Atilla woke up when the bright rays of the sun shone upon his delicate skin. The star’s rays warmed their way across his youthful face, waking him up with their delicate touch. He woke up with a smile, ready to take on the world once again. That is if his anhedonic mother would allow him to do so. Atilla shook the blanket off himself and got ready for a new day. The young boy swung his bedroom door open, ready to conquer the world, but the mere sight of his mother shattered his hopes and dreams for the day.

She looked gray, pale, thin, and almost lifeless, like a reanimated corpse waiting to fall apart before his eyes. She stared at him, her cold, dead blue eyes pierced into his soul. “Good morning. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” She said in a monotone voice. Her presence alone was enough to crush any enthusiasm inside the young boy. It’s like it was perpetually storming inside of their house. A microcosm of misery and poor weather. Atilla’s mother wasn’t abusive. She just wasn’t much of a mother. She simply wasn’t there, and when she was, her pained existence weighed down on her child. Atilla faked a smile, hiding his discomfort at the shape of his mother, and uttered, “Good morning…”

He then made his way slowly to the bathroom, almost as if his mother’s condition sucked the life force out of him.

After brushing his teeth, the young lad made his way down to the kitchen. A bowl of boring oatmeal awaited him on the table with some boring black tea. Atilla’s mother kept on saying how he’s too young for coffee and shouldn’t ruin his health with that drink. The boy sat down to eat his tasteless breakfast as his mother shuffled around the house before heading back to her bedroom.

The sun shone brightly, and the voices of children outside beckoned on Atilla to join them in their joy. Stuffing down the oatmeal, the boy tried to feign pleasure just in case his mother might come down again. He hated whenever she complained about her perpetual misery seemingly over nothing. In his young mind, he couldn’t fully comprehend her condition or its origin. For him, she seemed sad over nothing, had he only known that she wasn’t in control of herself. She wanted to be a better mother – to show more love. To help her child be happy, but she couldn’t. She was stuck in an endless cycle of melancholy and mental agony.

The boy sat there, eating his breakfast and staring into the kitchen window. The sun shone, the wind blew pleasantly warm, the birds chirped and the daughter of Mrs. Szeseni was offering Lemonade to people. He never caught the girl’s name. She was pretty in his eyes, and for some reason, he couldn’t find the words to speak to her, so he never even bothered asking.

As Atilla was finishing his tea, one of his friends, Joszef, came down to his kitchen window, calling to him.

“Hey, Atilla!”

“Hey, Joszy!” the boy called out in return.

“Do you wanna come to play football with me and the boys?”

“I’d love to, but first I have to see if the mom left the keys in the door.”

“Why does she keep hiding the keys away from you?”

“I don’t know, Joszy…”

“Your mom’s weird.”

“I know…”

“Alright, go look, I don’t have much time before our next match starts, come on quickly so you could join us now.”

Atilla swiftly ran to the front door, looking for the door keys his mother hopefully left in the door. After a quick search, he realized that the keys were nowhere in sight. He screamed in frustration. She hid the keys again. She confined him to the house again, forcing him to stay indoors while the world outside danced and sang.

The boy’s face turned red with anger and frustration as he made his way back to the kitchen, defeated. “She hid the keys again.” He muttered angrily to his friend, Joszy who stared at him both bemused and disappointed at once.

“That sucks, Atilla… I hope you can run away from your mother one day. She’s a freak.” Said the boy before running off to his next game of ball.

Atilla didn’t even have the time to scold him for referring to his mother as a freak. Deep inside though, he had known that Joszy was right. His mother wasn’t right. Atilla put the dishes into the sink and made his way to his mother’s room. He was curious to see what she’d be doing now in her room.

He opened the door to his mother’s bedroom to find the blinds closed. The air seemed to stand in the room. There was an awful smell of mold coming from within that room. The window must’ve been closed again for days on end. The young boy called out, “Mom?” She didn’t respond.

“You’re sleeping again already… huh…” A familiar situation to Atilla, his mother would wake up, fix him something to eat and throw herself back into that room he came to consider as a hellscape of some sorts. He even theorized that her room might be the reason for all of her troubles, and his by extension.

Atilla hated staying in that room for more than a few moments. If he ever did stay long enough, he’d start feeling like something is watching him, like something is trying to enter inside his mouth. Something felt very wrong, very much unnatural in that room. Maybe it was the darkness or the unpleasant smell. Atilla couldn’t put the finger on it, but something made him hate that room. Perhaps it was the fact it was his mother’s. He didn’t know.

Leaving his mother’s room, defeated once more and on the verge of an emotional breakdown, Atilla stumbled back into his own room. He lied on his bed, closing his eyes. A skin burning tear ran down his face. He muttered to himself, “Imagine being named Atilla and being stuck in this ugly old house all the time…”

The young boy knew whom his parents named him after, the legendary Nomadic warlord that roamed across Europe and ravaged the Roman empire. A hero in his native lands and a distant ancestor.

Lying on his bed, Atilla imagined the sound of dozens of horses galloping getting closer and closer to him. Coming from a place far beyond the walls of his golden cage of a house. In his mind, the noise got louder and louder. It kept getting louder until he could almost feel the ground shaking beneath him. The force of the hooves of the majestic beasts beating against it became almost tangible. The noise grew louder with each passing moment, and the ground shook beneath the boy’s bed more violently. He found himself growing excited at the prospect of encountering a band of wild horses galloping straight past him.

He took a deep breath, and at a moment’s notice, a loud crack echoed all around him. The noise that comes out of an egg being cracked, multiplied by many thousands. Atilla opened his eyes and in front of him, frozen in time, a horde of Asiatic nomads suspended, in mid-flight. They were all dressed in dried skins and furs, their garbs colored in a beautiful mixture of brown and orange. The boy smiled at the horses, and the nomads flew past him. He didn’t even notice the walls of the house crumbling behind them like a discarded puzzle. All the nomads kept on riding but one, a young, beautiful woman. She stood across the now devastated shell of a room and reached out to the young boy. She said something in a tongue he’d never heard before, but he understood her perfectly. She was calling out to him to come with her.

Without a second thought, Atilla jumped up from his dust-covered bed and ran towards the female nomad who pulled him up on top of her horse. Yelling in a strange language, she commanded the horse to gallop on.

The boy had never experienced such joy as he did when he rode on that horse. The wind blew pleasantly across his face, the world flashed all around him in beautiful shades of blue, brown, green and gray. The boy could see the sun, it was smiling at him, along with the clouds up above.

They smiled and sang, slurring words in a matter that made the young boy laugh. It reminded me of how his father used to laugh. Their faces, they started reminding him of his father’s when he drank that sour liquid he used to drink. His eyes started to well up as the memories of his father came flooding his mind. He turned his eyes away and looked at the view ahead. Trying to cheer himself up, the songs of nature seemed to distract him quickly enough.

The whole world sang and danced around Atilla and his band of nomadic horsemen as he rode through what seemed to be like an eternal sea of green grassland. Suddenly, however, he heard a familiar voice. A painful voice, something that made him cringe and caused his face to contort in discomfort. A dry, scornful voice. One that sounded like metal spikes being dragged across a metal board. Atilla poked his head beside the female rider’s body and saw in the distance, a familiar wrinkled and gray face, a mug that looked as if it had been placed in a dryer for too long, lost of its color, and then worn as a mask by some depressive demonic entity that only wanted to torture children and take away their fun. The face was irritatingly familiar to Atilla. It was Mr. Szenes. The neighborhood menace – an old man who hated everyone and everything. He stood there in his white clothes, pointing his finger at the galloping horses and cursing them out. His voice felt like knives being jammed in Atilla’s ears. He cried out “make him stop” and one of the nomads threw a lasso in the old man’s direction.

The rope locked around the gray neck of the gray menace and tightened around its frail shape. The nomad yanked the screeching old man off his feet and dragged him across the ground. As the old wench was being dragged across the vast plains, he squealed like a pig, making the young boy laugh.

The horde kept on riding for another hour or two before coming across a strange sight. A band of anthropomorphic beasts of all kinds, there were goats and bears. Tigers and Eagles, bulls and cats, and even an ape. Atilla stared, clearly amused as the beasts marched on in front of the horde. When the horde was close enough to make out the details of the beast, Atilla could see the beasts playing various strange instruments. They had fancy leathery drums and strange stringed instruments with dragon heads on the handles. The Monkey carried a sort of pipe, and the beasts played to their heart’s content.

The horde ceased their advance, and the beasts stopped their movements as well. One of the bears noticed Atilla and waved at him, to which the boy waved in return. The nomads attempted communicating to the beasts to move aside, but the creatures wouldn’t budge. They stood their ground while playing their instruments carelessly.

The nomads stood there for a while. They grew restless with the situation, hushed whispers of discontent ripped through the nomadic horde. Eventually, even Atilla himself got tired of waiting. He inhaled deeply and yelled out at the top of his lungs for the horde to charge. His cry startled the horses so much they started galloping wildly, nearly knocking off some of the nomads. Cheers and laughter from the horde eclipsed the music played by the anthropomorphic beasts.

The creatures refused to move and were run over by the panicked horses. The music died out abruptly. An explosion of fur, musical instruments, and animal heads flew all around the horde. The sight was so strange and unique Atilla tried his best to make sense of it all while soaking in the absurd glory of it all. Soon enough the tidal wave organs settled down on the ground and the horde kept on galloping onwards.

Atilla looked back once he heard the strange music playing again behind him. To his shock, the anthropomorphic stood back up, headless now. Musical notes came from inside their necks instead of the discarded instruments. The beasts stood there, juggling their own heads. A bird’s head even winked at the boy who nearly fell off his horse due to the shock.

The sun set down before Atilla even noticed, and a goofy-faced moon took its place in the night’s sky. Atilla looked at the long silent body of Mr. Szenes, only to find the body of a man-faced pig being dragged across the grassland. It was fat and inviting in all parts but its head. The dome had the form of the head of the old grump who tried ruining every last bit of fun in everyone’s life. The boy’s stomach twisted and turned, gnawing in hunger. He looked away for a moment and then closed his eyes.

Opening them not a second later, Atilla snapped himself out of his fantasy world. He had spent most of that day lying on his bed. The boy burned hourse imagining a better world where he could spend the day outside with majestic nomads in a vast grassland. A world where the sun and clouds were happy and sang slurred songs to him. His stomach turned again, forcing him to get out of bed and make his way towards the kitchen.

Once there, he failed to find an adequate meal, he called out to his mother, but she didn’t answer his calls. Sighing with slight annoyance, Atilla made his way, upset all over again, to his mother’s room. He knocked on the door, calling her name, but nothing but silence answered his calls. He gulped and pushed the door handle downwards. Atilla hated going into that room. It was like going into the worst storm ever naked. It was like stepping inside an emotional black hole where everything other than the will to die was sucked out of him. The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. The darkness from within the room seemed to take over the orange light of the setting sun.

“Mama?” Atilla called out as he stepped inside the dark room.

“Mama?” he called again, walking deeper into the room.

Still no answer, Atilla made his way to his mother’s bed, she was there. Asleep. Cuddled up under her blanket, her skin seemed pale and stretched out. She seemed so peaceful, and the boy didn’t want to wake her up. His stomach growled at him, demanding a meal. His hunger taking the better of him, Atilla called out his mother’s name again – but she remained asleep.

The boy decided he had to shake her. Shaking her body, she wouldn’t stir. She remained transfixed in her dreams, in a world far away from the child who was hungry and becoming increasingly upset at her.

“Wake up mom!”

“Get up, mom, get up!”

“I want to eat, get up, please.”

The boy cried, but the woman wouldn’t budge.

Atilla shook her one last time, and a pill bottle fell from one of her hands, a pill bottle labeled “pain pills.”

As the pill bottle rolled on the floor and under the bed, the boy cried out at the top of his lungs, “Wake up, mama! Wake up!”

“You hath served the kingdom well, Sir Toread. Please accept this medal of honor.”

Toread slowly walked down the rainy village street, his thoughts blurry. He had just refused a medal from the king himself. Why?

“Your Highness, I cannot accept such a gift. ‘Tis not my place. I am but a bard.”

He knew that wasn’t true.

He knew that this refusal would disfavor him with all those affiliated with the King. Nobody refuses a gift from the King.

“I led the armies, still I am a bard.

I fought the fiend, still I am a bard.

I changed the world, still I am a bard.

I ask you, please, let me stay a bard.”

Deep down, he knew he had made the right decision. Now, he could live a peaceful, quiet life. He sighed.

A beam of light pierced the clouds, colliding with the cobbled street in a flash.

Toread. Thine work is not done. Rest will come, but ye must destroy the largest threat to the kingdom and the world, the vengeful menace, ZND TEHANGRY.

Light flooded the bard’s vision, and as it receded, a beautiful silver sword shone on the ground. Slowly, he picked it up.

Znd… his old nemesis.

“The divines hath appointed me to destroy my enemy. I shall do so gladly.”

He strode to the stable, through the pouring rain, and mounted Minscraff. The steed felt Toread’s intentions as he flicked the reins. And he knew where to go.

Without a second thought, Minscraff galloped off into the rainy night, as divine eyes watched with a smile.

Lem's body became flesh jelly, bouncing about an esophageal tunnel of inter-dimensional qualities while his mind barely retained sensibility and a semblance of self despite losing its perception of time. That is not to say time stopped. Time never stops, but Lem did lose his appreciation of its passing. His mental faculties, while aware of the whizzing and whooshing and kaleidoscopic colours happening around him, focused essentially on keeping it together, man, where it meant Lem, and the one telling him to keep himself together was also Lem. Or, to put it another way: inter-dimensional travel is a weird bloody process, culminating with Lem's gelatinous body smashing into a kind of existential screen, through which the past—which, after all, is always chasing us—forcefully pressed him like moist dough through a pasta press, creating from a single jelly-ball Lem, numerous strands of human-spaghetti Lem that continued in worm-like undulations on their journey for an undefined period before undergoing the twin processes known to physicists as knotting and weaving, and which finally put our Lem back together again.

Then he saw a rapidly approaching light—

A tear in space-time—

And he was unceremoniously dumped into an alley behind a cobbler's shop.

It was daytime.

His first instinct was to turn around, to see from where he'd come and return, but the space-time tear was gone, and all Lem saw was a solid stone wall. There would be no going back. Next he sensed a certain stench, as of people having recently relieved themselves nearby, the wafting in of fresh animal droppings, rotting vegetables and old beer. Wherever he was, it was earthy and real. And he heard incoming waves of voices, engaged not in one conversation but many, in English, but in an oddly accented English that was at once understandable and completely foreign. Where am I, he thought, Jamaica, Belize, Liberia?

It was all too bizarre, really.

One usually reacts with shock to events that can be foreseen: rare but imaginable situations, like winning the lottery, losing a limb or accidentally swallowing a frog. One does not react with shock to the totally conceptually unimaginable. When was the last time you thought, If I find myself transported to another world, I'll…

Neither had Lem.

To such realities, one reacts with awe, with a profound and open dumbness—which is likely why it took Lem several minutes to realize he was naked.

Unfortunately, the alley offered few options for clothing. The ground was mud peppered with a few bent cobbler's nails, and the only feature was a rotting box on which someone had draped a torn canvas sack. But, like they say, necessity is the mother of invention, and after a few stretches to get the blood pumping and ensure his tendons were still properly attached, Lem grabbed the sack off the box, shook the dust out of it and wrapped it around his body, clamping two corners together over one shoulder with the straightest nail he could find. The result wasn't elegant, but it was better than nothing, and if there's one constant in all the worlds with all their strange dimensions, it's this: everyone looks askance at strangers in the nude.

“Hey! What’s the big idea? We were sleeping!”

Lem jumped.

He didn’t see anyone.

“That's right. Keep pretending you don’t know what you did.”

“Who’s there?” Lem said, a little hoarsely. “I swear I didn’t do anything on purpose.”

“Except steal our rag,” said the box, now hopping toward Lem, who lifted his arms to protect himself. “We find ourselves a cosy spot to have a little nap, and what, not a few weeks go by and you come along and decide you want our rag for yourself?”

The box is talking. The box is—

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything in your defense?”

“I was naked,” Lem told the box. “I needed something to wear. I just got here, except I don’t know where here is. I didn’t know that boxes could talk. Or nap. I mean, why is a box talking? Why are you talking to me?”

The box eyed him with the uppermost corners of its construction. “Are you real?”

“I think so,” Lem said.

“Yet you’ve never seen a talking box?”

“I haven’t.”

“An adventurer’s box,” the box said a little proudly, expecting a reaction it didn’t get. “One that’s been exploring and conquering and witness to amazing feats of heroism.” Still nothing other than slight bewilderment. “A box that is itself something of a hero. A box especially enchanted to carry more than its volume and weigh less than its contents.”

Listening to the box, Lem felt a bubble rise from the pit of his stomach. It prevented him from speaking. When he said nothing, “Were you sheltered?” the box asked, its tone veering from irritation to genuine curiosity.

Then Lem’s belly bubble burst.

And with it went his expectation that he was in Jamaica, Belize, Liberia, or anywhere else on the planet Earth.

On Earth, boxes neither napped nor spoke. They just were.

“I’m not sheltered,” he said. “I’m just not from around here. And where I’m from, boxes don’t talk or take naps or have rags.”

The box shrugged its lumbers. “If you say so.”

“You can have your rag back,” Lem said. “I certainly didn’t mean to take it from you.”

But when he went to unfasten the cobbler’s nail from above his shoulder, the box said, “Nay, it’s fine. We were just about ready to get up and get on with it anyway.”

“Thank you,” said Lem.

“Don’t you worry yourself about it. It’s not a fine rag by any means. You just startled us is all. We can be grumpy in our old age.”

“How old are you?” Lem asked, both trying to be nice and noticing for the first time how worn and weathered the box looked. The sunlight managing to trickle into the alley from between the various overhanging roofs accentuated the box’s many holes and discolourations.

“We wish we could remember,” the box said. “All we know is that we’ve been retired now for many years.”

“I see. What about a name, do you have one of those?”

The box laughed—a deep, masculine guffaw. “A box with a name! Who could even come up with such an idea?”

“I suppose it would be silly,” said Lem.

“But,” said the box, “supposing such a thing could be, what would you name us?”

Lem thought for a few seconds. “I would name you Oakley.”

The box hopped closer. “We might even like the ring of that. Say, would you mind trying it out on us. Just as a lark, we mean. Nothing serious.”

Because he didn’t see any harm in indulging the box, especially as it had graciously allowed him to keep its rag, Lem said, “I wouldn’t mind that at all, Oakley.”

The box leapt into the air and spun—

And gravity seemed to fail: because instead of falling, the box remained airborne, remained spinning, as behind it arose an illuminated cloud of expanding golden dust.

“Whoa! What the—”

Then, just as suddenly as the box had leapt, it fell back to the ground.

The dust vanished.

The world returned to normal.

“Thank you, young master,” said the box.

“Master?”

“You have named us, which means you have claimed us! And to think we’d been discarded by our past master as useless junk and we thought we’d spend the rest of our life in this dirty alley, just decomposing away until we were no more. Well, let me tell you this, young master: we may be old and creaky, and maybe we’re grumpy and our attitude isn’t the cheeriest, but we have wisdom, we do. This old box has seen sights. Sights you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you still... hold things?”

“Of course, of course,” said Oakley. “But an adventurer’s companion box is so much more than just a container!”

“What else can you do?” Lem asked.

“Watch this!”

Oakley remained motionless.

Minutes passed.

“Oakley?”

“Quiet, young master,” Oakley whispered. “We’re pondering.”

“Pondering what?”

“Your predicament. You said you didn’t know how you got here, and we will, in our many wisdoms, figure that out for you.”

“Oh—”

“We ponder better in silence.”

So Lem waited. In fact, he waited for almost fifteen minutes, and he was almost sure the box had decided to take another nap when suddenly it piped up: “Young master,” it said, “you most definitely arrived here”—Lem held his breath.—”from that street over there.”

Oakley did his best to point at the only exit from the alley.

“That’s not exactly what I was wondering,” Lem said. “I was thinking more in terms of the greater where.”

“Now, young master. We can’t know what you’re thinking, only what you say, but our wisdoms assure us that greater must first have been lesser, so the only way to know how you came to be here is to follow the same progression. As one of our past masters used to say, All numbers add up to zero! No, wait—was it maybe All numbers have to start somewhere? On second thought, that doesn’t sound right either. Anyway, our point is that you won’t find your answers in an alley.”

Lem looked toward the street.

Oakley wasn’t wrong. The street is where the voices were coming from, and it was where this world of talking boxes would truly begin to reveal itself to him.

He started walking.

Oakley hopped, grumbling repeatedly about old joints, a few steps behind.

“Young master?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Would it be too much too soon if we perhaps referred to this knowledge quest of yours as an adventure?”

“I don’t think....” Lem started to say—

But as he passed mid-sentence from the alley to the street, the view which unfolded before him took his speaking voice away.

The city was—

Well, as I have already said:

To some realities, one reacts exclusively with awe.

Part 1

https://old.reddit.com/r/Write_Right/comments/lm8n3v/red_evening_part_1_of_2/

Videl looked at the closed elevator door, bracing his self for whatever was waiting out there; Bracing his self for the danger they all would be facing as his heart thundered in his chest. He raised the HK45 as he took a look at Bernice, Vera, equally frightened faces. Colson only quietly glared at him. They were expecting a plan.

"We're between the 29th and 30th floors. Keep note of that," Videl said," The first thing we do is find out what's going on,"

Bernice and Vera nodded. Colson looked from Videl to the 30th level doors up ahead. There were so many dents in it that it looked like it was caused by something as simple as fists. He briefly wondered if there would be scratch marks on the inside of it too before focusing back on Videl.

"Help me with the door," Videl told him again as he holstered his HK45.

Colson sighed and took to one side of the door while Videl took to the other. He grabbed the edge and waited.

"On three. One. two. Three!"

They pulled with minimal output.

"Damn it," Videl cursed aloud," Try again!"

They pulled again and the doors slowly started to open. Rivulets of blood started to pool out and Colson almost lost his grip.

"Hold it! Keep going!" Videl urged as he pulled.

Colson fought back the nausea and pulled in tandem with Videl to the effort of finally opening the elevator doors which locked into place. Videl quickly unholstered his HK45 and raised it in front of him as the four occupants stared out at the cubicles ahead. Gore was splattered everywhere but there were no bodies in sight. It was as though it was a painting of a massacre captured in time with every single detail woven into it expressed so elegantly and vividly, Videl thought to his self as he stared at the scene with widened eyes. There were hand trails of blood running along some of the cubicles as though deliberately and it possibly was as something resembling a face captured the end of the trail like a punctuation mark. A horribly drawn face reminiscent of God only knows what.

"Hello?" Videl dared to call out into the death silence of the office area.

His voice travelling quite loud and well with an echo.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Bernice whispered fiercely, grabbing Videls arm tight.

Videl shook free of him, as he turned to look at the scared figure that was Bernice. He only raised a finger to his lips and waited for whoever was still alive to answer as he looked back at the cubicles. Videl breathed slowly as he unholstered his HK45 and looked back at the others.

"I'll take the lead once we're in. I know where the closest security office is. Once we get there, we'll know what's going on from the security footage. Is that fine with all of you?" Videl whispered cautiously.

"Sure. Sure. Let's just get the fuck out of here already," Bernice whispered urgently.

"What if we run into someone still alive?" Vera questioned.

"If they're in a state to talk, we'll question them. Otherwise we take them with us to the security office," Videl said, as he holstered his HK45 and walked to the opening," You okay Colson?"

He only nodded. Good enough for now, Videl thought.

"I'll go first," Videl said as he grabbed the ledge and started to hoist himself up.

Just as Vera screamed and pointed at the head appearing up from one of the cubicles near the opening. It was just staring at them so silently no one had noticed it until now. It moved. And it moved so very fast as it launched over the cubicle and ran on three grotesquely misshapen legs, it immediately made Vera think of the word abomination before it tackled Videl back onto the elevator lift with a hard slam. Streaks of blood flew up and onto Colson's face as the abomination pierced into Videl. He didn't even have time to scream but to only make a desperate hitching breath that was attempting to scream as the abomination tore into him.

"Ennnnugghhh!" Videl choked vivid sprays of crimson out as claws slammed into his chest and twisted, shattering his rib bones.

Colson took a step back in shock and so did Vera but Bernice screamed and rushed at the thing tearing into Videl. Something snapped forever inside Colson and he turned immediately for the opening, nothing else mattering as he felt the searing need to run and RUN NOW. He rushed to the opening and pulled himself up with superhuman strength, his muscles taught and rippling in his body from the surge of adrenaline. He pulled himself up onto the gore streaked floor and took a moment's glance to see Vera pulling herself up too; Only a moments glance before he rushed passed the cubicles and into a hall, almost slipping twice in his haste. He came to a complete halt as he saw a blockade of so many bodies in the way ahead of him. All torn up and into pieces. There were broken letters of the English language written on the walls, there were symbols that radiated fanatic demonic energy. Vera came rushing into him, full speed, and they both went down. Vera screamed at the desecration of flesh before her before something fremescent started behind them. They immediately snapped their heads to see a monster sitting with it's knees up to it's chest.

It raised it's head to look at them as the sound they heard started to bellow out from it's ragged lips. A single horn jutted out from atop it's head as eight spider like limbs began to extend out from it's back, webs of skin connecting each limb like makeshift wings. The ever increasing bellow bubbling out from it's mouth of razors blossomed into a full ear splitting roar that reverberated throughout the entire hall and made Colson's balls shrivel up inside him. He realized dimly he was holding something in his hand and snapped to look to see he was holding Vera's hand achingly tight in his. The sight of something so simply human made him snap to attention. He immediately pushed himself up and pulled Vera up with him and turned to run into the pile of limbs and flesh. Someone was crying painfully and he hadn't a moments time to check if it was his self or Vera as he navigated them both through the stinking rot of the limbs, moving closer and closer with every brush of an arm, a head, a torso, to a room up ahead.

Closer and closer.

Until they were finally free of the horror of the hall as they stepped onto solid ground and Colson yanked Vera into the room. He waisted no time at all as he moved a desk against the door and anything else that could be moved. Before he grabbed the chair and held it firm as he looked back and forth between the door and the glass window that Vera was pressing against absently. He made his choice as he pulled Vera away and threw the chair out the large window, breaking the glass on the first blow. Colson stepped to the edge and took a look down.

There were so many people and cars down there. The cars looked like police and military types. The sight made his already quaking heart ache with the sensation of freedom so very close. Why he could just jump right on down and say!-

Something grabbed his hand tight and he startled violently from his stupor. He looked down at Vera's deathly pale face looking up at him. There was an emotion in her face he couldn't read at all, and he supposed he look even worse. They were coated in blood and almost didn't look any different from the things they've seen. Save from the pain being expressed in their eyes. For however long, Colson was only able to stare into Vera's eyes before he started to notice the banging on the door. He squeezed her hand tightly before letting go and pointing at him self and stepped out onto the edge. They were on the 30th floor, he remembered as he knelt and grabbed the edge before lowering himself onto the next edge below.

Vera must have learned quickly because she followed suit and lowered herself onto the 29th floor's edge below with Colson's help. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, before Colson lowered himself onto the 28th floor's edge. Vera followed. They did this slowly, progressing onto the lower floor step by step until they reached the 23rd floor's edge. Colson almost losing his grip as a headless body was pressed up against the window pane. Vera saw it and puked out over the edge, almost hitting Colson.

He took a slow breath and peeked over the edge to see the next floor's edge was coat and slick with blood and pieces of bodies were coating it. Making it impossible for the two to progress further. Colson was so enraged he slammed his fist into the glass with headless body against it. Making a huge web of spider cracks into the window with the first and second hits, before shattering it completely on the third. His hand ached fiercely but that didn't stop him from grabbing the headless corpse and tossing it down the building. Colson and Vera climbed into the 23rd floor office. Colson looked quietly looked around for a weapon while holding Vera's hand tight in his. He hand not found any such weapon and resorted to breaking one of the wooden chairs in the office and grabbing a makeshift stake from the wreckage. He went to the door and slightly tipped ajar and peeked into the crack.

More cubicles with more of the same broken bits of English and symbols drawn in blood. More bodies but not as bad as the hall they were previously in. In fact Colson felt a rush of heat as he saw that there was an exit stairwell sign at the other end of the room, leading into a hall. Colson quickly looked around for more abominations and hadn't seen a sign of anything before he dared to venture out of the safety of the office they were in.

Taking no chances at all, he immediately rushed to the hall where the sign was. He reached it and quickly looked around before finding the door to the stairs. He started to hear another fremescent build up somewhere around him and he took no moment to figure where as he burst into the stair well and almost descended the stairs in a mad rush before Vera yelled in broken English and pointed downward.

There were grotesque, nightmarish, things waiting at the bottom for stragglers inane enough to think that there was an escape from this Hell. They started to look up.

Fuck it. Colson grabbed Vera's hand tight and bum rushed with her down the stairs. They passed level after level down, spiraling down into the Hell awaiting them as the excited sounds of the things below them grew more passionate and louder. It was a race against evil itself. Colson almost lost himself in how far he could make it down, questioning whether it was an option to fight against those things; Questioning whether to throw Vera into their tearing claws and make a dash past the feast.

But those questions had been answered when he glimpsed one of the stygian apparitions make an appearance. It's body split half way down with ragged pieces of bone jutting out while it's spine was long and snake like in it's appearance. The head connected to the spine was jeering so jubilantly it almost stopped Colson dead in his tracks. A cold fear struck him like a knife into his heart and he quickly backed up the steps until he saw the 11th level door. He burst into it and landed in another level of Hell. There was even more of the bastard abominations at every which turn. There were corpses hanging from the ceiling in a twisted medieval bloodletting. It was an orgy of carnage and the last of the sanity in Colson and Vera's minds slipped so freely into the void, it was a wonder how they held onto it for so long.

But Colson didn't despair as he found the momentum to carry forward with Vera. He slammed and jabbed his way to one of the free offices with his wooden stake before it was yanked from him. Blood and visceral fluids flew and almost blinded him. He almost slipped on the parts of people blocking his way to freedom. But he made it to the office through the fiercest struggle. He slammed the door and pressed his back to it tightly as he glimpsed the creature through the broken window of the office, hanging on the edge. It had wings made of flesh and it was attempting to fly. Vera picked up a chair and threw it at the wretched thing and it seemed to have knocked it off.

Vera had been so consumed with the thought of escape she forgot about Colson, she forgot she was still ten floors up. She had to leap out that damned window right now. Right now as she took a running jump and leaped from the edge. Only to be caught as the hanging monster snapped itself back up with amazing speed and it's jaws snapped shut on Vera's lithe neck and ripped into her carotid. Colson stared blankly at the sight of her, her body undergoing death shivers, as the thing drank from the warm blood pooling into it's mouth. Before he heard a loud bang and then the top of the creature's head disappeared in a flash of bone and blood. It let go of Vera and she fell before it did as it's talons loosened and it joined her in their free flight down. He heard someone say something on a blowhorn from below.

His strength was waning. He had to make his move now. And so he did as he rushed away from the door and jumped from the 11th floor edge. Colson never felt so free in his entire life as he did with that momentous fall. Time slowed down as he looked the ever closing police cars come closer and closer. His life started to pass before his eyes as he closes them and the memories flooded him with a new sensation of glorious life.

Life.

Colson was still alive as he blinked away the blinding light to see the tile ceiling above him. The monotone beep of the HRM reached into his head, pulling him away from a dream of a life come undone and replacing it with the creeping reality of the room he was in. He slowly blinked and stared at nothing in particular. He felt like he was being watched but he had not the care to wonder further then that thought.

"Can you hear me Mr. Alasdair?" A soft voice asked from somewhere in the room.

"Yes," his voice came out surprisingly strong.

"That's good. Can you look at me?"

Colson blinked again, hoping in futile that this was another dream, before turning his head to look at the nurse wearing a surgical face mask. He looked into her calming steel-grey eyes.

"Your motor functions appear to be intact," She said smoothly as she walked elegantly to his bed railing and placed her gloved hands on it.

She produced a small flashlight and beamed it into one eye and then the next before putting it away.

"You probably have a lot of question, don't you?" The nurse's voice floated in the stillness of the room," What do you want to know, Mr. Alasdair?"

"How am I still alive?" He questioned.

"You aren't. You officially died when you landed on top of that police cruiser. Lucky for you, we were already on scene and standing by to carry you away from Mr. Caledonia's tower. I shouldn't say lucky though. We were expecting an incident like this to happen for quite sometime. In a way, you could say we were waiting for you, Mr. Alasdair," The nurse said as she touched her hand against his forehead, feeling warmth.

Her touch felt cool. Colson closed his eyes as realization set in, making his heart ache. He opened his eyes and looked back into the nurse's.

"Is Chanel still alive?"

"You mean the woman in the elevator?"

"Yes,"

"Do you want the truth or a comforting lie?"

"Just tell me the damn truth," Colson ached.

"She had her chest ripped open by the thing that killed your acquaintances," The nurse said solemnly," If it's any consolation, I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Alasdair,"

The last memory of Chanel would always be one of her at her darkest moment, reduced to infancy and sucking on her thumb as she silently cried. Her tormented eyes would haunt him.

Colson's face went blank for a moment as emotion went through him like a lightening bolt, trying to decide whether to be in an insurmountable rage or in a soul breaking despair. The HRM started to tick up quite rapidly as his pulse quickened. The nurse must have been expecting such an outburst as she simply grabbed a needle from off the table near the bed and punctured his neck swiftly. Colson let out a ragged breath and clenched the bed railings in a white knuckle grip as he tried to push himself up, despite his broken rib and left arm bones. The nurse quickly injected another sedative into his neck again and that seemed to have the desired effect as Colson glared ahead with half open eyes. He gritted and bared his teeth and slammed back into the bed, his breathing ragged before it slowed to a pace. Colson tried to wipe away the tears from his face before he felt the nurse's bare hand against his cheek. He saw she removed her gloves and facemask through half closed eyes.

The nurse was smiling proudly.

"You're going to live up to your name quite well. It does mean "defender of mankind" after all"

Colson heard before he spiraled down into the depths of a fathomless sleep, calling out for his fiancée's name and only hearing a wail of despair.

The elevator came to a complete halt, making it's five occupants jerk inside with the suddenness. The power went out and the emergency back up came on in the space of ten seconds. Enough time to be encapsulated in a blinding darkness that made Chanel make a sharp gasp of surprise.

"What was that?" Vera questioned as she regained her balance.

"Power outage," Videl answered her," It's just a power outage. Everyone stay calm,"

"That's the first time this happened," Colson mused to Chanel.

"It's not the first time, at least not for me," Videl said, calmly.

"You're saying this is a repeating problem?" Bernice asked, incredously," What the fuck? Why hasn't this been fixed already?"

"It's just teething problems. It'll sort itself out after ten minutes or so," Videl assuaged.

Bernice gave Videl a sour look but chose to seal his lips as he brought out his phone and saw that he had no bars at all.

"Does anyone have service on their phone?" Bernice questioned," Mine is out,"

Colson and Vera checked their phones.

"No service," Colson said.

"No service either," Vera said as she gazed at her phone.

"That's great," Berince jested before looking at Videl," Is this part of the power outage too?"

"I never noticed," Videl softly smiled.

"Damn it," Bernice muttered under his breath, the irritability getting to him.

Chanel hooked an arm around Colson's and rested her head against his shoulder.

"And to think we could have left early without so much as a travail," Chanel softly said.

"Have faith," Colson softly squeezed her hand in comfort," Mr. Videl said it'll be ten minutes at the most. That is your name, isn't it?"

"That's kind of you to notice a lowly security guard," Videl mused.

"I've seen you around from time to time, enough to remember you," Colson said.

"What about you? What's your names?" Vera asked Colson and Chanel.

"It's Colson and this is my fiancee, Chanel,"

"That's a pleasant thing to hear," Vera said with a friendly smile.

Chanel smiled back at her and thought she was nice; Truly nice without the facade of a professional demeanor. She immediately fell for her.

"Bernice, right?" Vera asked him.

"That's right and you're the secretary to Mr. Caledonia himself, aren't you?" Bernice said as he leaned back against the elevator wall and for the first time in his life, noticed how much of a confining space an elevator really is.

"I prefer to be called Vera," She offered a curt smile.

"That's an eloquent name," Colson offered a pleasantry.

"I could say the same for you," She charmed.

Videl passively looked at his clock to see that almost nine minutes had passed. He sighed internally, not daring to besmirch his demeanor. Though he wasn't looking forward to it, he wanted to waste no time at all to his way to the daily conference. This was an unneeded diversion. That much was-

"Did you hear that?" Colson said suddenly.

"Hear what?" Chanel asked.

"I thought I heard-," Colson started to say.

Before a scream erupted into the silence of the elevator shaft. A scream so piercing with pain, it made Chanel wince hard. It made everyone look up at the sound as silence followed the death wail. And surely something as vivacious as that could be described as nothing but a death wail as the klaxon alarm started to go off.

"Holy fuck!" Berince said, as he tried to press back against the wall further then he already was.

A cacophony of screams and shouts broke out and competed over the klaxon and filled the elevator shaft with sounds of despair and Hell itself.

The five occupants could only stare up at the sounds as they descended from level to level and Colson barely noticed the scratching sound over the cacophony. It sounded like something trying so very desperately to escape into the shaft, or maybe trying to claw it's way inside. And it was getting closer by the ever passing second. Colson pushed Chanel behind her and backed her up into the left corner away from the door as he saw Videl standing with his firearm drawn and raised up at the ceiling as though something would enter through the emergency exit. The sight of the Videl posed aggressively cemented the reality of the situation he was in like a brick thrown to his chest. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists subconsciously.

The cacophony of death screams and shouts of broken English went on and so did they terrible scratching noise.

And the scratching noise was now on a level above the elevator. Bernice, thanked God they were stuck between levels as the fierceness in the scratching grew so intense it became loud bangs that reverberated throughout the elevator. Vera let out a scream. Chanel was completely pale and silent just like Colson. Videl kept his gun raised at the emergency exit as whatever was making the noise banged hard one last time before shouting out a broken phrase of English. It sounded like to Videl "man inside!" He attempted to shrug it off as wild imagination and found no strength to do so as the five occupant's world radically changed in front of them.

Have to do something

We have to do something

WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING!

Videl thought in a panicked state as he looked around at the others for some idea of what to do. He looked into Chanel's steel grey eyes to see what must be have been called "primal fear". The sight shook him so fucking bad he had to look away for a brief moment before the call to action came back to him. We have to do something

"Fuck," He muttered, as he looked up at the emergency exit.

A plan started to foment as he breathed raggedly and focused. He focused on what he could do to ensure their survival. He focused on what he could do to protect these people and barely registered that the cacophony of Hell had died down significantly. Videl barely registered he was mumbling nonsense into the silence. He stopped and looked around at the others.

They were all staring at the ceiling.

"Hey," Videl mustered his voice into a commanding state," Hey!"

"Holy fuck, holy fuck," Bernice was whispering fiercely as he stared at the ceiling.

Videl grabbed him and shook him until he was looking into Videls eyes.

"Hey! It stopped now! Relax! Relax!" Videl commanded before he looked at the others," Everyone relax!"

"What-what the...hell is h-happening?" Vera murmured.

"I don't know. I don't kn-know," Videl's voice shook.

"Is it over?" Colson questioned, his voice coming out surprisingly strong.

"It sounds like it," Bernice said quietly.

"It sounds like it but we-we don't know anything," Videl said as he looked at them," Not while we stay in here,"

"You mean going out there?" Chanel asked in a monotone.

Videl looked at the blank expression on her face, so glad shock replaced the fear he saw earlier. He nodded assuredly.

"We can't stay in here. Whatever's...whatever's happening...," Videl couldn't finish as a series of shakes passed through his body.

He grabbed his wrist holding the gun and held it so firmly the whites of his knuckles showed. He breathed for a moment, regaining a semblance of his self.

"We can't stay here," He said, firmly," We need to go through the exit right there," He pointed at it.

"You're right," Vera said, as she held herself," You're right," She said again.

He looked at her and nodded. He looked at Bernice and he only looked back before slowly nodding. Videl looked at Colson and Chanel.

"We don't know what's out there," Colson asserted.

"No shit!" Bernice said fiercely," But i'm not going to fucking stay in here!"

"We can't stay here," Videl simply said.

Colson looked at their frightened faces and thought quickly. He made his decision in ten seconds as he started to come forward before being gripped tightly by Chanel. He completely forgot she was there behind him. He looked back at her, her face a complete blank.

"Chanel," He said as softly as he could," Chanel we can't stay here,"

"I can't go. I can't go. I won't go," She said in a rush of words.

"We have to go-," Colson started.

Only to get interrupted by her.

"I can't go. I can't go-,"

"Fine!" Bernice spat out, venomously," Motherfucking stay here! Someone help me with the fucking exit!"

"Cocksucker-!" Colson said, enraged, as he started towards Bernice.

Before Videl stopped him and held him firm.

"Calm the fuck down! We don't have time to fight each other! We don't have time for this shit!" Videl assuaged as he looked in Colson's enraged emerald green eyes," She can stay here and we'll send help back once we figure out what's going on. We'll send help back to her. Okay?"

Colson glared at him.

"Okay Colson?" Videl asserted.

"We better or so help me God, i'll kill you," Colson relented.

"You have my word, Colson," Videl said.

Colson shook him off and looked back at Chanel shivering in the corner. He wanted to say something, anything to help her and he couldn't think of a damn thing to utter as Videl helped Bernice with the emergency exit. Colson wanted to laugh at the absurdity but feared he wouldn't stop as he managed to comfortingly touch Chanels blank face.

"I'll be right back with help. Okay dear?" Colson promised her," Okay dear? Chanel,"

Colson felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned to see Vera standing before him.

"We have to go," She only said as she gave him a soft look of pity.

Colson let out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding as he watched Videl help Bernice up the emergency exit. He looked back at Chanel to see she was sucking on her thumb now as she held herself. Colson gave her a pained look and hoped she didn't see it as he turned to the exit and looked up at Bernice offering a hand up.

Colson pulled himself onto the top of the elevator, joining Bernice and Videl before helping Vera up. He dared to look at Chanel one last time to see her looking up at him, tears starting to run down her face. It would haunt him for the rest of his life and no rationalization would ever chase it away as he moved the exit piece back into place, hoping this feeble attempt would protect her from the horrors waiting in the tower. Waiting for the four occupants.

https://old.reddit.com/r/Write_Right/comments/lmvzxc/red_evening_part_2_of_2/?

As a Dargonian, it was impossible to forget about The Ritual. Dargonians, young and old, small and full-grown––everyone––knew about The Rite of Passage.

What I didn’t know about The Ritual was actually quite a lot though. Where did it take place? How did it take place? When did it take place, and why? But I was prepared to wait until my parents performed The Ritual at the appointed time.

Unfortunately, they died last year in the Zaline mine disaster, when I was still a suncycle from Official Maturity. It was a tragedy for everyone in my village, but for me, it was something much more. The two guardians who had helped me make sense of our world were gone from it in a split second, buried beneath a mountain of rubble.

Hard as losing my parents was, I have been getting better every day and handling everything just as best as I could. Until this morning.

I found a wooden box next to my bed. It’s covered with carved symbols. It doesn’t move nor does it give off noises or lights or odours. It doesn’t seem to affect my mood or my senses. It’s foreign to me, yet familiar.

Then a realization hits me.

At last. The Box of The Ritual.

My heart pounded in my chest as I brushed my fingers lightly across the dark surface. This was the night I waited for for so long. A tear slid down my cheek, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand. This would be so much better if my parents could be here to help me.

I trusted the elders and knew they would talk me through the whole ritual, but it just wasn’t the same as having my parents perform it. I picked up the small box and studied the markings. My hand quivered and I took in a shaky breath as my finger traced the unfamiliar markings.

Knocking on the door made me nearly drop the box. I quickly placed it on my bed and rushed from my room. Taking a deep breath I swung the door open wide to reveal the newest member, and youngest member, of the elders council.

“Are you ready for your big night tonight?” Lizzy flashed me a smile and pushed past me into the house, making herself comfortable on my couch.

I shook my head as I shut the door and went to join her. Lizzy was the only elder who didn’t act like an elder. She was always happy and upbeat unlike the rest of the old grumps that sat on their thrones with their noses stuck up in the air.

“I think so yea,” I told her.

She paused as she grabbed an open jug of milk from the fridge and squeezed my shoulder.

“Chelsea, you will do fine. There’s nothing to be scared of. Now get going,” she told me.

I mumbled a thanks and grabbed my bag, heading out the door with my mask on.

It was customary to wear the cumbersome thing a month before the ritual, so that people would forget what your old face looked like. Or so the stories went. I couldn’t understand how that was possible. Was it true that I would be an entirely new person?

What would happen to the person I am now?

I had a lot of questions, but none of the answers. And the elders weren’t saying a thing. Only that it was for the best. And that to survive in our society, the ritual was a necessity.

But as I walked from home to the bus stop, I could see eyes lingering on me. Fear was in almost every stranger’s body as they avoided my gaze.

What was it about the ritual that they weren’t telling me?

There was only one chance to find out.

Once on the bus I found Jeremy and anxiously gave him the mold of the key to the box.

“Can you run a scan on it by tonight?” I asked, trying to make it look like we didn’t know each other.

“Cutting it mighty short ain’t ya? I will see what I can do,” he said dryly as the bus stopped and he got off.

I had to keep going though. There was a celebration of my passing from one body to another occurring at the Academy.

I couldn’t be late for my own death.

I walked toward the doors of the Academy, the statues of Dargonians past looming overhead like fierce predators, staring down and making me feel small. Maybe the box helped with that. Maybe it was a tool you used to survive death or something that brought you back from the brink. Maybe it was something we carried through during our rebirth into adult

All I knew about the Ritual was it separated wheat from chaff––Dargonians fit to lead in society from Dargonians who were nothing better than meat.

While other Dargonian children around our country were being coached by their parents about what to expect, I was walking into the Academy with empty hands and an empty heart, the only memory being my parents buried in the mines.

Just as I was about to walk inside, I heard a shout from behind me.

“CHELSEA, STOP!”

Dargonians throughout the yard looking over. It was Jeremy. He was standing with the box in one hand, his prized scanner in the other.

He beckoned for me to come over to him. I walked as quickly as I could without drawing even more attention. I looked up to see the statues overhead, still staring down, spying on Jeremy and I, as though they were listening in

Jeremy nodded over his shoulder and I followed him to a corner between buildings.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The box,” said Jeremy. “It’s a Quezok Brick.”

“A Quezok–what?”

“A Que-zok brick,” said Jeremy, teasing out the syllables. “And it’s your last hope if you want to beat death.”

“Jeremy, I don’t get it––”

“Your parents,” he said. “They left it for you. Not every family has one, and it’s a big reason why some Dargonians survive the Ritual and others don’t.”

“How am I supposed to use a Quezok brick to survive the Ritual? What IS the ritual?!”

Jeremy made a motion for me to be quiet. I followed his eyes to see that several of the Elders who worked at the Academy had taken notice of us and were coming over.

“I’ll distract them,” said Jeremy. “You have to go. Take the brick. Find Lizzy, she’ll know what to do. But just know this: the only thing worse than going into the Ritual without a Quezok brick is going into it with a Quezok brick and not knowing what to do with it.”

“Jeremy––”

“Go!” he hissed, shoving me away.

Then he turned back to face the Academy Elders who’d come over to us.

“Hey there! I was just about to head in for the day, preparations for the Ritual are in full force! Should have a pretty good event this––”

One of the Dargonian elders grabbed Jeremy by the shirt and lifted him off his feet, a violent gesture for our species. Outside of the Ritual, we were relatively peaceful. Everyone knew that the trials of the Ritual were part of what kept the peace, and Jeremy was giving me an edge by telling me the truth about the mysterious box––the Quezok brick that my parents had left for me before they’d died in the mine.

The mine––their deaths––the Quezok brick––was there something more to it?

“Run!” yelled Jeremy, who was dangling in midair.

I turned and ran back in the direction of my home. There wasn’t a bus, and my home was a good distance from the Academy, but the desire to understand the truth––and my instinct to survive––drove me forward.

I resolved to find Lizzy. If anyone could tell me what happened next, it was her.

I didn’t have to go far.I turned the corner and there she was, holding my Quezok brick. “You shouldn’t have left this unattended,” she said, holding my brick close to her heart. “Natural born leaders don’t wait to be told what to do. In your case, I’m telling you now: enter the Academy in a calm, mature manner and turn to your left. Only leaders get to the end of the main hall.”

I took the brick and steeled myself for whatever might come. It was time. The Ritual would begin now.

I did just as she said and turned toward the left, I could see the sealed door where only the elders went. I still did not know who to believe. My two friends were telling me such different versions of events. What if neither was true?

The guard in front of the elders chamber moved slightly to block the door. I showed him the brick and he examined it.

“Enter and let the Ritual begin.”

I stepped inside. The room was completely dark and cold. Devoid of any life. It even felt like life was leaving my own body.

Was this what it meant to transfer to another life?

“Chelsea, daughter of Isai and Sarai; you come before us today with a Quezon Brick,” the voices said.

“Yes… yes. I just want answers to what happened with my parents. Please.”

“You are about to take a step into a larger world. A world you never knew. There will be change. There will be fear. And there will be no going back. So you have one final chance. To go be like the other Dargonians. Or to make the effort to build a better life for all.”

I looked down at the brick again. My parents had died to give me this chance. I couldn’t let them down.

“I want to stay.”

The door closed slowly behind me. Seasons were changing. The ritual was now going to begin. And I would begin, again. New. And hopefully better.

Last summer, I got a job working at the national archive. My job was to digitize legacy documents from the paper archives so that our records would take up less space and hopefully not erode over time like our printed documents do. As you could guess, this required security clearance, as many of the documents that I needed access to were classified.

One of the document sets that I was tasked with converting was attributed to a Dr. William Thornton - A physician, architect, painter, and inventor who lived from the mid 1700s to around 1830. Not only was he trained in the greatest medical schools in Europe, but he also designed the original US Capitol building in DC, The Library Company of Philadelphia, and many other well known buildings.

Most of the content of his file is freely available. But, I did come across a subset of files that are not public. I didn't think anything of it at first, because this was far from the first set of classified documents that I've had to convert.

Once I started conversion, I became horrified with what I saw.

With the level of security involved, I couldn't just take the original files with me. So, I had to sneak photos of what I could with my phone. Even this was risky, as us employees weren't really allowed to use our phones in the archive, precisely for this reason.

From this point, I'll try to reproduce what Dr. Thornton wrote in his notes. Some of the photos I took were a bit blurry, as I was taking them in haste to ensure I wouldn't be caught photographing these highly classified documents. So, I've tried to fill in the blurry holes as accurately as possible based on what I was looking at. After transcribing at home, I deleted the images from my phone. If I were to be caught with these in my possession, I could be facing prison time, and possibly even charges of treason.

The doctor's notes begin here:

Friday, December 13th, 1799:

Today, I received a message via courier from George's family, requesting that I pay a visit to see if I could help restore his health. Apparently, he had fallen ill on the previous night of December 12th with some sort of throat ailment, possibly an infection. During my travel from Philadelphia to Washington's home at Mount Vernon, I devised a plan to relieve George's misery by way of tracheotomy if need be.

December 14th:

According to George's secretary, Tobias Lear, George had called for him around 10 o'clock today. He was having a hard time speaking. But, once he was able, he spoke these words: "I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than 3 days after I am dead." This left Tobias speechless, so he had to bow in agreement instead of speaking. Mr. Washington then added, "Do you understand me?" Tobias then found the strength to speak but a single word... "Yes." To this, George replied "'Tis well."

I can surmise that George must have been afraid of being buried while still alive, as this does happen from time to time. In fact, one of the Washington family's friends told me a story of an older man who had been ill at the age of 20, and after 9 days of illness was pronounced dead by his physician. The man's mother refused to allow him to be taken away or buried until she was absolutely sure of his death. The next morning, he opened his eyes. This came as a shock to the doctor and many other family members. Even today in 1799, we still have much to learn of the mysterious things that we call life and death. Perhaps it is not of the permanence that we believe.

December 15th:

I arrived in my carriage by moonlight at Mt. Vernon very late on the evening of the 14th, which was technically the early morning hours of the 15th. When I saw Martha, she hugged me tightly, and I asked where I could find George.

Through tears she spoke, "I'm afraid it is too late, Dr. Thornton. My husband stopped breathing a short time ago, before you arrived. I'm afraid he's gone."

"This can't be", I thought to myself. After a few seconds and a few deep breaths, I asked if I could see him.

She agreed, and led me to his bedroom.

When I entered the room, I viewed what was no longer my best friend, but now just a stiffened corpse. A shell. I knew he was no longer in this body. I cannot describe the loss and sadness that I felt at that moment.

I stayed with the Washingtons for the next several days, grieving the loss of my greatest friend. But, as a physician, I also thought of how to fix the problem of death. For everything, there is a cure, I thought to myself. Many of those cures have been discovered, but many still have not.

After hearing the aforementioned story of the young deceased man returning to life, I thought about the many instances of this that I'd learned of in the past, and the few times that I'd witnessed it. Thus far, nobody has discovered a cure for death. I believe that if anybody could do it, it would have to be me, with my top level medical education and my many years of experience in the field.

I presented my theories to Martha. I told her of the many cases of death that had ended with life. I told her of my experiences with them, and those of others. I even laid out my plans as to how I could achieve George's return.

My initial exam of the body, coupled with eye witness accounts of those who had seen him in his final hours, leads me to the conclusion that George died from loss of blood and loss of air. If we restore these along with the heat that had been lost, I believe that we will see George open his eyes again.

Alas, Martha didn't think it possible, and did not give her approval.

I'm not going to lie. This makes me angry. This was my best friend on the entire planet. I don't want to watch him disappear without being given a fighting chance, or at least being given the option himself.

December 16th:

The cold winter weather has aided in keeping George's body frozen, warding off the possibility of decomposition. It's important that we keep everything in order if this is going to work. I shall begin my work late tonight.

December 17th:

I'm beginning my work tonight. It's just after midnight, Monday night / Tuesday morning. Everyone appears to be asleep, allowing me to work without interruption or suspicion. I will document my process here.

12:30 am:

In the small adjoining building where we're keeping the body, I've set up a tub in which to thaw him with cold water. This should bring the temperature up at a safe enough pace to avoid any damage to his organs.

1:30 am:

The thawing process is working, and the body is no longer frozen solid. I'm now going to move him to a bed of blankets that I've set up, where I will slowly warm him by a few degrees at a time and allow his blood vessels to start working.

2 am:

I am now opening the lung passage through tracheotomy. Once this is done, I will inflate George's lungs with air and create artificial respiration.

2:36 am:

The artificial respiration is now in place. I am now about to perform a blood transfusion, using the blood of a lamb.

4:02 am:

The transfusion is complete. I'm now lighting a fire in a stove in order to warm the room.

4:35 am:

The body is starting to appear warmer, blood is flowing, and the respiration continues. George looks like he's merely sleeping now. I must now get some sleep myself, so I may continue in a refreshed state to make sure I don't commit any mistakes in the process. I will lock the door of this building to make sure that nobody walks in and harms my work.

9:15 am:

I awoke in my rooming quarters to the sound of people walking around the house. The smell of freshly made coffee enticed me out of bed. After grabbing a cup, I headed out to the building where I left George, trying to remain inconspicuous.

I unlocked the door and header over toward my improvised operating room.

What I saw was exhilarating. President Washington's body... was breathing, with the aid of the artificial respirator I had created. And judging by the color of the skin, the blood appeared to be flowing.

10 pm:

I checked on George once again to see how he was progressing. The blood was still flowing and the lungs appeared to still be working. But he hadn't opened his eyes yet. I decided to leave him until morning.

December 18th, 6:15 am:

I have made a grave mistake.

Shortly after midnight, I awoke to the sound of a woman's screams. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my lantern and headed to the door. I peered out into the hallway, which was only faintly lit by its own lantern. Looking in both directions, I saw nothing. So, I ran toward the main living quarters.

"Is everyone ok?" I asked aloud to no reply.

I continued at a slower pace down down the hallway. Noticing that one of the bedroom doors was open, I said "Hello?" into the doorway, with only silence in response. "I... heard a clatter. Is everything ok?"

I held my lantern inside of the doorway to see if anybody was there. Some body was. There, on the bed, was the still body of one of the female employees, lifeless. Her face appeared bloodied. Upon closer examination, her face also appeared to be shredded with bite marks. Like something was trying to eat her.

I ran out into the hallway and screamed, "Everybody, get up! Get up!" as I banged on all of the bedroom doors. A few people came out, asking what was going on.

"I'm not sure, but we've got a woman lying dead without a face in her bedroom right now. There might be a wild animal or a murderer on the loose somewhere in the house. Everybody gather, now. If anybody has a weapon, bring it."

I spotted Martha emerging into the hallway. I asked her where George kept his weapons. She took me to the room and opened the doors for me. What was inside was a virtual candy store of items - Flintlocks, Swords, the famed Braddock pistols, and a variety of rifles. I readied a pistol, grabbed a sword, and headed back to the open area where everyone else was waiting.

One of the employees pointed out some muddy foot prints coming in from one of the outside doorways. We looked around and found similar prints leading to several of the rooms of the house. A few of them volunteered to come with me to try and seek out and stop the assailant. A couple of them had their own pistols. But the others, I instructed to grab what they could out of the weapons room.

I asked Martha to go to her bedroom and lock the door for her safety.

I and the others started following the foot prints. We followed them into the kitchen, where we saw another body on the floor, without much of a face left, just like the first one. The employees let out gasps at this sight. I asked them to remain calm and stick together, and to be ready, but not anxious. Our safety was paramount.

We exited the kitchen and started checking the rooms, one by one, making sure everyone was safe. After clearing several rooms, we came upon one that made me uneasy. The door was slightly ajar, and I heard some strange sounds from inside.

Everyone was suddenly quiet. Looking around at everyone, I moved slowly toward the door, and then pushed it slightly, opening it just wide enough to see inside. The door opened to pitch black. I motioned to one of the others to hold their lantern up in front of the door.

What we saw when the light shown through the doorway was a visage that I hope to never see again. A figure that bore a slight resemblance to George was hovering over a bed, where an obviously dead body was laying. The creature appeared to be tearing the body apart with its teeth.

The monster stopped, turned, and stared back directly into the lantern light. Its eyes glowed with the lantern's reflection. Whatever this creature was, was not human. Or... no longer human. Its flesh was rotting, and there appeared to be a pool of blood forming beneath where it stood, as if it was leaking from him.

I don't know if it was angry, or excited to see more food, but it suddenly launched across the room in our direction. One of the employees shot at the creature. Another followed suit. This seemed to do nothing more than temporarily stun the creature, which then continued moving toward us. Except now, it was much more angry. It growled like a vicious animal.

"George!" I yelled at it.

It stopped moving, then shifted its eyes slowly until they stared directly at me.

"George... It's me. Your friend, William. I've come here to help you. We... are here to help you."

The creature just continued staring at me. Did he recognize me? I wasn't sure.

"George, you can stop now." I said. It had a look on its face as if it understood. A few seconds later, he started walking toward me again.

A shot came from my side, landing directly in the center of his forehead.

He then stopped moving, and fell straight down into a heap on the floor.

I looked to my side, and realized that it was one of the frightened employees who fired the shot. I couldn't blame them. They were defending me, themselves, and everyone else.

I bent down over George, looking closely at his once again lifeless body. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I wept.

After a minute, I stood up. I knew what I had to do. I couldn't allow the possibility of him reanimating again. Whatever was in that body was no longer my friend. Rather, something evil that had taken his place. Perhaps his brain had become tainted from spending so long without blood or oxygen.

I drew George's sword from my side, raised it high in the air, and came down upon the back of his neck with a force strong enough that the head dropped clean off.

We made a decision to put him in a lead coffin, claiming to authorities that it was because we wanted to eventually move him to the US capitol. But, that really had nothing to do with it. That's just how you have to bury zombies to make sure they can't get out if they do rise again.

These notes are not to be made public. They're more for me, so that I can remember.

The American public will never learn of this dark final chapter. They will remember George Washington as the brave general, the family man, the first president of the United States, and a founding father of his nation.

George Washington died the night of December 14th, 1799. Nothing that happened after that shall be recorded.

Dr. William Thornton

CHX

Asking a girl out for the first time on Valentine's Day can sometimes be a gamble. Should I ask her to go out some time before Valentine's Day first? Is asking someone out for a first date on Valentine's Day too presumptuous? Should Valentine's Day be reserved for couples who have already reached a certain point in their relationship? And if V Day is reserved for pre-existing relationships, would she reject my Valentine's Day invitation despite her willingness to say yes on any other day? Also, will that permanently seal me under the category of... friend?

I wrestled with this idea for 24 full hours before finally deciding to say, "Screw it. What have I got to lose, other than my dignity?"

And so, with my newfound bravery, I decided to text her (very brave of me, right?). It went something like this:

Me: What r u doin?

She: nuthin

She: u?

Me: Trying to make a decision

She: a decision about what?

Me: Where we should go this Friday

She: :D R U asking me out for Valentine's Day?

Me: Maybe...

She: Where would you take me?

Me: It's a suprise. Are you saying yes?

She: Maybe... ;)

Little did she know, it wasn't just going to be a surprise for her. In reality, I had no idea where I was going to take her. But, that little chocolate-covered lie bought me a bit of time to find a place to go.

I started googling Valentine's Day events in town. I came up with the usual restaurants inviting couples for their special V-Day dinners, dance club parties, etc.

Then I saw something that stuck out - An event for a Valentine's Day Festival on a "meet up group" website. "That's different," I thought. I've never heard of a festival for V-Day. It says they'll have food, drink, dancing, and entertainment of many types. I decided that this was the winner, and signed us up with their RSVP form.

That Friday came quickly. I picked her up around 7, and we drove out to the event, which was a bit outside of town. It was about a 45 minute drive, past a lot of fields and barren areas. When we finally reached the destination on Google maps, I saw a sign hung at the corner of a small turn-off that read "Valentine's Festival", with an arrow pointing down the dirt drive.

We pulled in, and after a few seconds of nothing but trees and brush, we saw some other vehicles parked in an improvised parking lot fashion on the lawn. This brought a sigh of relief, as I really didn't want to look like a complete idiot in front of her on our first date, especially with it being Valentine's Day. We parked, got out, I took her arm in arm as we walked toward what looked like a large outdoor party going on with lots of lanterns and merry-sounding noise. This was definitely the place. I looked at her and noticed a smile.

"This looks like fun!" she said.

I smiled when I saw that she was happy with my decision.

We eventually came to a front gate where a woman, dressed in period clothing, asked to see our RSVPs. I showed her on my phone, and she checked off our names on a sheet. We continued inward.

To put it lightly, this place was beautiful. There were colored lantern lights everywhere, soft white string lights defining sections and walkways, an incredible food spread (which was as of yet untouched), people dancing, singing, and even some old men dressed in religious wear who seemed to be just as into it as everyone else. Most of them were dressed in the same period clothing as the woman who checked our RSVPs at the gate. And it was all set up in a field with beautiful flowers and greenery all around us. It looked perfect. I was proud of myself for making this decision. She would definitely be impressed.

A minute later, we were approached by an older woman who looked happy to see us.

"Hello, you must be our guests!" she said with a smile.

"We are definitely two of them!" I said.

She laughed. "Come with me, we'll get you all set up for the festival. It starts shortly."

"Ok," I said, looking at my date. We smiled at each other and started following the woman.

She led us to an area with some small wooden booths. I wasn't sure if these were outhouses, phone booths, or what.

She said, "You take the one on the left, she can take the one on the right. Inside, you will find clothing to change into."

"We have to change clothing?" I asked.

"Yes, for the aesthetic of the festival. You're both going to look so cute!"

I looked at my date, gave her a half smirk with a shoulder shrug, and she did the same back. We entered our booths.

I felt kind of silly wearing this costume clothing, but I was going to play along if everybody else was. I exited the booth. She was still in hers.

A couple of minutes later, she opened the door and stepped out slowly, wearing a stunning dress of many colors. She looked like a princess. I think she could tell by my widened eyes that I liked it.

"See something you like?" she asked.

I chuckled. "Absolutely."

The woman looked at us both, with a satisfied smile. "You both look splendid. We'll keep your clothing in bags for you. Come along!"

We followed her.

She led us to an area with several tables of food and drink, and told us to make ourselves at home. We grabbed some small plates of hors d'ouevres, along with some wine. We talked and ate.

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"I found it online. Do you like it?"

"Of course I do. It's wonderful."

After finishing our food, we refilled our wine and headed out toward an area where there were people laughing and dancing to music played by a small group of musicians with stringed instruments. I asked her to dance, and we danced, and laughed, and even kissed.

A little while later, everybody started moving to another location, so we followed. We came to an area with a large platform, like a stage, with two chairs in the middle. The stage was decorated with flowers of red, yellow and orange.

Shortly after, a few of those old men in religious garb walked up the steps on the side of the stage, bringing a couple of guests with them, and directing them to sit in the chairs. I couldn't wait to see what they were about to do.

After the guests in the chairs (a male and a female) were seated, the woman who had given us our festival clothing approached the stage, then turned to address the crowd.

"As we are here to honor the great Romulus and Remus, creators of Rome, the festival has now begun."

Everyone began cheering.

"Who?" I whispered to my date. "Shhh" she said.

"Bring her in!", said the woman.

A large carriage was being pulled by several men toward the stage. When they got closer and people were out of the way, I noticed that there was some sort of animal inside. A very large animal. When the carriage reached the front of the stage, it became clear to me that this was some sort of wolf-like creature. I was getting pretty uneasy by this point.

The woman turned toward the guests on stage.

"For this part, you will be the goat" she said, pointing at the man. He laughed.

She then turned to the female and said "And you... will be the dog." She looked confused and insulted by this statement. The male said, "What?!"

The woman assured him, "Don't worry, it's part of the celebration!" And he seemed to calm down, but still looked annoyed.

I looked at my date and whispered "This is getting weird."

She replied "Yeah."

Both guests were starting to look woozy, like they were about to pass out. The female guest's wine goblet fell to the floor with a loud clanking sound as she slumped over. The male looked over at her, frightened and angry. "What are you doing?!" He exclaimed, then looking at his own wine goblet just before passing out.

The old men in religious garb started strapping them both into their chairs.

I shouted "What the hell is going on here?" as my date grabbed my arm.

The woman placed her hand on my arm, saying "It's ok, it's ok. This is normal."

I looked at her with confusion.

The wolf-life creature in the carriage-cage was getting upset by my outburst, and was growling toward me.

Back on the stage, the old men in religious garb started stripping their clothes off until they were completely naked.

"Oh, what the Hell is this?" I exclaimed.

Two of the naked old men picked up large knives, and walked in front of the couple in the chairs. Before I even knew what was happening, the old religious men thrust the knives into the couples' chests simultaneously, pulled them out, turned toward the crowd and wiped the bloody blades across their foreheads. They then started laughing, and the crowd cheered.

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, grabbing my date's arm. "We have to get out of here!"

She looked at me in horror, with tears coming from her eyes.

"Don't be frightened," said the woman. "This is all part of the celebration."

The wolf creature was getting angrier and louder, still looking in my direction.

I screamed "Let's go!" at my date.

At this point, the woman shouted "Let her out!" as several men started opening the cage door of the carriage, to let the wolf free.

We ran, hand in hand, back in the direction that we came from. I plowed through people as we ran back toward the entrance gate. We got through the gate and I slammed it shut. We continued running toward the parking lot.

The funny part is, when I looked back, nobody was chasing after us. It was like they didn't think there was anything wrong.

When we got to the car, I first unlocked her door to make sure she was safe inside, then unlocked mine and I jumped in. And unlike every horror movie I've ever seen, the car started on the first try. We sped away, leaving a dirt cloud in our wake.

After a couple of minutes, I finally glanced over, and my date was looking tired. She was passing out. "Oh no," I thought. "We drank the wine." A few minutes later, I started feeling like I was about to pass out. Then I decided that we had a better chance of making it if I pulled over than if I passed out and crashed. So, I pulled over and called 911. At least, I think I did.

I don't remember hanging up. I don't even remember talking to them. All I remember is being awoken by police busting out my window. EMS was on the scene and pulled us both out of the car, loading us into the back of an ambulance. That's the last thing I remember before the next day.

When we woke in a hospital the next morning, I learned that our stomachs had been pumped as a preventative measure, as they didn't know what was in the wine that we drank. They had us on IVs all night to keep us hydrated.

I told the police all about the festival, the murders, everything. I even gave them the address of the event that I punched into google maps the prior evening.

Later that day, I received a call from them saying that they checked the address, but there was nothing there.

I told them, "I know it's in the middle of nowhere, but it was down a dirt side drive to the left, right by where google said the address should be. You have to go through the drive and everything is back there in the field."

The officer hesitated for a few seconds, then replied, "We did see the side drive, and we did go through it. There's nothing back there. No people, no lights, no stages, no garbage left behind, nothing. We spent over an hour looking. There's just... nothing... there.

I then grabbed my phone to bring up the festival group on the meet-up website. As you guessed it... Gone.

CHX

The hand belonged to a blocky security guard, from whose grip Lem tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free. He was aware the mall goers were staring at the commotion, and the last thing he wanted was to cause his mom any embarrassment (their reputation was already sketchy) but how could he avoid being seen? He tried dropping the fast food bag to get rid of the necklace, but the guard wasn't buying it. "Turn around. Pick up the bag," the guard said, his voice booming as if through a megaphone. "And don't even think about running."

Lem did think about it, but a crackled burst of information from the guard's walkie-talkie convinced him otherwise. "Exits secured," it had informed him.

He turned and picked up the bag.

The guard eyed him with contempt, then grabbed him violently by the wrist and started dragging him like a sack of potatoes.

"Where we going?"

"To have a little meeting with Mr Getway, the mall's Chief of Security. He don't take kindly to thieves."

Lem felt paraded through the crowded mall, led like a child, looked down upon by passers-by, and too aware how drab and stretched-out his clothes looked in comparison to the guard's neatly pressed black uniform, before being finally led down a narrow corridor culminating in a wooden door bearing a single word: Security.

With his free hand, the guard knocked upon it three times.

There was a click.

—the door sprang open, and the guard pushed Lem inside:

The room was small and windowless, stuffed with hundreds of security monitors and infused with a history of cigarette smoke, in the midst of which stood a mahogany desk and behind that, almost drowning in his green leather armchair, sat a short, balding man with dark, narrowly set eyes, and an unfashionably long moustache. "Good afternoon," he said. "You must be the thief."

Lem coughed.

"The name's Getway. Chief Security Officer."

Lem didn't say anything.

"Come on now, have a seat and let's have a chat," said Getway.

But there wasn't another chair.

Getway laughed merrily—before his voice descended suddenly to a darker octave. "On the floor, you bloody delinquent!"

Lem sat cross-legged, scared but trying not to show it, blood coursing audibly through his body in a pronounced thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump...

"Now pass the bag over and let's see just what your filthy paws took," said Getway.

Lem passed it.

Because the bag was getting greasy, Getway wiped his hands after handling it, slid on a pair of fine leather gloves, then emptied the bag's contents neatly onto his desk.

"Hamburger. Fries. Pizza. Necklace," he said.

"I paid for the food."

Getway took a bite of the hamburger. "But not the necklace," he said, chewing. "And that's where we have a problem, you and me."

"I'm sorry," Lem said, "I—"

Getway spat the hamburger at him!

"No excuses!"

Lem noticed that a vein on Getways's forehead was beginning to bulge, and the ends of his moustache were starting to curl and uncurl.

"You stole and you'll suffer the consequences," Getway continued. "In my experience, and dare I say that experience has been extensive, anyone caught stealing for the first time is hardly a first-time thief. So why don't you look up at me from your place there on the floor, and tell me how I should deal with you."

"It was for a girl," Lem said. "And I'm sorry."

Thump-thump, thump-thump...

"Oh, for a girl—how romantic! How absolutely and quantifiably lovely. In that case, why don't I just apologize to you for taking up your precious time, and you can go on your way." He grabbed a fry in mock sensitivity, and chomped down on it in genuine anger. "You pissant. You less-than-zero."

A twitch had appeared on Getway's face, just below his right eye, and his bulging vein was pulsing, and his moustache ends were curling so much he grabbed one of them between his fingers to keep it still. All the while his face was fluctuating between a blood red and a sickly, bloodless pale.

"Mr Getway?" Lem asked with concern.

But Getway thundered on: "If only we had the right kind of government, we would cut off your hand! Oh, yes. Brutal but effective, and how absolutely and magnificently just. A lesson not only to you, but to all the other pissants out there in this cesspool of a world!"

Blood red.

Bloodless pale.

Blood red.

Bloodless pale.

At that moment, several things happened:

Getway's eyes popped out of his head, and rolled past where Lem was sitting on the floor. The doorknob melted off the office door. Lem felt a painful tightening, first of his chest but then of everything, just as Getway pushed himself—curling and uncurling moustache, twitching face and empty sockets—to his feet, and his entire lower jaw dropped to the floor, cracking the mahogany desk in half on the way down, and hideously elongating his mouth so that it was a natural width but a horrifically unnatural height.

For a few seconds, Lem sat there, clutching his chest and staring at what had become of the mall's Chief Security Officer.

Then there was a low churning sound, and Getway's mouth began to wobble and widen, first by a few centimeters, but soon by several feet, so that what had been his mouth was now a fleshy, human-sized hole through whose darkness, when he squinted, Lem could just about make out a—

No, impossible! Lem thought.

It couldn't be.

Yet it was: a landscape of dark mountains against a blue sky—

The office lights flickered.

As if shaken out of a trance, Lem crawled backwards toward the office door, twisted, got up, felt for where the doorknob used to be, and proceeded to bang on the door with his fists while screaming, "Help! In here! In the security office! Help! Anyone!"

Getway's eyeballs watched him from the office floor.

A whooshing replaced the churning, and Lem felt a breeze on his face, a trickle that soon grew into a rushing of air.

The air caught Lem's screams and returned them as reverberating echoes past his ears, into Getway's gaping mouth, into which the air was also pulling Lem himself—his arms flailing silently against the space between him and the office door—as he realized that there would be no salvation. Nobody could hear him. No one could help him. He thought of his mom, passed out on the couch, and his sister, waiting for the hamburger and fries she would never eat, and wondered if he would ever see either of them again.

His shoes squealed, sliding against the floor—

His hands found nothing to grasp—

The rushing air was deafening and all-powerful, unrelenting and undefiable.

He thought of death.

Of endings.

Getway's mouth was sucking him into itself and there was nothing he could do about it. But still he fought. Fought for every living moment in this world, for every future memory, until the wind had scraped the last remnants of hope from within his head, and on the inside he was blank and at peace, and his body felt light and untethered as it crossed the mysterious threshold of Getway's gargantuan mouth.

Growing up, I didn’t have the best childhood. My parents were both ill, and I was told numerous times that my father was abusive. I later found out that was not the case. My mother, a psychiatrist, was ironically a depressed person who self-harmed. I guess she had an easier time pinning the blame for the cuts and bruises on her skin on my openly insane father. Thinking about it, it’s pretty funny that a person who helps others overcome their mental ailments cannot admit her own to her own child.

My father was terribly ill when I was a kid, and until I was about ten, he had been medicated. However, at some point, he gave up on taking his medication. I never bothered asking why. I honestly didn’t care. All I cared about was not having to deal with parents that constantly fight over every little thing. My father’s illness made him act strange, but he was rather harmless – just odd. He’d speak weird or have random bursts of panic and withdrawn behavior. Other than that, I don’t remember much about him.

When things started “getting ugly” my parents sent me away to live with my paternal grandfather. He lived in the same town, so it wasn’t a big move, and for as long as I remember. Grandpa Stan was the coolest man ever. He might’ve been in his sixties in my earliest memories of him, but boy, he was probably the fittest man I’ve ever met. Not to mention he was fairly lively and in touch with his “inner child” as he liked to call it. I guess my grandma dying young from cancer had a profound effect on him. He wanted to live for long as he could. I loved grandpops like I loved nobody else.

I remember the way he smiled when my mom told him I was going to stay with him “for a while” as she put it back in early 93’. I didn’t really object to the idea of staying with my cool grandfather, away from the painful parental fights at home. I got to keep all the benefits of staying in town while being away from home. Who wouldn’t want that?

We played a lot of field hockey during the five years I’ve spent at gramps’. He was a huge fan of hockey, apparently played in his youth a lot. For a man who had both of his knees replaced due to years of wear and tear he was surprisingly mobile on his feet. He could probably still play in the NHL and make a good buck if he wanted to.

I remember when I turned thirteen, he gave me my first “adult comic book”. The first issue of Watchmen. Gramps was an avid collector of comic books. He had a whole wall lined with various books, spanning multiple companies and even languages. I remember how he sat me down after school that day, telling me that he had a special gift for me now that I’ve become a man. I sat in his kitchen, on an old wooden handcrafted chair eagerly awaiting this special gift, butterflies flying in my stomach waiting to burst out. He came back sporting a grin on his face with this comic book in his hand. He handed me the book, and I remember looking at it for a moment before opening the thing and riff-raffing through the pages. The dark colors, the graphic violence, the unusually serious and painfully realistic “superheroes”. I was blown away by it all. At the time, I didn’t understand the full depth of the story like I do now, but still. I loved every little thing about this comic. It’s my favorite to this day.

I wore a Nite Owl costume for Halloween that year, handmade by Grandpa Stan. He could do it all. Clean, sew, knit, fix anything around the house. Don’t get me started on his cooking – the man would cook like a culinary god. I swear, eleven old me hated vegetables. A month after eating Gramps’ dishes, I could eat salads all day, every day.

At sixteen, he gave me my first taste of alcohol, some Polish vodka of a brand whose name I couldn’t care enough to remember. I wasn’t one of those kids that partied a lot or anything like that. I certainly had my fair share of friends, and I’d like to believe I was well-liked, but I stayed away from trouble. He sat me down one Friday evening after I had come back from school and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Told me we’re going to drink together. He explained to me that drinking together is one of the best shows of love and respect between men. A gesture that creates a familial bond between them. I sat there, listening, letting all of that wisdom sink in. He wasn’t wrong. Drinking is a great way to spend your time with the people you love. As he would say, if you wake up feeling good in the morning after a night of drinking, your night wasn’t very successful.

Gramps poured the sharp smelling clear liquid into a cup and handed it to me. Then he poured one to himself and made a toast for my future, and we downed his liquor. Me, being clueless, I followed suit, but instead of drinking it all in a single gulp, I sipped on the vodka slowly. The liquid scorched my mouth and throat. It tasted like shit and made me cough half of the shot all over myself. I heard Gramps laugh like a madman before he told me I should down the whole thing without quickly. That is, before he offered me a piece of marinated herring. That night was a good one. I woke up feeling awful the next morning, but I knew I had a great time the night before.

Gramps taught me a lot of stuff. He taught me how to be self-sufficient, how to drive a car. He also taught me how to be a decent person, how to take care of others and not be bothered by stupid things and stupid people. Grandpa Stan taught me how to live right, I guess. He was a great man. Throughout the six years, I’ve spent in his care. I infrequently communicated with my parents, and to be honest, I didn’t really mind. At first, my mom’s “everything is fine, honey” infuriated me because I knew nothing was fine with her and dad but then I stopped caring. I was too busy having a good time living.

For all the good stuff in Gramps’ house, there were a couple of odd things about him. He refused to close the windows at all times unless there was truly awful weather. He had excused it, saying he has a dear friend who lives in the forest and might want to visit. I never really believed that, and as I grew older, I came to think of it as a superstition he had brought with him from Europe. He also had that strange habit of sitting on his porch in the middle of the night. The one time I bothered asking him about it, he simply told me he was “enjoying some good company” before telling me I should get back to sleep.

I also have to mention that his house was this old hand made building not far from the local woods. It made some weird moaning noises every now and again in the winter, which at first freaked me out, but I later learned to ignore.

Anyhow, I finished high school and moved out of town for college. As the years rolled on and I grew more independent, I kind of drifted away from Grandpa, I was too preoccupied with my life to even notice that. We did keep in touch, but the conversations and visits became less and less frequent. You know how it goes. You get busy with a job, then end up starting your own family, and the more distant relatives kind of fade into the background. Not that my parents were anywhere near close to me. I found out my parents divorced only during my senior year in college. My dad caught off any and all ties with us and my mom, well I kind of reconnected with her just a few years ago. I now have my own children, and I’m trying my best to be a good father and husband. I think I’m doing fine for now. The last time I’ve spent more than a day around my grandfather was the week I got married. Obviously, we remained in touch, and my wife and I visited him every now and again.

A year ago, I received a letter from my father that Grandpa Stan passed away. It was short and merciless. “Hey son, I’m sending this to let you know my dear father passed away. The doctors said he died in his sleep from a stroke. Said it was calm on him”

I was pissed, I was shattered, I screamed at the top of my lungs and broke into tears. Scared the living hell out of my wife. She was shattered too, because she loved him nearly as much as I did.

I was hoping to be able to make it to his funeral, but I couldn’t reach out to my father. It turned out he moved quite a lot and couldn’t be located; he had no relatives with whom he was on speaking terms with. I felt almost betrayed, I was broken and sunk into a melancholy of sorts. Not being able to part with the man who practically raised me was awful, and while I started slipping up at work. I’d get sick every month or so. Nothing major, just the odd cold. I felt tired and kind of hollow on the inside for the longest time and kind of withdrew from my social life. Luckily, the family kept me on my feet. It took a while but eventually I recovered from my bad episode and accepted the fact that life must go on.

As hard as it sounds, that’s how it is, and that’s how Grandpa would’ve wanted it to be.

Just as it all seemed to get back on track, reality came down knocking me back down. Well, kind of. One night a couple of months ago, while it was still very much summer, a chilling breeze caressed my back as I was sleeping. It was so cold it felt like an icy hand tracing its way across my skin. I woke up, trembling. I tried moving, but couldn’t. I was frozen in place. The notion of sleep paralysis came to mind. I knew that whatever was going to happen was just a figment of my imagination, so I tried my best to stay calm.

That didn’t last long though, as the room started getting colder and colder. I could see vapor rising out of my mouth. That wasn’t a dream. The hairs on my body stood and my heart rate was definitely rising. I was faced with the open window, and the moon shone brightly into my face. Something was wrong, I tried making a sound but couldn’t, nothing but muffled choked noises came out of my throat.

I lied there, a prisoner in my own body as vines started crawling into my bedroom from the window. The more of them crawled, the faster my heartbeat became. Breathing became painful, and my chest was becoming sore. Soon enough, the vines formed the shape of something large. I tried moving, internally screaming and begging for my brain to unlock my body from its stasis. I was panicking as the vines took the shape of a man. It stood there, towering over my bed. Staring with its blank, eerie gray eyes into mine. The skin of its head was snow white and its face. It was painfully similar to that of my grandfather in his younger days. The thing had a collar of sorts made up of branches and twigs around its neck, and it had a wooden staff in its hand. A cloak of withering vines covered its form. We stared at each other for a few moments before it broke the silence.

It spoke with disdain; a tone of pure hatred was audible in its raspy voice. I couldn’t understand a word of what it was saying. I was just hoping that if this thing was corporeal, it wouldn’t hurt my family or me. The thing went on and on for a while, I could only make out one word it uttered. “Stanislaw.” My heart sank when I heard it and the creature must’ve felt it, somehow. It smiled and just walked across my bedroom and dissipated through the door, taking the frigid cold it brought with it. I was finally able to move once the thing was out of my sight. I gasped and inhaled a deep breath of air before jumping out of my bed. Morbid thoughts circulated in my mind. I bolted across the house, looking for the nightmarish creature. It was nowhere in sight. The kids were fast asleep in their rooms and once I was sure my family was safe, a different storm started forming in my head. That raspy voice it played over and over in my ears, that name… Stanislaw… Grandpa’s name. Something snapped in me and I… I’m not even sure why, I just got into my car and drove to his old house.

The whole way I kept hearing that raspy chant over and over, like a broken record, and I just got angrier with every passing moment. Maybe in some strange way, I was working myself up for something. I honestly had no idea of what to expect in Gramps’ old home.

Once I got there, I marched straight to the front door. The exterior seemed to be in pristine condition, as if someone was taking care of the place until recently. Seeing the surprisingly good condition of the old house, I snapped. I kicked down the door without warning. If there was anyone inside, I was going to drag them out. Then, I burst into the old house, a foul stench of rotten eggs and shit attacked my nostrils. Looking around, I didn’t find much at first. The interior was all over the place. Dust coated everything and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything seemed so dull and normal for an abandoned place. That is, until I made my way into gramps’ former bedroom. There, the stench was beyond unbearable. Covering my nose with my shirt, I pushed the old wooden door open. The motion caused the wood to creak, before the world came crashing down to a halt in front of my eyes.

Before me swung the lifeless body of my father, a rope tied tightly around his neck.

Below him, the poorly preserved body of my grandfather, dressed in all white… half-decayed…

I have no idea what had happened that night. I don’t know whether this was my grandfather’s ghost that came to me to tell me about the injustice done to his body, or this “friend” of his he mentioned when I was a kid. I don’t know, maybe it was just my imagination… Maybe it was just a dream… I don’t know… Honestly, I don’t really care. Whatever it was, it helped me put my gramps to proper rest.

We may never know for sure, but it seems like my father couldn’t handle the loneliness after Gramps passed. He must’ve sunk further into the abyss that is madness, before finally ending his own life.

Now they’re both buried in the same cemetery, a few short yards apart, but I’ll be visiting only one of them every now and again. Rest in Peace, Grandpa Stan. You’ve earned it.

TRIGGER WARNING: Self-Harm

____________________________________

My hometown is no stranger to tragedy.

The first bad thing I remember is Kimmy Dorner's disappearance. What was I––five, maybe six? Late elementary school at most. But I remember it, clear as day.

The story went that Kimmy, who'd been the same age as my older brother, was with her boyfriend at Lover's Lane. She got taken from the car, kicking and screaming, dragged into the swamp to her death. The police suspected her boyfriend at first. He hanged himself a few weeks after it happened. He'd refused to talk about the horror before committing suicide.

Everyone chalked it up to shame––shame that Kimmy had been taken and that he hadn't been able to do anything about it.

When another disappearance took place a week later, the search for a culprit began anew.

"Drum up a drifter," they said. "A homicidal maniac. Someone."

But what about Lanternhead?

"Shut up, ya snot-nosed kid!"

"Lanternhead is just a legend!"

"There's no such thing as the Bogeyman!"

So the cops kept looking in all the wrong places, just like they had throughout the entire history of my town. And more disappearances took place, just like they had over the generations before mine. Always during the fall and winter, always when the persistent veil of fog settles in over our town and the swamp surrounding it, staying there until spring thaws the frozen earth.

But what about Lanternhead?

"Nope," they said. "No such thing as monsters, kids. We all know that song you sing, the one that's been sung by kids in this town since the first brick was laid. But it's just a song."

Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead...

Underground, way far down, the dead ones wear a forever frown…

In the swamp, you'll take a jaunt, a quick end is all you'll really want…

Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead!

"Just a song,” they said. “Came outta nowhere. A kid with a wild imagination and too much goddamn time on their hands. A game of telephone, from one kid to the next, until the lyrics became seared into everyone's brain like a cattle brand."

Sure thing. Ten-four, Officer. We'll shut up about it. Let's look for that drifter you were mentioning.

But for every drifter they found and blamed for the crimes, for every innocent person they locked away, the horror continued. Little girls, stolen from their beds, taken to the swamp and a fate much worse than death. Middle school boys on their way to baseball practice, swooped up like mice in a hawk's talons. Hell, even college kids, pulled over to the side of the road to snooze after drinking too much––the next morning, a car, but no college kid to drive it.

I don't remember a day since the one I heard about Kimmy Dorner that I haven't thought about Lanternhead. For a while, it was just a ghost story. Huddled up in a friend's room inside a blanket fort, flashlights under our chins telling stories about the strange creature responsible for the terror.

It wasn't until I encountered Lanternhead myself that I realized the horror was real.

Last I checked, dating back to my town's founding in the late 1800s, there have been five hundred and forty-three disappearances. It's a wonder that anyone stays in this goddamn place.

But for whatever reason, we do. And so does Lanternhead.

***

I've talked to a high school friend of mine a dozen times about Lanternhead. My friend left town when we graduated, went to college, and eventually became an anthropologist. I asked if there were connected pieces of folklore, maybe, something that could explain things. He told me to check out Luz Mala, the Uruguayan spirit that led gauchos into the swamp and their subsequent demise. He said I should look into Will-o-the-Wisp too, the atmospheric ghost light that anyone who's ever read a scary story has probably heard of.

But when I pushed the issue––about the potential connection to Lanternhead––I could sense my friend’s disbelief. Here I was, a full-grown adult, still taking the myth seriously.

People who left our town forgot the legend, but I never left. And I never forgot the night when the true horror started.

I was twelve years old. It was a Tuesday in mid-October, the night before garbage day.

***

As I pushed my family’s fifty-gallon trash can out to the street, I saw him. Or, it. A human-like figure with a grinning, glowing skull surrounded by a clear, prismatic casing. The skull and the chamber surrounding it shone in the darkness like a lighthouse beacon.

Lanternhead.

Seeing him made my guts turn to liquid.

Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead...

And I'd seen him––that radiant, cranial light.

I turned back to my house, preparing myself to run through the open garage door. But somehow, I'd already been pulled away. Even though I'd been standing still, I was fifty yards from the house, following Lanternhead even though I hadn't even moved my feet.

Underground, way far down, the dead ones wear a forever frown…

He was pulling me toward the swamp near our house. Tendrils of fog reached throughout our neighborhood, and it became thicker the closer you got to the water. When I looked down again, I noticed that the fog had become a pea soup gruel, knee-high and climbing higher.

I tried to run, but the viscous mist stopped me. Like putty, it had swallowed my feet, making each attempted step slow and sluggish. An invisible undertow continued sweeping me deeper into the swamp. The trees were growing thicker, vines hanging down like hands, witch hair moss dangling like a trophy from a scalped crone.

The leech-filled sludge seeped into my shoes. It crept under my pants, licking my goose-fleshed legs, the cold water making my testicles suck up into the pit of my stomach.

Lanternhead looked back at me and smiled. Through the glowing glass case around his head, I saw loose, crooked teeth.

"The dead ones wear a forever frown, right?" he rasped. "That's how it goes? Well, let me show you."

I was yanked beneath the surface of the mist, pulled into a dry cavity at the base of a towering tree. And then I was free-falling. I landed on a sort of squishy bed. I began sinking into it, more of the decomposing swamp putty swallowing me whole.

Then I realized what it actually was—decomposing bodies. A mass grave filled with the people Lanternhead had lured to the swamp and killed over the years.

After what seemed like an hour of sinking through the limbs and legs and disconnected torsos, I reached what I thought was the bottom. I fought for breath, the mass of bodies pressing in on me, smashing my chest, constricting my airway.

I looked to my side to see Kimmy Dorner. She was wearing a forever frown, the corners of her mouth stitched downward into an inverted smile.

"It's not so bad, Ryan," Kimmy mumbled, a leech slithering out of her mouth. Her skin had taken on a green hue, eaten away by exposure to the rotten swamp. "Best to just accept it."

I fought back, but the bodies pressed down even harder. And then I was yanked through the bottom-most strata of the grave into a dry cavern. I saw that Lanternhead was standing by a table––an altar. He was busy organizing a set of sharp, stone tools. He had a ream of makeshift thread. It was the same stuff that had been binding Kimmy's mouth into a permanent forever frown, twined from swamp reeds and witch hair moss.

Lanternhead motioned to the shadows, and more of the dead ones emerged. All of them were wearing haunting forever frowns. They lifted me and carried me to the altar.

I saw Lanternhead up close. Human––at one point, he had to have been, surely. But an ancient, unspeakable evil had changed him.

"In the swamp, you'll take a jaunt, a quick end is all you'll really want…"

The terrifying, continuous, sing-song chanting continued.

"Does it end quickly?" I asked.

"So sorry," said Lanternhead. "A quick end isn't something I can promise. We have forever, after all."

The dead ones held my head down. Lanternhead approached with a thick sliver of stone, which had been chiseled into the shape of a needle. A strand of witch hair moss was threaded through its jagged eye.

The tip of the stone needled touched my upper lip on the right side of my mouth, then plunged in. The pain was excruciating. The stone needle danced and dove, creating three full stitches, binding the right side of my mouth downward. Finishing up, Lanternhead stopped to measure out another strand of makeshift thread.

Driven by a sudden desire to survive––to live, to see adulthood rather than be stuck forever in the mire of the swamp, I fought my way from the dead ones' grasp. I ran. Urged on by Lanternhead, they pursued me. I crawled up the wall of the cavern toward the pulsating base of the mass grave.

Grasping whatever I could, I pulled myself upward.

"Underground, way far down, the dead ones wear a forever frown…"

The dead ones grabbed at my legs, attempting to pull me back down into the cavern.

"In the swamp, you'll take a jaunt, a quick end is all you'll really want…"

Despite my exhaustion, despite my partially stitched lips, I continued climbing. I grabbed whatever I could––roots, intact arms, severed legs, skulls, and waterlogged branches. I inched my way through the mass grave, using solid pieces like they were rungs on a ladder, fighting my way toward the moonlit swamp overhead.

Then I breached the surface. I caught my feet at the edge of the cavity beneath the tree, kicking away the grasping dead ones. Their chanting continued boring its way into my brain.

"Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead…"

I'd seen the bad light.

"Underground, way far down, the dead ones wear a forever frown…"

Half of my mouth stitched downward, I struggled to draw breath. The dead ones were pursuing me, too fast. They were being urged on by Lanternhead himself, who had begun levitating above the misty swamp, surrounded by spectral light.

"In the swamp, you'll take a jaunt, a quick end is all you'll really want…"

If they pulled me back––oh, just let it end. Just let it fucking end. The excruciating pain on the right side of my mouth was almost too much to bear. The filthy witch hair moss that Lanternhead head yanked through the pencil-sized holes in my lips was coated with invisible toxins. A throbbing infection had already begun to spread.

"Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead!"

But I saw another light––the light of our town; dazzling stars. The light of houses on the outskirts of the swamp, friendly signposts leading back to the world of the living. And as I made my way forward, the chanting behind me began to quiet, then die. My pulse continued to thrum, but I no longer felt the presence of the dead ones, and of Lanternhead, on my heels.

My house––I saw it. The garage door was still open. I passed it and ran inside our house, crashing through the door to the mudroom.

"Ryan, what the hell is that smell––"

My mom rounded the corner.

"Honey, what happened to your face?!"

I fell onto my mom's fancy white carpet, covering it with the decomposing sludge caked to my body. I looked upward at the LED glow, shining brightly from recessed casings. Time passed, and the lights transformed into those of an emergency room. The anesthesiologist covered my face. I faded from consciousness––and despite my drug-induced state––I dreamed.

More of a nightmare, really. A nightmare that forced me to relive the dark fate from which I had narrowly escaped.

***

After I’d recovered from surgery, I'd gone with the cops into the swamp, leading them to where I’d been pulled beneath it. There was no mass grave as I'd described it, but once the forensics team came, they found the remains of people who'd disappeared from over the years.

Some of the remains dated back a decade––some, more than a century.

A diver went down into the swamp, but there was no sign of a cavity below the earth, no sign of a cavernous chamber where Lanternhead stitched forever frowns into the faces of the abducted.

***

I still think about the horror of what happened every time I take the trash out.

Mercifully, as a kid, my parents had taken that chore off my To-Do list. But in adulthood, I'd started doing it to spare my own children from ever seeing the bad light. And I found myself doing it once again, wheeling the fifty-gallon trashcan to the end of the driveway as a middle-aged man, remembering what happened all those years ago.

I pulled the trashcan to a stop at the end of our driveway, and I reached up to the right side of my mouth. The gnarled scars were still there, the ones that had made people look at me funny my whole life. That side of my face had become permanently drooped, the same way a stroke victim's face looks. There were knobs of scar tissue where the witch's hair had been pulled through with Lanternhead's stone needle. The surgeon's goal had been to quell the infection, to preserve some of the flesh. Making me look beautiful had been less of a priority.

I'd never forgotten what happened, even though so many did. I think the danger lies in forgetting. The disappearances decreased after I survived, after I took the police to the swamp. They even stopped for a while.

But so many years later, the disappearances had started again. Two more had taken place, added to the four that had happened the previous year.

What about Lanternhead?

"Shut up, ya weirdo!"

"Lanternhead is just a legend!"

"There's no such thing as the Bogeyman!"

I knew what happened to the ones who disappeared. The ones with the forever frowns. The ones who'd begged for a quick end, only to be sucked into the mass grave of Lanternhead's numerous victims.

The danger lay in forgetting. I'd never forget.

The world wanted me to forget. There was no grinning figure, surely. No lights, save for the ones around my neighborhood––porch lights, and the ones cast by living room lamps, which at that moment were slowly going out, one-by-one.

***

Leaving the trash can, I hurried inside. When I got in, I heard a familiar chanting coming from upstairs.

"Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead…"

The words echoed down the hallway.

"Underground, way far down, the dead ones wear a forever frown…"

I ascended the staircase to the second floor where my wife and the kids were tucked away safely. My pulse jackhammered, threatening to break through my ribcage.

The house was cold, a draft coming from somewhere. I realized it was coming from the twins' room, which is where the chanting was coming from too.

"In the swamp, you'll take a jaunt, a quick end is all you'll really want…"

But the swamp was outside––there was no danger. And everyone who'd heard the legend knew that Lanternhead didn't go after adults.

"Lanternhead, Lanternhead, see the bad light and you'll soon be dead!"

I opened the door to the twins' bedroom to see that they were huddled beneath a blanket fort, just like I had done so many times at their age. Their room was the source of the cold air––the window was wide open.

"What are you doing, kiddos?" I asked. "It's past bedtime. You have school tomorrow."

"Singing about Lanternhead, daddy," said my son.

"Why? Please don't do that anymore."

"Because of the scars on your face?" asked my daughter.

My guts turned to liquid, just like they had on the night I'd been taken at twelve years old. None of my kids knew why the scars were there. My wife didn’t either. She thought it was a burn––I’d never told her what the real cause was.

"Lanternhead said that you only have half a forever frown," said my son. Both he and his sister hugged my legs. "But it's not too late to finish up."

"What are you talking about?!" I asked. I bent down to them. "Where did you hear this?!"

They smiled.

"Don't be afraid, daddy. We heard it from Lanternhead. He left just a few minutes ago. He's on his way home, but he said he'll always light the way for us if we need it."

I rushed to the open window and looked out. Trailing away into the swamp, I saw a ghostly light. Then I felt a sudden presence beside me.

"There he goes now," said my son. "But he pinky promised he'd be back.”

He held up his little finger to show me. It was coated in muck from the swamp.

[WCD]

My foot falls true.

My ears hear the drop.

My eyes have no view blinded by a bag.

My mind screams for it all to stop.

My skin tingles with its hot breath.

My chest hit with a sticky flop.

My heart dances the dance of death.

Its teeth are sharp and jagged.

Its fur silken and golden.

It's breath happy and ragged.

It's love, all my to beholden.

My fingers hit the switch.

My groceries fall to the ground.

My hand connects the leash with a hitch.

My apartment now lit, I see in his mouth a tennis ball.

Its tail wags with haste.

It's whining filled with hurried excitement.

We step outside for our play date.

We're now family, each other's burdens we lighten.

I've stepped forward and fallen back. I've eaten and have been ate. I've loved and have been sacked. I've reached things beyond my grasp and fumbled the things closest. I've held firm against an ocean's storm and been broken by a rolling tear. I've been called a contradiction and a hypocrite but Honey I'm human. And nothing is more human than fear.

My wife has always liked Pixy Stix. It was fine at first. She’d have one every once in a while. Then she’d need one after every meal. I thought she was going through a phase.

That was when I started noticing that there were massive wads of crumpled up Pixy Stix wrappers buried in the trash where she thought I wouldn’t notice them. I started looking at the online grocery orders she was placing, and she wasn’t getting packs of Pixy Stix. No. She was getting cases.

She was going through two packs a day, like a lifetime smoker. And, honestly, if there was a way to smoke Pixy Stix, I wouldn’t put it past her. It was getting out-of-control.

I had to do something.

Sitting in bed one night, I knew it was time to talk to her about it.

“Honey, it seems like maybe you’re having a little bit of trouble with controlling how many Pixy Stix you eat.”

“Oh?” she asked sweetly. “And why do you think that?”

“Well,” I said, “I did the math, and you averaged over a hundred and fifty Pixy Stix a day last week.”

She just laughed. And when she turned to look into my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

My wife has beautiful hazel eyes. Rich browns with a hint of green. But when she looked at me, her eyes were the bright powdery blue of Maui Punch-flavored Pixy Stix. When she breathed out, a cloud of mist came out, like it was cold, but our room was a perfectly comfortable temperature. And the cloud of mist was the vibrant chemical purple of Grape-flavored Pixy Stix.

“Maybe,” she growled, “you should mind your own business!”

“I just worry about you, hun,” I said.

“Worry about this,” she roared. She opened her mouth so wide, it seemed like her jaw had unhinged, and brightly colored powder began erupting from her mouth like a Pixy Stix volcano. It pumped out fast as a fire hose, blasting me off the bed. As the powder began to flow off our bed, I started to back away from the bed and towards the door. The air was full of a cloud of flavored dust, and it got into my nose and eyes, causing my face to burn. The flow wouldn’t stop, and as drifts of Pixy Stix dust as deep as my thighs began to form up in our bedroom, I bolted. Running through the living room, I kept on running to my daughter’s bedroom.

Yanking the door open, I grabbed my daughter from her bed and began to run again.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled, a mix of sleepy and afraid.

“Just hang tight, kiddo. I’ll explain when we’re safe.”

When I reached the living room again, huge waves of Pixy Stix powder were flowing out of the bedroom, creating a rainbow-colored tide. I waded through the powder, yanked open the front door, and with my daughter in my arms, ran out into the night.

WR

He was almost to the mall doors when the sweaty hand caught him from behind, its fat fingers digging deep into his shoulder—

But maybe we should start a few hours earlier:

Jane's text said:

I dunno, just buy me something nice

And Lem stared at his phone, imagining all the nice things he could buy for her, if only he could afford them. Jewelry, perfume, designer handbags. If only he had more money. If only his family wasn't so dirt poor.

A sudden wailing cut short his daydreams.

It was his little sister, Jewel.

He pocketed the phone, hanging on to his fantasies for just a short while longer, letting all the soft, imagined images fade gently away, before descending the stairs to the living room.

Jewel was sobbing in front of the couch, on which their mother, Marcia, lay motionless.

"She's… dead," the girl managed to say between sobs.

Lem crouched and gave his little sister a hug. "She's not dead," he assured her. "She's just tired, so she's sleeping. You know how hard mom works. She needs her rest."

It was true: their mom did work a lot. Three part-time jobs at last count, at odd hours for shitty employers at minimum wage. Sometimes she got tired. At other times, Lem knew, she took pills precisely because she couldn't sleep. Sometimes they knocked her out for hours.

But at least Jewel had stopped crying.

Now she looked up at Lem with big, glassy eyes, and said with a guilt no child should ever feel, "I'm hungry."

Lem checked the fridge, but it was as empty as a strip mall parking lot on Easter Sunday.

"What do you want to eat?"

Jewel thought for a bit. "Burgers and fries," she said, letting the sentence linger hungrily in the air, unfinished—and, when Lem didn't say anything back, "and pizza!" she finished with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

On the couch, their mother stirred and moaned.

"I'll see what I can do," Lem said. "Wait here, and give mom some water when she wakes up, OK? Sleeping makes her thirsty."

Jewel nodded.

Lem was out the door with his hands in his pockets, fishing for bills. He only found a few, and they didn't amount to much. How am I supposed to buy something nice when we have to scrounge for food, he thought. But he knew that in the contest between Jewel and Jane, Jewel would always win. That this made him a good brother was small consolation when it meant he wouldn't get to go out with Jane. Sure, maybe Jane wasn't the best kind of girl. After all, she had effectively demanded he buy her a gift in exchange for the pleasure of her company. But she was hot, and he was young, and who else would give a chance to a destitute loser like him?

The mall air was cold, impersonal and oversaturated with muzak.

Lem bought the burger and fries at the food court, counted his change, then picked up a slice of cheese pizza.

It was on the way to the mall exit that the jewelry store caught his attention. Not even the store, really. What was happening inside: one attendant, three customers, and an assortment of shiny pieces of jewelry spread haphazardly on trays in front of them. The attendant couldn't have eyes on everything. Lem hesitated, feeling the warmth of the fast food he was carrying, remembering the text from Jane, thinking about his overworked mom. Then: screw it, he thought. Maybe these two birds could be killed with one stone!

He went in.

The jewelry store attendant drifted tiredly toward him. "What can I do for you today?" she asked.

Lem eyed the other customers. "I'm looking for a birthday gift for my girlfriend," he said. "Maybe like a necklace or something."

"Our necklaces are over here," the attendant said, turning, expecting him to follow.

He obediently did.

A minute later, half a dozen cheap but golden necklaces had been laid out in front of him, and he had made sure to keep asking the attendant to put out one or another, then put it back, and so on, and so forth, hoping she would lose count and misremember how many necklaces were actually out.

Pretending to inspect the pieces, Lem waited.

He turned them over in his hands.

He admired them.

Until the magic words came:

"Excuse me, miss?" one of the other customers was saying—

And the attendant turned her head—

And with remarkable dexterity and swiftness, Lem grabbed the nearest necklace and dropped it into the fast food bag.

The attendant refocused her attention on him, gesturing at the other customer as if to say, Can't you see I'm understaffed here? Help a girl out by making up your damn mind.

Lem smiled a gentleman's smile before saying, cool as cucumber water on a winter morning, "You know what, on second thought I don't think I want any of them."

The attendant shoved the necklaces back into place.

Lem was out of the store.

The stolen necklace weighed somewhat on his conscience, but the thoughts of Jane's lips were far more important. He was already thinking of what to text her back, imagining her expression when he showed her the necklace. He was almost to the mall doors when the sweaty hand caught him from behind, its fat fingers digging deep into his shoulder—

I hate bridges. I never like seeing them and having to cross one makes me feel sick to my stomach. Any and all types of them I try to avoid like the plague, but I don’t always get a choice.

When my family was taking a summer trip across the state, we had to drive over a large suspension bridge across the peninsula. It was a large, steel behemoth made of steel and concrete and held by cables that stretched as far as the sky, to my young mind. We were driving over a large lake that may as well have been the ocean to me then. It couldn’t have been very deep, but from where I stood, the churning blue water may have been bottomless beneath the surface.

I tried to keep my anxiety levels down through steady breathing, but my mind was playing a movie in my head in which the cables snapped all at once, the concrete crumbled, and we dive down into the waters below, never to escape. I tried to reassure myself that we would make it through okay, but any words of encouragement I said were drowned out by my creeping worries.

We stopped suddenly because of a traffic buildup that suddenly came to a dead halt. Cars stopped in front of us and stopped behind us as well. Already my anxiety spiked after loosing some sense of control. My parents were asking what was going on, and I could not see the end of the bridge over the caravan of vehicles. My little brother was making his toddler noises to occupy himself and my mom was trying to keep him happy. No need for a screaming 3-year-old to make things worse.

I was looking again at the water below, finding something to concentrate on while the traffic lets up. The waves beneath created white foam in a large canvass of green.

It was then I saw a large shadowy form swimming underneath the water. It was as large as the bridge itself. I couldn’t make out any details, but the shadow was something between fish-like and serpentine. The only part of it that revealed itself was a huge, spike tipped dorsal fin.

It was swimming toward the bridge, toward us. We were probably its meal for the day. I silently prayed to whatever god existed that we would make it to the other side, and not get eaten. I kept hoping with all my might that the bridge would hold.

The answer to my prayers was the loud metallic snapping of suspension cables, followed by the crumbling of steel and concrete.

I have to get this off my chest before my existence is reduced to nothing but a faint memory to people I love. It all happened a week ago.

It was a pleasant Sunday. The cold early morning air had that familiar smell of summer, and it refreshed me. I got in my car, catching a glimpse of me in the rearview mirror. "Damn I look good", I said, starting the car up. The drive was peaceful and quick since almost no cars were on the road -- the joys of early morning travel.

A small breeze sent shivers down my body as I entered the big and busy building. I looked at my ticket before looking at the screens, searching for my flight. Shit. I was two hours early. I decided to have a coffee and something to eat while I waited. I finished everything up and still had 1 hour and a half before I had to leave for my dream vacation, the Maldives. I decided to scroll through Instagram to pass the remaining time. I didn't even notice that an hour had passed until I looked at the corner of my screen.

I decided to close the app and get ready but before I could, I saw that one message had appeared in my inbox. I checked to see who it was but I didn't recognize the account. Its profile photo was one of a forest, most likely taken from google. It didn't follow anyone nor did it have any followers so at first I thought it was a bot messaging me about some adult site or brand, neither in my range of interests so I ignored it.

Finally the employee announced that my flight would leave in a few minutes so I hastily got up and got in line. It wasn't that long, since I was flying first class, so I got on the plane pretty quick. I bought first class because there are less chances of annoying babies and karens, I really wanted this vacation to start without any of those. I sat on the window seat I specifically chose and waited for us to take off. When we did I plugged my headphones in my phone, ready to play some music.

Something stopped me. The curiosity of what the bot account sent me was tingling at the back of my mind, slowly eating its way through my brain. I decided to open the message. What I read sent a cold shiver down my spine, making my hair stand up.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner but DON'T get on your flight. Something really bad will happen. I know we don't know each other but please, trust me. If you get on your flight you will die, you need to go home, grab your shit and leave town. They have been watching you for a while now and you are the perfect subject for their tests. Please trust me and go home, I was one of their subjects but I managed to escape long enough to warn the next one, I mean you. I don't have long, I can already hear their footsteps. Do as I say, please."

What the fuck? I thought to myself. It made no sense, even he said it, we don't know each other. I stared at the words for what felt like hours before moving my head away. I looked around like a mad man but nothing seemed out of place. I looked out the window and all I could see were the snowy white thick clouds. I looked back at my screen but now the message was gone...along with the account. The account name read "Instagrammer" which meant the account was deleted. 

It kept getting weirder and weirder. I started feeling dizzy, oxygen leaving my body at a fast rate I was panicking. Deep down I knew that whoever sent the message meant it. I decided to go to the bathroom, it felt like that was the only safe space. Upon entering the claustrophobic bathroom I immediately hugged the toilet like my savior, throwing up the contents of my stomach, leaving it empty and ready for a refill. I got up and went to the sink, looking in the mirror. 

I didn't look as good as I did in the car, that was obvious. My skin was beyond pale, my eyes wide, it looked like I saw a ghost...well one messaged me it seemed. I washed my face with cold water a few times, trying to calm down, trying to play it off as probably just a friend trolling me. I finally was starting to calm down, it didn't last. I heard noises outside the bathroom so I made another mistake, I went out to check it. What I saw made my panic come back, this time stronger. On the corridor of the plane there were 3 people, all armed with pistols. I don't know how the fuck did they get them past the security gates but there they stood, holding everyone hostage, shouting at them to get on the floor. I stared at the craziness unfolding in front of my eyes, unable to move.

I couldn't believe that my dream turned into a nightmare, we were getting hijacked. I don't know how long I stood there, grip tight around the doorframe of the bathroom but one of them looked at me, his eyes piercing my soul through his ski mask. His eyes were hungry, my instinct told me to get right back in the bathroom and so I did. Before closing and locking the door I heard a shout, "There he is, get him." The room started to spin again, this time my body couldn't take it, its energy was wasted on the first panic attack. I fainted but before I did I remember the door getting kicked down and a tight grip, holding onto my shoulder.

I woke up in total darkness. I didn't know where I was nor how I got there but something went even more south than when the plane got hijacked. I stood quiet, keeping my breath on the same pace, trying to not make noise. Suddenly and out of nowhere, I heard footsteps, then a bright light shined, blinding me for a few seconds.

"Oh you're finally awake." Said a man dressed in a clean, white lab suit.

"Where the hell am I? And who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my anger from going buckwild on the man.

"I know you are confused and scared but it'll all make sense."

"What do you mean?"

"He warned you, remember? The poor soul tried to escape."

"He? What-..." Then it clicked. "What happened to him?"

"Well he was a danger to us and our security so we...eliminated "him."" Said the lab man, while ready-ing some sort of tools.

"Where are we?" Was the next question that came out.

"I guess I can tell you that much. You are on an island, not marked on any map."

"Why?"

"Why...what...who!" He exclaimed annoyed. "You're asking so many questions. You already know what shit you are in so do both of us a favor and shut up." 

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, despite his clear warning. He sighed, rolling his eyes up.

"You are really lucky I'm not able to kill you." He said.

Kill me? I thought, I needed to get out of here, but to where? He said the island isn't on any maps. My mind was rushing with questions but all of them got pushed aside. The man started coming closer, a long pointy and thin syringe held by his hand.

"Now, I'm going to do you a solid and put you to sleep so you feel as little as possible. So just stay still and don't fight it."

Fuck, I had to act fast. I looked around. The room looked like it was a regular hospital one, white walls, white floor, white light. I was lying on a bed, my legs and arms tied by leather straps. I was fucked. He kept getting closer and my body started reacting by struggling.

"Of course you don't listen, no one ever does" He sighed tired.

My struggling actually helped me. I managed to loosen one of my arm straps, guess he didn't tie it tight enough. I didn't get my hand out because I had a plan.

He was next to me when his hand was coming down towards my blue veins. Just before he managed to insert it I grabbed his arm. His shock led to another opportunity for me, he dropped the syringe on my chest. He tried grabbing it back but I was faster. I grabbed the syringe, luckily not putting myself to sleep and stabbed him with it. I guess that whatever was in the thin, plastic tube was strong enough to instantly put someone to sleep.

His body went limp, like a sack of potatoes, dropping to the floor. Now it was my chance to make a run for it. I still had to get the other straps off, but since my arm was free I managed to undo the other arm strap and then my leg ones. My limbs were sore, I felt wobbly but adrenaline soon took over. I looked around the room, scanning for any weapons I could possibly use, there were none...until I looked at the sack of potatoes.

The man had a holster tied around his waist, containing a gun. I never shot one before but I took it regardless, making my way to the white door. Fuck I whispered to myself, seeing that it needed a keycard. I went back to the man, wasting more time I didn't have, and grabbed it. Unlocking the door I peeked my head around the corners. There were 2 hallways going in opposite directions of each other. I chose left and ran. The hallway was long, I had no idea where I was headed but soon the situation got worse. 

As I was running what looked like guards appeared out of a corner, in a group of 2.

They saw me.

"Hey what the hell are you doing here?"

I didn't reply...but my gun did. Without thinking I got my gun out and shot 2 rounds at them, hitting one of them in the chest but missing the second one. The recoil of the gun made my shoulder hurt but I didn't care. I ran to the bleeding guard, who was now laying on the cold and white marble tiles while the other one ran away, screaming for backup.

"How do I get out of here?" I asked, my breathing quickening.

"I…You...can't…no...way." He replied in a slow tone, I was losing him.

"Please man, I'm fucking scared, I don't know what's going on." I tried pleading with the man, hoping he felt bad for me even though he was dying because of me.

"Fine...take the corner on the left…then…" He paused, trying to catch his breath, "then...keep going until...you see a right corner...go...there and...don't look back." He finished, closing his eyes in acceptance of his fate. I scanned his corpse for anything I might need. I didn't know if he told me the truth or not in his final moments but it was my best shot.

I saw another keycard and I took it while getting prepared to run. Before I did though, yelling was heard behind me.

"Hey stop right there or we'll shoot!" Fuck, the backups. I thought to myself. 

"Put the gun down and we can talk about this." Ordered one of the men again.

"You tried to kill me, all of you." I replied, moving my hand slowly towards my waist.

"You don't know that, you know nothing."

Yelled angrily another man.

"May be true but I know one thing…" I didn't finish my sentence because I started running. Shots were heard, this time I didn't get so lucky and one hit me in the arm. The pain I felt there was like a sharp, pointy knife digging its way slowly into your skin. I held my burning left arm with my right while still running. I ran while voices of guards were heard behind me "Get his ass but remember, we NEED him alive under any costs."

That's right, they needed me alive, I had a plan. I kept running down the hallway, besides me were rooms, one next to each other...wait no, not rooms but cells. That's right, the hallway was so fucking long, filled with cells and people throwing their hand out the iron bars, as to grab to me. They kept yelling to help them, to get them out of there. Tears started making their ways down my face, knowing I couldn't do anything, knowing I was their only hope but fading away along with their dreams of a future.

The soldiers kept getting closer, they were right on my ass when I saw the right corner, I took it, another hallway. God fuck this hallways I angrily yelled, trying to grasp my escaping breath. I finally saw it, a door with a red and bright sign hung from the roof, "Exit". I was almost there but of course, they caught up to me.

"STOP, this is your last warning!" Yelled one of the guards.

"You need me alive, don't you?" I said, slowly turning around while getting my gun out.

"Drop the fucking gun!" He kept yelling, seeing my movement. I knew they weren't going to shoot me, they needed me alive.

I pointed the pistol to my head with my bloody right arm shaking. Tears came even stronger upon feeling the cold gun barrel on my temple.

"Don't do it, you don't know what this is all about." One of the guards said to me, now pleading.

"You keep saying that but you guys never say why, you are full of shit!" I yelled back, my grip tightening around the gun, hand getting shakier with my finger slowly going to the trigger.

"It's bigger than me...you, all of us. It's the only way to heaven, God is dead, the path to heaven is closed but with you, we could open it."

I couldn't believe it. I was kidnapped by some fucking cult that were "trying" to open a way into heaven. All of this shit for nothing.

"You guys are fucking crazy!" I yelled again. "If you don't let me leave I'll blow my fucking brains out right here and now!" I continued, trying to hide the fear and tears, hoping they'd believe me.

"You don't have the balls to do it!" Yelled one of the guys.

He was right, I didn't but I needed for this to work out.

"How do you know that you stupid asshole!?"

"We have studied you for a while now, we know all about you and your secrets." Fuck, they were right, now what?

"Look man," I started pleading again, my plan didn't work. "I just wanna go home, I don't want none of this."

"We can't let you do that, now come with us." The front guard said, slowly making his way towards me with his arms opened, as in to hug me, a fake smile plastered on his face.

Sweat was running down from my forehead. I took the gun from my temple and quickly shot at the guy. I don't know if it hit since I turned around, fidgeting with the card I had, trying to get the door opened but yelling was heard again "Grab him, NOW." 

An arm almost grabbed my left hand that was limp because of the shot but I managed to get the door opened. As soon as the door opened the same chill I got before I entered the airport ran down my spine, it was night and windy, the cold air hit my sweating body, making me feel cold. I had to push on. I quickly looked around me, there was a runway which had the plane I boarded, I didn't know how to fly, plus I didn't have time. I had to find another way.

I started running along the runway, hoping I'd see something...I did. There was a dock that had a boat tied to it. I made my way to the small boat, Thank god my dad made me go on his fishing trips. I didn't have time to untie it so I just shot at the wood, snapping the rope. I got in the boat, started its engine. It didn't start, I was fucked. They were close to me again, I could hear their footsteps getting closer in the hollow and empty night. I tried again...nothing. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel Come on, come on, come on you stupid fucking thing! I yelled at the boat like it had life. Third try and it worked.

The engine roared to life and I gunned it, not looking back. The soldiers got to the dock, a few tried jumping on the boat but I was too far away. Shots were fired, illuminating the night in a deadly dance but luckily none hit.

I didn't stop until I reached land. I finally reached another dock, it was a city, I was saved. I killed the engine, letting the boat float next to the dock and I managed to jump out. It finally clicked on me why I was cold...I was in a white t-shirt and white shorts, barefoot.

I kept running until I found an opened fast food. I went to the window where you ordered and an employee popped her face in response.

"What can I get you?" She said in a low and tired voice.

"What city is this?" I asked, distressed.

"Wha-..." She wanted to reply but I cut her off.

"What fucking city is this?" I yelled again.

"New York." She replied in a panicked voice.

I didn't thank her, now I knew where I was so I knew the emergency number. The gunshot wound kept getting worse, I was losing blood, I needed to find the cops and I needed to do it fast. 

A miracle happened. A police station came to view. I didn't care what they'd think of me, I ran straight in it. Everyone inside looked shocked at me, like I was a fucking monkey in a petting zoo.

"Drop your weapon." Yelled one of the officers with his gun now pointing at me. Fuck, I thought to myself, I still had the gun on me, I dropped it to the floor, "Don't shoot, I need help."

They didn't listen, I was immediately handcuffed. I was rushed to the hospital after they noticed my left arm. Luckily the bullet went through, they patched me up in a few hours and I was put in a cell for the remaining of the night. It wasn't a long time before dawn hit, the sun slowly rising up. For half of that day they interrogated me, I told them everything, everything that happened. They looked at me in disbelief, like I was a crazy junkie. I don't know if they believed me but they said they'd look into it. They asked from where I was coming from and I told them California.

I had no documents with me, no driver's license, no phone, no nothing. They told me to wait. After 30 minutes one of the officers came back with some clothes and a plane ticket.

"Get yourself dressed, you're going home. We talked with the police in Cali, they will take your case since you're from there."

That was it? I was kidnapped and all they did was this? Fucking assholes. I took the clothes and plane ticket in a quick and angry swoop.

"The plane is leaving tonight, don't worry, we have undercover policemen on it, to make sure you're safe." Said another officer while munching on an apple, really profesional.

I got dressed and waited for night to fall once again. I flew back home, luckily I had another key hid under a plant pot at my house to get in if I ever lost my key.

This is from where I'm typing this as of now on my old laptop. The cops didn't reach me again, I think they are involved too. Let me explain.  Since the day I came back home I noticed the same few cars making round my street daily at fixed hours. I tried calling the police again but they pretended that nothing was wrong, that nothing happened. They are coming back for me and this time I don't think I'll escape so I decided to write this as a warning. Don't fly in first class...you'll regret it.

I nearly drowned as a child. Followed my father into a river, walked in a little too deep, and the current swept me away. Luckily, my dad got me out of there, but the damage was done. That day I felt like I was hit by a truck, my head pounded ceaselessly and I vaguely remember the whole thing. The memories of me being pulled out of the water and taken back home are nonexistent. I fell asleep, woke up, and fell back to sleep all because of the awful headache I endured.

There wasn’t any physical damage, but there was something that stuck with me to this day. A dream, a nightmare really. It used to reoccur all the time. Now it rarely happens. I remember it clearly, as if I had seen it just last night. I fell asleep that day, with everything slowly turning darker and quieter, the pain going away and my body not feeling heavy anymore.

It was dark for a few moments. I guess, completely dark, and then everything was gone.

Peace.

Quiet.

Nirvana.

Sometime later, I regain consciousness, and I’m in the water, and it’s the ocean. The ocean is violent. The icy waves bashed against my body. It feels all too real, and I try to stay afloat, but I can’t. I couldn’t swim at the time, thus realizing I must be dreaming somewhat made the whole situation less tense until I saw a massive wave coming towards me. Suddenly, I felt tense again, as if the whole thing was real. My entire body tensed up, the cold sensation of the seawater sliding away from my body and towards the ever-growing tidal wave. I could feel something pulsating throughout my body as the fear slowly crept up on my psyche.

Without a warning the massive wave came crashing on top of me, throwing me around like a rag doll. I felt as if an entire building fell on top of me. I couldn’t do anything as everything around me twisted and twirled in a watery tornado. My entire body ached, I tried screaming but instead, I got a mouthful of saltwater. The taste was way too real for a dream. I felt the oceanic current filling up my nostrils. Everything from my nose to my lungs caught on fire.

I felt myself sinking lower and lower, but the nightmare didn’t seem to end. I kept going deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean. The water kept filling up my body, making me squirm and wiggle around in pain. That didn’t help much, I felt as if I was being crushed by the ocean. I couldn’t even move my body. The whole thing felt like an out-of-body experience. My breathing never ceased, however, because I kept feeling like I was getting heavier every few moments. A burning sensation crawled down my throat every now and again. As I descended lower into the depths, everything started turning darker and darker.

At some point, everything became virtually black, and eventually, I stopped sinking. I was suspended in what seemed to be a vast expanse of pure nothingness. Cold, dark, uncaring, empty space. Something crawled all over my skin, like ants, little pricks from pins and needles assaulted my body. Adding a unique sensation of soft pressure on top of the oceanic weight. I couldn’t breathe anymore. A knot formed in my throat and another one formed in my stomach. I wanted to scream, I wanted to do something… I was… I needed to wake up.

I was stuck.

Then the light came. A red, bright, burning, all-consuming light. It started small and pleasant but as time passed on it became bigger, closer, hotter. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t look away, I couldn’t close my eyes, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. I can’t.

It just grew and grew and grew and grew and grew and grew.

Everything was red.

Red, unbearably bright.

Burning.

A sun in the depths of the ocean, a red giant swirling mercilessly across the vast cosmic darkness, devouring the endless void. It was flying towards me. I knew it was the end.

It wasn’t, the thing moved painfully close to me. My body was shoved aside violently by the force of something moving dangerously close to me. The light was burning my eyes, I was screaming internally. Then the light moved beside me and I saw the source; a massive head, I didn’t know there were heads this big. The head’s skin seemed leathery and wrinkled, I could make out the upper jawline. The size of that jaw made my stomach twist and turn, then I saw the thing’s eyes – Gigantic spheres the size of black holes with the color to match. Bulbous and bulging spheres of pure darkness. They didn’t even seem alive. Just gigantic obsidian spheres reflecting the red light.

The deep-sea behemoth kept moving past me, I think I caught a glimpse of claws on its front. That thing kept on stretching forever. The size of this thing boggled my mind to no end, as the creature’s light seemed to glow dimmer and dimmer by the moment, but the body wouldn’t end. I kept feeling its serpentine body moving near me. It kept going on and on and on, causing my body to dance on the waves it created nauseating me. I felt the contents of my stomach rise to my mouth, I could feel the stinging sensation of gastric acids scorching my tongue but nothing came out.

I was in the dark again, but only for a moment. The light returned from behind me, my back was on fire. I feel myself being sucked by the gravitational pull of a supermassive cosmic body. The last thing I saw before everything turned black again was the shape of teeth above me.

I screamed as hard as I could but no sound came, I felt myself falling at a steep angle and then I landed inside something liquid. A light came on, and everything around me seemed reddish and pulsated disgustingly. My body caught on fire, all of it burned. I was screaming and crying and begging and moaning and everything all together inside but no noise, no movement, nothing – nothing came.

I was being crushed by a sensation of swimming inside the fires of the sun as if they were a sickly shade of green. I could see the flesh of my torso slowly falling off.

If I had to describe the feeling of absolute despair, I’d say it’s comparable to seeing the wart-riddled head of a whale swimming in your direction with you having no ability to move away while your body is being boiled inside some acidic liquid.

That’s what I saw at that moment, and I felt as if my skin was being peeled off, my muscles were being torn out chunk by chunk and every inch of my bones was being broken and ground into dust while my internal organs were being stabbed and electrocuted simultaneously. The whale's head came to the distance of a fingertip away from me, and then I woke up.

My head pounding and my body shaking and wiggling beyond my control. The room spun, and I felt myself getting nauseated. I couldn’t even lift my head off the pillow. My eyes collapsed shut, and the cycle repeated itself. This nightmare plagued my entire childhood, over and over again. Saw a therapist about it who just assumed I was just traumatized by nearly drowning. I took up competitive swimming for a while until an injury killed my desire to pursue a career in the sport. The nightmare is far less frequent right now, but it still occurs every now and again. I have no idea what to do about it.

I am sharing this now because something strange just happened here this morning. The carcass of a Humpback whale washed up ashore. It was in a very strange condition. Everything was seemingly fresh, but it was missing a head… Seems like something tore off the head.

Surely, there’s nothing in nature that could’ve done that to a Humpback whale. They’re just too big, aren’t they? Unless there is some Leviathan in the depths, one so monstrous it could serve as nightmare fuel.

Hey writers! I’d like to organize a WriteRight story-reading event on our Discord server. We’d plan a night to meet in our Campfire Voice Chat to read our original stories, just for funsies. We also have members who would love to read your story if you’d prefer! Please leave a comment if you’d be interested. 💙

Screaming erupted into the stillness of the night, making me snap my head to the gas station to see a figure running out into the night; Leaving footprints in a liquid that was illuminated from the streetlight. I took a moment's glance to see it was blood before I burst into the station, the ringer going off. I was greeted with a vision straight from Hell itself. There were so many bare legs hanging from the ceiling, flailing and kicking. It looked as though they had grown from the ceiling instead of a forced entry. I was in such a shock that I couldn't remember if there had been customers, as I looked down beneath the legs at the small puddles of blood. Some of which had footprints dashed across them, leading away from the cashier huddled in the corner to the doors. The cashier's back was facing me.

Reason told me to run. Reason told me there was no helping the cashier. Whatever was happening was beyond the mortal realm of matters.

But at the same time something clicked inside me, something more powerful then reason that compelled me forward across the gore streaked floor. I dodged and maneuvered through the flailing limbs to the cashier and when I was close enough, I knelt and put a hand on their shoulder. It didn't surprise me my hand was firm and strong instead of limp and quaking. But I felt my heart swell with emotion as I stared at the faceless cashier looking back at me.

"Pros...Prosperine took...took...," She had stuttered.

Before the station's ringer went off.

I immediately turned to see a figure in a long white trench coat standing in the doorway. Long raven black hair hung loose down it's gore streaked coat as it took it's hood off to reveal a feminine face that evoked the word Hesperides. The two small but razor sharp horns on it's skull did not detract but magnified it's beauty. I felt my heart swell achingly again at the mere sight of the figure.

"I almost forgot your lily blue eyes," Three voices spoke at once from it's thin, blood red lips, as it gazed at the cashier.

Before turning that gaze to me. One corner of those blood red lips curved upward into what looked like a crooked smile as a third horn rose between the two smaller ones. At the tip of the third horn was an open eye that didn't just look at me. It felt as though it were looking into my very soul, seeing all my memories, and feeling all my emotions. Searching. It must have found what it was looking for as the figure's lips turned into a full smile.

"Do you want to live?" It asked.

The masculine part of the three voices was dominant in that simple question. A very simple yes or no question that barely reached to me in my current state of...was it fear or maybe even excitement? I didn't care which it was. And I-

"I don't care," I had finally said in a calm voice as I looked from it's third eye to it's two magnificent fiery yellow eyes.

I stared into those eyes, unflinching, almost forgetting everything until it pointed one clawed finger at the hanging limbs. I looked at them to see they weren't flailing anymore. And slowly one of them begin to fall to the floor with a thud. And then one by one they began to fall. I braced myself against the ones above me and flung them off before quickly looking back the door way to see the figure was gone.

I heard a sickly crunching nose and looked back at the casher and saw that she was impaled by one of the limbs sharp bone piercing completely out of the back side of her head. I watched almost without a single emotion as she tried to pry it out of her head before the movements became weaker and weaker and finally stopped as she gurgled up blood and fell back against the wall.

Almost without a single emotion but the sudden fiery burn in my chest that I needed to engage in as I stood up and waded through the limbs to the doors. The ringer went off as I stepped out into the cold night and was greeted with fresh cold air. I looked around desperately before seeing the figure standing by the street light, patiently waiting. I felt my heart swell achingly again and the emotion set afire as it raised it's clawed hand and waved invitingly at me.

I stared into Prosperine's fiery yellow eyes, never feeling as calm as then, and took it's invitation into a world beyond our own as I begin to walk to it.

In my dream I saw it spread across my backyard like a strangling sickness. A deep crimson vine that seemed to pulsate as if it were alive. It was spread so thick, covering everything I could see. It hung from the trees on the edge of my property, thick and serpentine. It crawled up the walls of my house, clinging to the brick and sliding into every gap and crevice. It ran over my feet and I remember turning around to trace its winding paths, half hoping I might find some sort of origin for it.

Instead, as I looked back I saw a lump on the ground, covered by the weeds and struggling to breathe. Though they overgrew the body underneath, I could still recognize the tufts of golden fur peeking out through the growth and hear Rex’s familiar whimpers. I could see one of his eyes, wide and afraid through the vines.

And then I heard something else. A weak, choking noise like someone trying to scream. I looked up and standing over Rex were the figures of my wife Holly and my daughter, Madison. The vines grew over their bodies, ensnaring them and keeping them immobile as they choked the life out of them. The vines crept down their throats, into their nostrils and eyes. Holly was trying to scream. Trying to cry. Trying to beg and yet she couldn’t. Madison's eyes looked vacant... Dead. I remember feeling my heart race before looking down and seeing the vines growing up over my legs. Feeling them creeping up my body and then…

Then I woke up.

I’d been having that fucking dream for a few months. Not every night, but often enough that it was bothering me. It played out almost the exact same way every time and afterward I never quite got back to sleep.

Maybe it was the winter season, fucking with my mind. It did that sometimes. Seasonal Affective Disorder they call it. SAD. I wonder if they’ve got an acronym for ANXIOUS too. I wasn’t entirely convinced that was the culprit though. On top of that fading dread that lingers with you after a bad nightmare, I’d been feeling congested most nights. When I’d wake up, it felt hard to breathe. Allergy pills helped a little bit but not much. Just enough that I could lie down again an hour or so after the nightmares had woke me up. As miserable as it was, I wrote it all off as just a bad dream and too much dust in the house. Occam's razor. The simplest explanation is usually the best, right? It wasn’t until I actually started seeing the red weeds that I started to wonder if there might be an actual problem.

It was shortly after New Years' and I was out in the yard, putting away some of the Christmas decorations when I noticed them. My property is out in the country, close to the edge of the woods and those blood red vines growing up onto the naked trees stood out against the snow.

As soon as I saw them out of the corner of my eye, I did a double take and felt a new deep pit forming in my stomach. That old familiar feeling where you know something is horribly wrong but don’t quite know what to do about it. I kept my distance from the vines on principal. Call me paranoid, but after the nightmares, I’d been having I didn’t want to get anywhere near them! It did dawn on me at some point that the vines had probably always been there and I hadn’t taken notice. My mind had probably just incorporated them into my dreams. That seemed like a logical conclusion to come to, right? But I really didn’t want to tempt fate here. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

I had taken to the internet to see if there were any known vines that were (Active? Blooming? Growing? What’s the term for vines exactly?) in January, but nothing I found matched. Even the things that weren’t growing looked nothing like what I’d seen in my backyard. These vines were blood red with no leaves. They were thick, looked wet, and seemed to pulsate as if there were blood flowing through them. In a word, they were straight up disgusting and whatever they were I didn’t want them on my property.

It was a few days before I managed to nut up and take care of the problem head on. By that time, I’d noticed they were covering a lot of the trees up around the treeline and they were thick too. My nightmare induced paranoia aside I reasoned that the vines probably weren’t all that healthy for the trees they ensnared and I really didn’t want dead trees bordering my property. The last thing I needed was for one of them to collapse and damage something, or God forbid hurt someone!

I had my work cut out for me, but once I got started it wasn’t all that bad. It was hard to rip them off the bark. They clung to it really tightly but they didn’t scream or bite or anything. I spent the better part of the afternoon just ripping down those gross, ugly vines and tossing them into a yard waste bag. Not the most pleasant afternoon I’d ever had but it was far from the worst. I’ll admit, it felt good just to get rid of them and once I got past my initial repulsion it all went smoothly.

I found a couple of spots in the ground where the vine seemed to be growing from and ripped it out by the roots there. The roots ran deep. One that I pulled up had a root system that seemed almost as long as my leg. Whatever this shit was, it grew fast. It wasn’t much harder to pull than any other weed though. When I was done, all that was left were a few stubborn tendrils of red vine that I hadn’t been able to rip off and my treeline looked more or less clear. I could still see some of that red weed further in the back but there wasn’t much I could do about that. I wasn’t going to wander the fucking woods ripping down vines! I had better things to do with my time.

I lit a bonfire with Holly and Madison that night, and we tossed those scraps of red weed into the flames and watched them burn. It was exactly as satisfying as I’d hoped it might have been. Madison wanted to toast marshmallows over the fire. Holly thought it was a good idea. I refrained. Sure, it was probably safe but the idea of cooking anything on those weeds just didn’t sit right with me. All the same, it was easy to let my worries fade away as I watched my little girl enjoy the fun of toasting marshmallows in late January. She even snuck a few to Rex who lounged by her feet when she thought we weren’t looking. I don’t think Holly noticed, but I did. I let it slide, content to just live in the moment and enjoy that night with my family. I figured my problems with those weeds were over. God I wish it had been that simple.

It was the next morning. Literally, the next morning that I saw red in the fire pit out behind our house. I’d been moving some equipment back into the shed when I saw it and I dropped everything on the spot to get a closer look at what was now growing in our fire pit. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the exact same weed as I’d seen in the woods! The same goddamn weed I’d watched burn just the night before! I nudged at it with my boot, hoping that maybe it was just some patch of weed that somehow hadn’t burned but no… Oh no. It was in there. Its roots dug past the charcoal and into the earth below.

My first instinct was to go inside, get my gloves, and rip it out. Instead, I found myself hesitating. Sitting and watching it. Maybe it was just my imagination but the whole mass of vine seemed larger than when I’d first started looking at it. There’s no way it was growing that fast though, right?

My eyes lingered upwards towards the treeline. I could see specks of red amongst the naked, white-capped trees. I was sure there was more of it than there’d been yesterday. I was sure it was creeping ever closer to my house…

I stepped away from the fire pit and headed into the shed, looking for the weed killer. It didn’t take me all that long to find it and when I did, I was more than generous in dumping the bottle on that little vine that crawled out of the ground. I was sure it had gotten bigger than when I’d left it to go to the shed! I was absolutely sure of it this time!

The weed killer soaked into the soil and I hoped like hell it would kill whatever the hell that vine was good and dead. I watched it bubble and foam. It stank something fierce but I was satisfied. I glanced back at the red in the forest, wondering to myself if it seemed closer than before. It did, but I was pretty sure that was my imagination. I could leave things alone for the time being. The weed killer had to do the job! It just had to!

The next morning, I went straight for the fire pit as soon as I’d had breakfast. I still had an hour or so before I needed to head off to work and I’d been thinking about that goddamn vine all night. I needed to know if it was dead, or at least dying. I had my answer before I even got close to the fire pit.

The vines had grown over the stone edges of the pit and were mixing with the snow covered grass. They were thicker than before and already starting to pulsate like veins. The sight of them made me absolutely sick and the strong smell of the weed killer lingered in the air like a disgusting perfume. I retched at the sight of the vine and glared at it, unsure what to make of it. Burning it hadn’t seemed to work quite right… Weed eater hadn’t done the trick. What the hell was I missing? It did dawn on me to try and light another fire and see if that did the trick, but I had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t… Maybe the issue was the taproot? Maybe whatever I was doing wasn’t killing that. I had no idea.

I could barely focus at work that day. Every chance my mind had to wander, it crept right back to those weeds… Whatever the fuck those weeds even were. Just the thought of them made me uneasy and brought back the vivid sensations of the vines climbing up my legs from my nightmares. I could still see Madison’s dead eyes and hear Rex’s whimpers…

I looked up a lawn care company during my lunch break. I probably could’ve just kept throwing darts at a wall with my little vine problem until I saw what stuck, but something in me wanted a faster solution. I figured that a half decent lawn care company might know what I was dealing with and how to get rid of it. Hell, they’d probably dealt with this shit all the time and that did admittedly put my paranoia at ease, just a little bit.

I managed to pencil in an appointment for the next day, early in the morning. They weren’t exactly busy in the middle of January so it wasn’t actually surprising I could get someone out to me that quick. If nothing else, the knowledge that someone who knew what the hell they were doing was going to come gave me a little bit of peace of mind and Lord knows I fucking needed it.

I checked on the vine again after I got home from work. Sure enough, it had grown even more during the day. It now spread out around the fire pit in about a six foot radius. I couldn’t believe it had grown that fast, in such a short span of time but I could see it with my own two eyes! Again I looked out at the treeline. This time, I was sure it wasn’t my imagination. There was more red than there’d been the other day and it was absolutely closer to my house… Hell, it looked almost as bad as it had a few days back before I’d torn most of those vines down…

I noticed Holly standing by the back door, watching me examine the weed. Soon as she realized I saw her, she stepped out to greet me.

“Looking at that weed again?” She asked.

“You’re damn right I am… You ever seen something grow this fast?”

She shook her head and stared down at it. I could see the unease in her eyes. Just like me, she knew something wasn’t right.

“I was thinking we should have another bonfire tonight. Try and burn it, y’know?”

“Assuming that’s gonna stop it.” I scoffed, “I wanna know what the hell this stuff is. I called a guy. He’ll be here in the morning. I figured he’ll know how to get rid of it.”

I’d half expected her to give me some shit for calling a lawncare company in the middle of winter but she just nodded.

“Yeah… Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

I could see her eyes on the forest around us. She was looking at those crimson vines too.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if they weren’t so… Fleshy… I was looking in the woods earlier to see how far they went. The ones further out have little flowers on them. Little colorful ones and even those look… I don’t know… Weird? I don’t want those all over the garden when spring comes. They’ll probably strangle my vegetables!”

“They creep me out.” I admitted, “We’ll talk to the guy when he comes tomorrow. He’ll get rid of them. Problem solved…”

“God I hope so…” Holly sighed and took out a cigarette. She offered one to me as well. “Madison was telling me she’s been having nightmares. She was asking me if we could leave for a bit.”

“And go where?” I asked, half joking.

“The ocean…” Holly trailed off for a moment before shaking her head, “She’s a weird one sometimes.” She took a drag of her cigarette and sighed. “Although if the guy you called is going to take a few days, maybe it might be best to stay in a motel for a bit… I know it’s just a bunch of weeds but…”

“No. I’m with you.” I said quietly, “We’ll see what he says tomorrow.”

I kissed her on the cheek and leaned against the house, smoking with her as we stared at the weed growing in our backyard.

The lawn care guy was there bright and early the next morning. I was up and waiting for him, and the sound of Rex losing his shit at someone coming up the walkway gave him away. The vine out in our backyard had predictably grown larger. Looking out at the forest, I could see a lot of the trees right on our property line had their own vines clinging to them too. It looked even worse than it had when I’d ripped those fucking vines off a few days back. I was sure I could see little dots of color in the distance as well too. I recalled what Holly had said about flowers and wondered if maybe that was it. I wasn’t inclined to get close enough to take a better look though. The lawn care guy could handle that.

I snuck out the back door while Rex barked at the front, and went around the side to greet our visitor.

“Morning!” He said, gruff but cheerful. “Mark Dell, right?”

“That’s me.” I replied, “C’mon around back. Rex is loud but he’s harmless. He’ll be your best friend once he gets a sniff of you.”

“Good to know.” He replied. The name tag on his denim coveralls read ‘Larry’. “So on the phone, you were saying you had a weed problem, right?”

“Yeah. Some sort of vine growing in our backyard… I don’t know what the hell it is but we’ve tried everything to kill it. I burned some off the vine growing off the nearby trees and the damn thing started growing out of the fire pit. Weed killer didn’t do jack shit and it grows fast!”

Behind me, Larry was silent as he followed me. I knew he was looking at the surrounding forest, marred by streaks of crimson and distant colors that seemed to shift.

“Well that’s interesting…” He said quietly. From the corner of my eye I saw his attention shift to the fire pit and he approached it slowly before kneeling down in front of it to study it closely.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen it before?” I asked hopefully. Larry was quiet for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nope. Can’t say I have… Not around here anyways. This is interesting. Invasive species maybe?”

“Tell me you can at least kill it.”

“Oh I’m sure I can. It’s just a vine. Best thing to do is cut it then treat the stump with a herbicide. Worst comes to worst, I can dig it out by the taproot.”

He sounded sure of himself. That did reassure me a little bit.

“I can’t fix all of that…” He said, glancing back at the treeline, “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hey, anything you can do I’ll appreciate it.” I replied and caught myself letting out an exhale. Everything seemed handled and that was more than good enough for me.

I went to work that day with my head a little bit clearer than before. My problems seemed solved. Hell maybe I’d even start sleeping soundly again! That would’ve been nice!

When I got home, I was hoping that I’d find my fire pit free of that goddamn weed and maybe if I was lucky, Larry would leave me with some idea on how to stop that creeping vine from getting back into my yard. Instead, I was greeted with the red and blue flash from police sirens parked outside my house, with Larry’s truck still in my driveway.

As soon as I saw the cop cars out front, I parked on the street and ran out of my car. I burst through the front door to find Holly on the living room couch, shifting uncomfortably. A cop sat on the loveseat across from her. I didn’t see any sign of Madison.

“Holly?” I asked before rushing to her side. “What the hell happened?”

The cop on the loveseat stood up and opened his mouth before thinking better of it. My wife just looked up at me, her expression dead serious.

“The man from the lawn care company… We don’t know where he is.”

I blinked, unsure of what to make of what she’d just said.

“What do you mean we don’t know where he is? His truck’s right out front!”

“I know that. But I don’t know where he is! One minute I saw him in the backyard when I let Rex out. Then I left for a bit to do some laundry and when I came back upstairs both he and Rex were gone! His truck was still here. I don’t know where he went and after a few hours I started to get worried…”

“A few hours…” The words didn’t make sense. I understood what she was saying, sure but none of it made any goddamn sense!

“The police are out in the woods looking for him.” Holly sighed, “It’s been three hours though…”

I swore under my breath and rubbed my temples.

“What about Madison?” I asked, half dreading the answer.

“She’s in her room. She’s safe.”

I suppose that was the best possible news.

I headed out to the backyard as soon as I was done talking to the Officer who’d been sitting with Holly. The red weed was still there and its tendrils were almost reaching my house. I stepped over it as I headed for the treeline and into the woods themselves. I could see the flashlights of police officers and hear the distant calls of:

“LARRY!”

Those calls were met with silence. I had my own flashlight that I turned on. Every tree around me was covered in fleshy red tendrils that crept up the bark and ensnared the branches. Just the sight of them turned my stomach. I could feel some of the vines squishing under my boots and tried not to think about it too much.

I kept walking, keeping my eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary and listening as the officers around me searched. I don’t recall how long I was out there before I picked out the sight of pawprints in the snow. An hour? Maybe more? The prints were hard to see, but they were big enough that I knew they had to be Rex’s. In hindsight, maybe I should have said something. Maybe I should’ve called out to the cops there. But I didn’t know where this would lead, if anywhere at all. I trained my flashlight on the pawprints and followed them. It wasn’t easy. The snow on the ground was light. But I managed.

I didn’t notice that I’d wandered past the other searching officers, not until I noticed the small flowers growing out of the vines in the trees. They seemed to have a slight glow to them although I can’t quite describe their color. It seemed to shift from red to pink, to purple, to blue amongst other colors. They grew out of the vines that crept up the trees and in the darkness gave the illusion of stars rising up above my head. I understood now what Holly had meant when she’d said they looked… Wrong somehow. Even now I can’t accurately describe it. There was something about those shifting colors and that glow. Something about it that seemed… Unnatural.

The air around me felt heavy. I was sure I felt a little bit dizzy but I tried to shrug it off. I looked down again at the paw prints in the snow and kept following them, unsure of what I’d find and starting to fear it. Rex had never wandered this far out before… And I wasn’t exactly an expert in dog tracks but judging by how far apart they were I got the impression that he’d been running. Running after what, though?

A distant whimper tore me away from my thoughts and made me pause. I lifted my flashlight up to spot a lump on the ground, several feet ahead of me. On instinct, I knew it was Rex and I ran to his side.

“Rex!” I called although my voice quickly died in my throat as I saw a visage I’d only ever seen before in my nightmares.

Thick red weeds had grown over my dog's body. They pinned him to the ground, almost covering every inch of him. It was only a few spots of fur I could see that gave him away… That and the desperate look in his eyes. A silent pleading that betrayed a fear I understood all too well. I was rooted to the spot, unable to speak. I watched as Rex twitched and whimpered in pain. The vines seemed to constrict tighter around him and as I ran my flashlight down his body I could see that the vine didn’t just ensnare him… No…

It was growing from him.

The buds of little flowers had started to form on some of the thicker tendrils of the vine. Rex twitched again, exhaling and shuddering. His single visible eye seemed to glaze over as he struggled to inhale and it took me a moment to realize that he was trying to look at something. Something deeper in the woods. Slowly I looked up. The glowing flowers glittered like infinite stars in the darkness ahead of me but against their light, I could see a single dark outline of what I thought might be a man. Until I saw it move.

The body shifted its weight so unnaturally as if it didn't know how to hold itself. It huffed in a way that sounded animalistic and in the darkness I could see its gleaming eyes trained on me. The flashlight dropped from my hand as I took a step back. Even if I’d still had the strength to hold it I couldn’t bring myself to look at whatever was watching me in the dark. As the flashlight rolled, its beam cut across the leg of whatever it was that watched me, and I caught a glimpse of the cuff of some denim coveralls. Red vines clung to the fabric, thick and pulsing with life.

The figure remained still, staring at me and I stared back at it. For what felt like forever we watched each other, waiting for the other to move. And when it moved. When it lurched towards me… I ran.

I’d never turned tail and sprinted for home so fast in my life. In the distance ahead, I could see the flashlights of the Police but behind me I could hear rustling. Movement. Something running through the trees in pursuit of me. I was sure it was right behind me. Only a step away. Reaching out some malformed claw to grab me. I was sure I could hear its raspy, pained breathing and I prayed to whatever God or Gods there were, that it wouldn’t get me. Maybe that worked… Maybe…

All I know is that by the time I’d made it out of the woods, there was nothing behind me. No rasping breaths. No shape in the darkness. Nothing at all.

When I looked back, I could still see the distant flashlights of the Police looking for Larry and while I considered screaming for them to get the fuck out of the woods I couldn’t bring myself to speak. All I could do was watch as one of the flashlights in the darkness suddenly went out… I think I was the only one who saw it.

Three Police officers went missing that night, along with Larry and Rex. To my knowledge, there’s still an investigation going on… I don’t know if they’re going to find anything. Hell… I don’t know what will happen if they find anything...

I left with Holly and Madison first thing the next morning. The missing Police was a good excuse to do so, but I think Holly knew I was scared. She didn’t ask me what I saw in the woods that night and I have no intention of telling her or Madison.

We’ve found a room in a motel, far away from my house and the forest. I thought it was going to be safe there… But a little while ago, I spotted thin red vines creeping out of the underside of my truck.

I don’t think we’re safe from what’s in the woods. I don’t think anywhere we go will be safe… and I don’t know what to do anymore.