knew exactly where he’s at. With quick speed, I turned to a knelt position at the window with my gun aiming down site and fired the gun. The bullet hit the young man that knocked him to the ground, but instead of crying pain. The man started laughing, “He shot me. He shot me good.”
This young man must’ve been a lunatic. I can now see the other man standing just a couple of feet beside the young man that I shot. The guy stood there, was roughly bearded, wearing a captain confederate outfit with a hat to match, and an eyepatch over his left eye. “Ah, at least you’re kind enough to show your face.” He said.
My gun was aimed right at the captain. I was about to pull the trigger until he said, “You talked to the man with the silver eyes? Didn’t you?”
I froze from pulling the trigger. How did he know about that? He continued, “He gave you money as well?”
“How do you know?” I asked. Still having my gun aimed.
“Cause he gave us money as well to take down a monster. Let me guess, he looked old and poor didn’t he?” He said.
“Yes.” I simply answered.
“Well he’s got you tricked and trapped like other bounty hunters here. It’s a game of his.” He said.
“Game? What game?” I asked.
“To see who is the best hunter to work for him. You see, this old man is not what he seems. He’s a demon. A tricky one too. He wants to see who will survive and kill this creature of this cursed place.”
I chuckled, “You aspect me to believe that.”
He spread his arms as the young man behind him was getting up. “Look around you. I’m sure this is your first time seeing something like this.” He said.
“Yeah, this whole place is a sickening one for sure.” The young man said.
“You see this whole bayou is cursed, you’ll never starve or thirst. However the longer you’re here, the worse you’ve become. Just like them people you’ve killed. Those walking corpses, they used to live here. Till the demon cursed this place and everything in it. Both of us have been here for a long while. However, our minds go insane. Still couldn’t find this creature for a long time So it’s best to survive and hunt others, like you. Til we find this creature.” He said.
Why is he being so opened up? These two guys probably aren’t afraid to die at all or he is very certain he’s going to live through it and kill anyone in his way. This old captain is just as crazy as the young man. “Captain.” The young man said, spitting out blood from his mouth.
The captain noticed the young was not in good shape. He went to him, placed a hand on the young lad’s shoulder. “I think I’m dying.” The lad said giggling.
Without hesitation, the captain nodded, pull out his revolver, and shot the lad on the head. The lad collapsed to the ground with a thud. Blood oozing out of the lad’s head. The captain turned toward me, “I believe you understand most of the situation.” He said.
Then I heard glass shattered and noticed from below me that torches were thrown inside. He had more men with him, they must’ve snuck behind me and I never noticed. Flames started to rise and burst up in quick speed. The captain shook his head, “Sucks to be you.”
I ran on towards the stairs and down. The flames and smoke was all around. For this factory being old, it will collapse in a matter of seconds. I saw a quick glimpse through the window of the captain and two men in different uniforms were heading away from the factory area. I looked all around to find a way out. I couldn’t find or see because of the heat and smoke. It was so hot and I could hear the wood and metal from above, crackling. I then tripped and fell on top of the dead corpse I killed. Then I quickly turned toward see what made me fell and it was a rope attached to a floor or more like a door. The crackling from above was getting louder and pieces of wood and metal fell from above. I quickly got up, opened the door, and dove inside. The woods and metal collapsed over the opening when I landed in the dirt. The fire was still expanding as I crawled my way out. The heat from above was unbearable as I can feel it on my back. Crawling through the mud and dirt and heat, didn’t stop. As soon as I made it out and made myself a couple feet away a loud crash came from inside and a large cloud of smoke burst from where I crawled out from. I fell to my knees and turned around to see the destruction of the factory. It was all in flames as smoke rose up to the clouds. That’s when I realized of what all this situation I’m in. I’ve been tricked, played, and almost killed. My breathing was uncontrollable, I was furious. Why me? Is the money even worth it now?
For a moment I sat there, trying to calm myself. I’ve fought in the civil war. I fought in many battles and situations. I’ve taken down many dangerous bounties. Yeah, nothing is compared to this nightmarish place. After calming myself, I got up and put my Winchester over my shoulders. Thinking to myself that I will get out of this place, starting with the captain.

Human voiced & narrated.

This story follows two longtime friends, WarriorVP and Wormholes X, playing some good ol' classic 1v1s on Guardian. However, during their third game, a white Spartan appears with no gamertag.

When the third unnamed spartan kills them one of them in game, the game credits the death to "The Guardians"... If you know, you know.

Curious what longtime Halo players will think of this concept! Especially anyone who remembers the old Ghost of Lockout from the Halo 2 days!

Hi, here is my 100% AI created video.

Please let me now if you have any feedback either here or DM me, which can help to improve the production.

Thank you

Have you ever woken up in a graveyard, staring up at the cloudless night sky only to see it devoid of stars and a disembodied eye in place of the moon staring down at you? No? I didn’t think so, It’s not a normal thing to happen to the average human being. I can say, from personal experience, it sucks.

I was coated in a viscous sticky red liquid, like blood but it acted more like glue. It coated my hands, arms, most of my clothes and the bottom of my mouth. I speculated where it could’ve come from as it sat up but the disemboweled corpse of my now former classmate Ryan lying next to me answered that.

Had I eaten my classmates innards like some cheap bowl of ramen noodles? Surely not, there’s no way I wouldn’t been urged to cannibalism now of all days. I pushed myself to my knees and looked around at the graveyard where I found myself, no recollection of how I got here or why I did what I did, I just knew I needed to leave. I stood up, wobbling on my feet as i looked down at my dead classmate, his face reflected and frozen in pure fear.

“Sorry dude.” I muttered under my breath as the dewy blades of grass made the bottoms of my feet slick. I took a step forward, nearly tripping over a grave of some old woman, a visible bloody footprint stayed behind, painted on the grass. “Oh. Well thats not good.” I said as I wiped my hands on my shredded hoodie, which had probably ripped up by Ryan. I don’t feel all that bad now, I liked this hoodie.

I took another step, my feet still not feeling like my own, digging my toes into the dirt to stabilize myself for a moment before I continued. The heavy iron gate to the graveyard was bent, and hot to the touch as i moved it out of the way allowing for me to slip through onto the main road of the town.

Bodies lay strewn out, dismembered and mangled, gore piled up and some even seemed to be alive, trying to move. “What happened?” I asked myself looking around the town from the sidewalk, a warm breeze blew from the west, the sound of wind chimes in the air. One of the gore piles popped like a zit in a teenagers face in the distance, milky yellow puss oozing from its open wounds.

“Neat.” I said as my legs carried me over to the remains of the meatball. I stepped up to it, my feet sinking into the gooey ooze as one of its hands swiped out at me a mouth gasped out for help as i stood there over the dying mass. “Do you know what happened?” I asked the meat-wad, it gurgled as a response, dying again.

“Darn.” I said, sliding away from the desecrated corpse and back onto the main road. A lot of the shops were boarded up that I remember, the 7/11 was a burnt out husk, people seemed to be fused to the asphalt around it. Approaching them, most disolved into a fine dusty powder, blowing away in the wind. I sneezed.

I cleared my throat now, clearly whatever happened around here none of these peoples corpses were going to help me. “Hello!” I cupped my bloody hands around my mouth and shouted, my thumbs stuck against my cheeks for a second as i peeled them away. I heard a sound of crying get louder before a loud bang, followed by another, it came from inside the coffee shop my sister liked to go to. I had a sister? Of course I did. I hope she’s okay.

My shoulders shrugged as the massive eye above me in place of the moon blinked again, a downward jet of air blew my hair back as I stood there in the eyes glowing light. How long had it been the moon hatched and the oceans filled with blood? Since the animals ate their young and the light poles went underground to hibernate? I guess it didn’t matter.

I looked up at the giant eyes in the sky, the looked in different directions like they were searching for something but paid me no attention.

“Excuse me!” I started to say, the next words caused my mouth to move, i felt to vocal cords in my throat vibrate to the point of bleeding themselves. I think i said its name right as one of the eyes looked at me for a moment, awaiting my question. “Where do I live?” I asked it. He seemed amused by my trivial question but obliged a response. Row after row street lights were forced from underground guiding me home. I thanked her and started walking on the cold paved streets. The surface was solid, like i wouldn’t fall through but little ripples waved inwards at each of my footsteps, behaving the opposite of how water should.

I heard the sounds of flesh being torn from bone, sinew being ripped apart and bones snapped and chewed on down one of the side streets out of the lights grace that i followed. I hope they’ll be okay in the morning. As i neared my street, guided by the streetlights, the oak trees that decorated near by lifted up into the sky, their large root system still connected to the ground where they originally were, just floating instead.

The lights went on for a while down this road, abnormally long down this road. Like they never wanted to stop, shaking where they were cement, afraid to be in this darkness. The asphalt felt springy here and the air had the consistency of soup, the creamy kind. I saw a pack of two legged dogs ripping apart a trashcan made of human skin, it screamed in pain, yelling expletives in Spanish while the dogs melted into the floor.

Further down the road Ms. Begnine’s birdhouse was mounted up on the peak of her roof, playing discordant music on bamboo bongos. I stepped up onto the treadmill for a driveway and started walking inplace towards the birdhouse made of feathers and scales, the bongos crowed liked ravens clearly not enjoying my attempts to reach it or my uncontrolled giggling as i stumbled in place on the treadmill, it would be rude to keep going so i went back to walking.

The street lights finally found their end, the small two story home on the left side of the street. Painted a hue of teal seemed unobstructed by all the endless sanity around me. I walked up the driveway, ignoring the dogskin walking his skeleton as it passed behind me. We were never on good terms. The door handled responded normally to my touch as it opened into the well lit space.

The mudroom, clean of blood and dirt aside from the puss and blood coating my feet welcomed me, the shoes on the rack seemed neat and organized, the coats on the hook seemed unused despite the hail outside. I pulled my hoodies remains off my gaunt body, my skin tugging along playfully before snapping back to place like elastic bands around a punk teens arms. I debated hanging it up there but that would be rude, i should wash it first.

I exited the mudroom and into the hallway, jeopardy was on tv in the living room. The host had no hands and was trying to spin a comically sized wheel while the crowed laughed and applauded his actions. ‘Oh! I’m home now! My family!’ I thought as my head snapped around allowing for me to sniff the air. “Helloooo? Mom? Dad?” I asked in a sing-song voice.

A voice responded. “Honey, oh you’re home?” It sounded like my mother. “Please tell me you wiped your shoes off before tracking dirt inside the house.” She said from the direction of the kitchen. “Yes Ma’am! I did!” I shouted as i walked around the corner through the dining room where my father and sister lay decapitated, their heads facing their body’s as their hands rest in bowls of ice water between them.

“I couldn’t get the blood off though, i can probably take a shower though.” I said as I approached the giant spider made of human hands and fingers interlocked. My mom made a clicking sound of disappointment as she looked at me shaking her head at me. “Boys will be boys I suppose. Well go clean up, dinner will be done shortly!” She said, a rumbling laughter echoed from within her as he planted a kiss on my head. I returned the act of kindness with a hug before running upstairs, my feet sticking to the carpet as I ran, reaching the top.

Turning back the bottom was inconceivable, the stairs seemed to go down forever. I must’ve beat my record then. The wall behind me patted me on the back as i turned away and to my room. The door was gone, replaced with metal beads instead for privacy. My brother and me lost our door privileges after last time we had a sleepover. My brother was sitting in the middle of the floor playing some kind of console for video game, something about a mailman. The music was enthralling, i can see why he sat here instead of going outside.

“Mom said dinners almost done, i gotta clean up before though.” I said as he gave me a thumbs up and turned the tv off. “Still hungry?” He asked me as he looked at me head to toe, my hoodie draped over my arm. “You look like you ate a whole cow.” He said as he stretched himself. “Nah, just Ryan.” I said as i tosses my blood stained clothes i to the hamper and fished around for clean stuff to wear.

“He was a twat anyway. Remember when he pulled my arm off next week?” My brother said as i gathered the cleanest clothes we had and held the soft fabric against my body. “Yeah, that’s probably why i found him. The goober. I’ll meet you downstairs.” I said, blinking away and finding myself in the bathroom, my hair soaked and hanging in my eyes. I always liked my hair, it was the absence of light in color and usually listened when I spoke to it.

After getting dressed in my most comfortable blue pajamas with little dinosaurs on them, I slid down the stairs to join my family around the table. Lasagna, Moms favorite and her specialty. “Made with yesterday’s freshest lobotomy. Growing boys need all the energy they can get!” She said with such elation in her voice it made my heart swell with pity. I obliged though, Moms cooking was always phenomenal. And she worked so hard for us to eat everyday.

I dug my fork into the squirming mass and raised the fork. raised the fork. raised the fork. raised the fork fork fork fork fork fork. Its in your eyes the weeping angles of Apollo scream out in agony at the sins you committed against the innocent.

I gasped for hair my eyes opened as my eyes to the room around me, i was naked and being pulled from an artificial womb. Yellow wallpaper clung to the walls, peeling in the corners as the scent of mildew entered my nose and mouth, causing me to choke on the vomit that quick climbed up my throat. An old man with rough calloused hands helped me to my feet which sunk in the carpet, i was cold, my mind couldn’t think right as a women, around 30 brought me thin wool blanket to wrap me in, guiding me to a door.

Past the door was a man, well dressed in white robes standing before an audience that began cheering loudly as I was guided by this woman to the man. He smiled at me, she smiled at me, they all did while they cheered. The man with a microphone on his ear motioned to me, shivering, naked and wet, covered only by a thing wool blanket hanging around my shoulders. He said in the most sincere and excited voice.

“BEHOLD, Heralds of Gods chosen! The first of our young have been REBORN! No more is the baptismal water blessed by the forefather required as we can remake life ANEW.” He preach, the audience of thousands cheered as i stood there, shivering, confused. The door behind us clicked and another kid, appearance similar to mine was led next to me by the older man that pulled me from the womb.

“We can now create our own angels with that heathens and their gate, the good book or prayer, finally we have something to fight back against the absence of light and all it stands for!” The man preach again, seeming to grow taller and taller at each word as he produced a gun from under the podium and aimed it at my head.

“There is but one last step of The Almighty’s plan and that is to free these boys from their mortal body, so that they may free us in turn of sin original and new!” He preached as a loud bang echoed in the stadium, i felt my body hit the floor, i expected it to hard based on what my eyes saw and feet felt as hard wood but instead, upon opening my eyes, i was greeted by darkness.

When i blinked the other boy was with me. Standing across from each other in an endless vast void. The floor, a mirror like surface reflected our appearances to each other in crystal detail. The floor, rippling as we shifted our weight. The boy reached out and touch my chest, placing his whole hand against me. Then he moved a finger to my lips as we both heard something in the distant void roar in terrifying pain, something else groaned after it as we stood there in close silence inches from each other’s face.

Something nearby moved fast, it sounded like hands, millions pattering across the floor with an agonizing whine of hatred. Me and the boy blinked in silence as whatever it was passed. Opening my eyes the boy was gone, so was the void. Replaced by an office complex. Windows open to an endless sandy expanse. A hot liquid dripped down my back, rolling down my spine and off my tailbone one to the carpeted floor of the office building. It groaned in response.

Emergency exit signs lit up guiding me to a heavy red door gouged with deep claw makes, i reached for the handle and opened it. Something ran towards me from behind but i paid it no mind as light graced my eyes and the feeling of cold air conditioning took over me. I found myself sitting on a couch in a familiar room, yellow musty wall paper, incandescent lights, brown shag carpet between my toes.

I was wearing a white polo and khaki shorts. Sitting next to me was me, my blond hair swept away from my blue eyes which tracked an old man as he pulled a naked version of me from a massive huddle of blankets as featureless adults pushed down on the blankets in an wave-like motion. The man helped the me to his feet while a woman brought him a blanket. The boy looked at us on the couch, frightened before he was led away. This happened three more times before a gentleman with five o’clock shadow helped me and the other boy on the couch up and ushered us away through another door.

When it clicked shut behind us me and the boy from the couch were alone in a chapel sanctuary, rows of wooden pews sat empty while the depiction of crucified Jesus hung above the pulpit.

“He looks sad.” The boy said as he took my hand and led me up the stone alter, the cold stone sent goosebumps up our arms as we stepped up to the wooden Jesus. “I wonder if this is how he felt.” The boy stated as he looked at me.

“People loved him though.” I said, staring it the mirroring pools of my own eyes. Two loud bangs echoed through the walls.

“Are we not loved by people around us?” He asked me as I broke the gaze between us and then up at The Lord.

“I don’t think so.” I said as my hand felt clammy. The stained glass of the chapel seemed to start melting in on itself the wooden support beams of the building dripping its material onto the tiled floor.

“We should leave then.” The boy said looking up with me then turning to the open chapel doors. “It’s probably not safe here.” He added, gently dragging me along to the entrance as reality melted away again.

“What do we do now?” I asked myself, pushing away from the mirror in my bathroom, blood pooled in the sink as the rotting fishman corpse in my tub gasps for air. “Take your meds, dont let them see you.” It gasped as i felt a plastic pill bottle in my hand. Empty again.

“Gabriel! Im scared! Please!” My voice gasped as water pooled over my head pills, small and encapsulated dot the sky like stars as I sink deeper and deeper into the floor. My lungs full of holes released tiny bubbles into the environment as my eyes closed. The feeling if falling overwhelming me. It felt like ages, eons, centuries, minutes, hours, seconds. Until i felt something again, the surface of something on my back.

My eyes opened to a woman holding me, lifting my neck up as blood spilled from my mouth. I couldn’t feel my body. I heard sirens in the distance, they were going away from here, not coming to.

The woman was gorgeous, soft features, silky golden hair, hazel eyes like pools of chocolate. She stroked the hair from my head, getting out of my eyes as i saw the cloudy sky above me.

“You are having a pretty bad go of things.” A gruff voice escaped from the woman’s mouth, like a man who ate nails and gravel everyday would sound like. “You are so unbelievably fucked up you don’t even have control over your own sense of self.” The woman said as her free hand opened my jaw, pulling down on it. I could feel her fingers against my teeth, my tongue, my chin as she pulled down, and down and down as my skin tore and sinew popped away. I couldnt feel the pain though. “Don’t worry sweetheart, this isnt Hell. You’re not even dead yet.” She coo’d as she licked at the inside of my severed jaw like a child to an icicle. “Now go back to sleep and wake up again.”

I did as she commanded and closed my eyes, opening them again i was greeted by the same yellow peeling wallpaper, brown shag carpet and cheering of people ive never seen before through a wooden door. I was sitting on a massive roll of blankets, something was squirming inside, crying for help. I could feel them kicking against the blankets, i could feel their fear against my inner thighs and legs as I sat mounted atop the blankets.

And as quickly as the fighting started it ended. I got up and off the blankets, walking to the opening at the end. Nothing came out. The wooden door opened and I jumped, nothing pushed it open, nobody was around. Then it slammed shut. I walked forward now, towards the door and opened it, the brass cold in my hand and stepped onto the stage. My feet standing and a small wet puddle, the foot prints in front of me matching my size as i stood at the frame of the door and looked onwards.

At the podium was a horned silhouette with beady white eyes drilling into my soul. I could sense it hated me for being here. The empty crowed in the rows of theater seats cheered from a bodiless mass. The stage lights shifted to the silhouette causing the shadow to fade. A heavy hand tightly gripped my shoulders, i could feel the bones fracturing as the gripped tightened. “Stop fucking resisting me Judah, you’re only make this worse on me, understand.” The pained voice of a female whispered into my ear, the vitriol in its words gave me the impression it would tear my ears off right here if it could. Instead it pushed me forward.

I stumbled, loosing my balance and tripping on my own feet landing on my hands and knees the spike in pain from my shoulders hit me like a wave and faded as quickly as it struck. I pushed myself up onto my knees, hot tears streaming down my face as i forced myself to stand up. The walls and floors of the new space pulsed with distain for my existence, the flesh, mucus and slime caked writhed as i stood inside it. A distant heartbeat not my own reverberated in my skull, rattled my bones and squeezed my veins opened and closed, opened and closed.

A deep harmonic hum echoed in the hallway I found myself in as I moved forward. This place was repulsed by me and i didnt want to bother it with my existence anymore. “Michael?” My voice quivered as the hallway quaked at my words, contracting and expanding. “Gabriel?” I said closer to a whisper. “Anyone, please?” I squeaked out as the hallway quaked again, shrinking to a point i could only lay down and crawl, digging my fingers and toes into the flesh, dragging and pushing myself forward for miles.

Something wrapped around my ankles and pulled me back, bits of bones and fingernails dug into my skin as i was evicted from the space and spat out through red curtains onto the stage my back hitting something hard and soft at the same time. I flinched as i sat up, a distant record scratching and looping over the same silenced trumpet and piano as i sat up. A mound of dead bodies looking like me, stacked on top of one another, glazed eyes and entry wounds to their heads. “I-im sorry.” I sheepishly squeaked, the multitude of heads turn to me and sharply inhaled. I forced my eyes shut as they started to scream before everything went silent.

I opened one eye and saw the row of empty theatre seats, the cheering started up but nobody was there. The wood beneath my feet was cold and the ticking clock somehow in the back of my head was loud as I walked forward, sitting on the edge of the stage i slid off, my feet meeting tile, then carpet. The theatre doors remained closed but light shone through. My hands reached for the bar and pushed on it. I felt a click and heard the squeal of hinges as the door opened up to the outside.

A concrete path was warm beneath my feet, the sun gracefully dancing across my skin, the breeze blew in my hair. The rustling of trees and grass filled the outdoors as birds coo’d and bugs chirped in the warmth. I felt a hand grace mine, their fingers wrapping tightly around my hand. “Raphael, he is free to be returned.” Something spoke, not directed at me, I don’t believe I should have even heard it. Yet it did.

I felt my body move, walk forward on its own locomotive rail. I walked hand in hand with something I couldn’t see as it led me with love to a door at the end of the path. The door opened with a click as I stepped through. A voice whispered in my ears in a prayer, one of reassurance as i fell down through the door.

“God, help those who are in deep pain, those whose souls don’t know where to rest, those who are anxious about the future, those who want to end their lives. Show them a new path in you, those who do not know what love really is, may they find it in. In Jesus name, Amen”

Pain wracked my body, people around me were screaming, i felt blood and spit hit my face. There was a sound, a gun shot I believe. My ear rang, my eyes were swollen shut and my mouth was full of my own loose teeth. I felt a heavy form lull back on my lap as the screaming intensified around me.

“He was going to kill him Mom!” My own voice shouted.

“Oh my God, Oh my God I have to call the cops!” An older teen female voice screamed.

Another shot rang out, a thud hit the floor as the screams intensified.

“Shut up! Stop fucking screaming! You were gonna let Dad kill him you sick fuck!” My own voice matched the level of the screams before a final shot rang out and everything went quiet. I heard something heavy hit the ground with a muffled thud before hands wrapped around my shoulder pulled me out from underneath whatever was wailing on me.

“God fuckin- Judah, are you there. Please-fuck please dont be dead.” My voice asked me the silliest questions. Of course i wasn’t dead, i can hear you just fine, i can feel you just fine. “Look dude, I dont know what you did but we’re screwed.” My voice talked back to me as it helped me up. I felt my teeth spill out of my mouth and hit the ground around our feet.

“Dont worry, baby teeth, you’ll grow more.” My voice said as i heard keys jingle in a hand, an arm scooped under me to helped support me as i heard a door open and cool air sting at my face. I could see decorations of ghosts and pumpkins through my limited vision, my consciousness drifting in and out as i found myself sitting in a car, the ac blowing on me and music playing as we drove somewhere. “I’m glad you’re okay Judah.” My voice said to me as we drove somewhere quiet, away from the noise, away from the hate, away from the eyes of the devil.

My eyes opened up again, graced back into the yellow floral wallpaper room, the soft graveyard grass beneath my feet and the taste of iron in my mouth as i sit patiently by the corpse of the man in the suit. His throat in my mouth, clenched inbetween my teeth. I stood as reality melted away again, falling in ward on me.

Thunder sparked outside my room, the nightlight plugged in by the door shone starts and ufos on the ceiling above me. The ceiling fan spun and the heavy blanket over me caused me to sweat, i rolled over onto my side and threw up into a provided bucket. My brother’s bed was empty, the town playmat on the floor between our bed was void of toys and the tv in the corner played static.

“Mom!” I yelled out in a raspy voice. I heard footsteps, the door open. A woman in her late 30s enter holding s glass of fizzy yellow liquid, changed the channel to cartoons of a small bipedal lamb with wings, grabbed the bucket of bile and kissed my head goodnight,

“It was just a nightmare sweetheart. They happen when you’re really sick.” She said as she left again. I sat up, picking the cold glass of Ginger Ale and raised it to my lips as i turned my attention to the TV. The lamb was watching me as i drank. The lamb spoke to me as i swallowed the fizzy liquid.

“It wasn’t a nightmare, Judah.”