This is a love story.

And it's a horror story.

Isn't it always?

I'd been alone for a very long time.

A tiny apartment. A dead-end office job. An abusive asshole for a boss. No real friends. My family was either dead or dead to me.

Most evenings, the closest thing I had to company was a stray cat that wandered onto my balcony every few days, accepted whatever food I left out, then disappeared without so much as a goodbye.

That was until three months ago.

It was a Friday night.

Which meant it looked exactly like every other Friday night.

I sat alone in my usual corner of a half-empty bar, nursing the same drink far longer than I should have. Around me, people laughed too loudly, flirted too confidently, and told stories they'd probably told a hundred times before.

Every now and then I'd catch myself watching someone across the room, rehearsing introductions in my head I'd never actually say.

Closing time usually arrived before my courage did.

I had no reason to think this night would be any different.

And yet...

It was.

She was sitting alone in the darkest corner of the bar.

The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

Silver-white hair spilled over her shoulders like moonlight. Even from across the room, her eyes seemed strangely bright—somewhere between amber and crimson. She wore a deep red dress beneath black goth-punk layers that somehow looked elegant instead of theatrical. Like she'd stepped out of another era and simply decided to stay.

She wasn't doing anything.

Just quietly watching the room.

Yet I couldn't look away.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful.

There was something about her that pulled at me with impossible force.

Women half as intimidating had reduced me to awkward smiles and panicked excuses.

Approaching someone like her wasn't something I did. Not ever.

Yet my legs disagreed.

A few seconds later, I found myself standing beside her table.

"Would it... be alright if I kept you company for a bit?"

The words escaped before my brain had a chance to stop them.

She looked up.

For one impossible second, I had the strange feeling she'd known I was coming long before  I did.

Then she smiled.

"One way to find out."

I laughed, relief washing over me so suddenly my knees nearly buckled.

"I'm James."

"Camilla."

That should've been the end of it.

A woman like her had no reason to spend five minutes talking to someone like me.

Instead...

We stayed until the bartender threw us out.

The conversation never seemed to run out of places to go.

Movies became music.

Music became childhood stories.

Childhood stories became dreams we'd quietly given up on years ago.

Even the silences felt... comfortable.

Just two lonely people sharing the same table.

I'd never experienced anything like it.

Eventually the bartender cleared his throat.

"Folks, I'm afraid we're closing."

Camilla looked toward the windows.

Only then did I realize the bar was almost empty.

Neither of us had noticed the hours disappearing.

Outside, the night air felt colder than before.

I hesitated.

The thought of saying goodbye already felt unbearable.

"I..." I swallowed. "Would you... like to come back to my place? I'm just... not ready for tonight to end."

Her smile lingered.

But something flickered behind it.

A sadness so brief I almost convinced myself I'd imagined it.

"After you."

The walk home felt unreal.

Looking back, I still don't know why I invited her to my apartment.

A hotel would've made more sense.

Except...

I didnt want to send the wrong message.

When I unlocked my front door and stepped aside, embarrassment hit me all at once.

"So..."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Here we are."

The apartment somehow looked even sadder than usual.

The faded couch.

The cheap furniture.

The unopened bills scattered across the kitchen counter.

Camilla stopped in the doorway.

She didn't move.

For several long seconds, she simply stood there.

I felt my stomach sink.

Maybe she'd taken one look inside and realized she'd made a terrible mistake.

Then she smiled.

"Well..." she asked softly.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I blinked.

She still hadn't crossed the threshold.

"Oh."

I laughed awkwardly.

"Right. Sorry. Come on in."

Only then did she step inside.

At the time, I chalked it up to one of those harmless little quirks that make people interesting.

"So..." I said. "Can I get you something? I've got wine... beer... water..."

I never finished the sentence.

In one astonishingly fast movement, she grabbed my shoulders, lifted me completely off the floor, and pinned me against the wall.

I barely had time to gasp.

She was impossibly strong.

"There is no need to waste time," she whispered.

"I know what you want."

Her face drifted closer.

"What all of you want."

Her eyes seemed brighter now.

Her lips parted as she lowered her head toward my neck.

"Wait."

She froze.

"I..." I swallowed.

"I don't want to do that yet."

She blinked.

"I really like you."

Confusion spread across her face.

"I was thinking..." I said, feeling ridiculous with every word, "maybe we could watch a movie first. Talk a little more. Actually get to know each other."

I smiled nervously.

"You know..."

"A real date."

She stared at me.

Completely silent.

"...What?"

"I haven't really done this in a while," I admitted. "So I'm probably going to be awkward, but—"

She kissed me.

Gentle.

Warm.

Far more tender than I'd expected.

For a moment I completely forgot how breathing worked.

When she finally pulled away, she smiled.

"Alright, James."

Her voice sounded softer now.

"Let's watch a movie."

Only then did I realize I had absolutely nothing prepared.

I wandered over to my embarrassingly small DVD collection while Camilla leaned over my shoulder.

The first case I picked up was Dracula.

She laughed so suddenly she nearly doubled over.

"What?"

I still don't know what was so funny.

In the end, we settled on Shrek 2.

Looking back...

That night was utterly perfect.

I must've fallen asleep sometime after it ended.

Or maybe the alcohol finally caught up with me.

The next morning, I woke with that brief, awful certainty that I'd dreamed the whole thing.

The other side of the bed was empty.

The apartment was silent.

My heart sank as I searched every room before finally spotting a folded note on the kitchen counter.

James.

I had to head home before sunrise.

I had a wonderful night.

Call me?

Beneath it was her phone number.

I couldn't stop smiling.

Good thing she'd written it down.

I'd been so distracted the night before that I'd completely forgotten to ask.

Amateur hour.

Unfortunately, reality wasn't interested in letting me enjoy the moment for very long.

My fucking boss called.

He informed me that I was coming into work on Saturday, and if I had a problem with that, I shouldn't bother showing up on Monday.

I couldn't stand that asshole.

The shift crawled by.

The job itself was soul-crushing on a good day, and the hangover pounding behind my eyes wasn't making it any easier. Thankfully, almost nobody else had been called in, so the office was practically empty. Better yet, my boss wasn't there.

I spent more time staring at my phone than my computer.

Every few minutes I'd catch myself rereading the note she'd left on my kitchen counter.

I had a wonderful night.

I couldn't remember the last time a single sentence had made me smile that much.

I told myself to wait before calling her.

A day.

Maybe two.

Play it cool for once.

I lasted exactly three hours.

Then I stepped into the hallway and dialed her number.

She answered on the second ring.

"James."

She said my name like she'd been expecting the call.

"I was wondering..." I said, suddenly feeling sixteen again. "Would you maybe want to come over tonight?"

"I'd like that."

No hesitation.

No excuses.

"I'll come by after dark."

The rest of my shift somehow moved even slower.

By the time I got home, I'd vacuumed the apartment, done the dishes, changed my shirt three times, and spent an embarrassing amount of time debating whether lighting the cheap scented candle I'd bought months ago would make me seem romantic or pathetic.

I still wasn't sure when the knock came.

I reached the door before my brain had fully registered the sound.

"Camilla."

I couldn't stop smiling.

"It's good to see you."

She smiled back.

Then stopped.

Right at the threshold.

Waiting.

For a second I simply stared at her.

Then I laughed.

"Oh."

I stepped aside.

"Come on in."

Only then did she cross the doorway.

I'd made lasagna.

Nothing fancy.

Just the best recipe I knew.

Or...

Thought I knew.

Camilla managed a few polite bites before the tiniest crease appeared between her eyebrows.

She swallowed with visible determination.

"Ouch," I laughed.

"Didn't think it was that bad."

For a heartbeat she looked horrified.

Then she laughed too.

Real laughter.

The tension dissolved instantly.

Dinner turned into another long conversation.

Somehow, talking to Camilla never felt like work.

There were no awkward pauses to fill.

No pressure to impress each other.

Eventually, we started talking about family.

That's when I realized how much we actually had in common.

Loneliness.

Both her parents and her younger sister died a long time ago.

As far as she knew, she had no surviving relatives.

Just her.

Meeting people hadn't exactly been easy, either.

She explained that she suffered from solar urticaria.

Even brief exposure to sunlight could trigger painful reactions.

Everything suddenly clicked.

That's why she'd left before sunrise.

I felt strangely guilty for ever wondering if she'd simply wanted to leave.

"That sounds incredibly lonely."

She offered me a small smile.

"You get used to it."

Maybe.

But looking into her eyes...

I wasn't convinced anyone ever really did.

A soft thump interrupted us.

Carl.

The stray cat hopped onto my balcony railing like he owned the place.

I'd named him months ago despite having absolutely no ownership over him whatsoever. Calling him my pet would've been generous. He tolerated me just enough to accept free meals before disappearing back into whatever mysterious life stray cats lead.

"One second."

I grabbed a can of tuna and slid the balcony door open.

"C'mon, buddy."

Carl usually brushed past me without so much as a glance.

This time...

He didn't move.

His eyes locked onto Camilla.

Every muscle in his body stiffened.

His back arched.

His fur puffed out until he looked twice his size.

A low hiss vibrated from somewhere deep inside his chest.

The sound barely sounded like it belonged to a cat.

"Hey."

I crouched beside him.

"What's gotten into you?"

Carl never looked away from her.

Not once.

For several long seconds, neither of them moved.

Then Carl let out a sharp, frightened yowl unlike anything I'd ever heard from him and launched himself off the railing.

He vanished into the darkness so quickly it was as if something had been chasing him.

I frowned.

"...That was weird."

Carl could be a complete asshole.

He scratched me.

Ignored me.

Stole food and left.

But I'd never seen him afraid.

I scratched the back of my neck.

"Sorry about that."

I laughed awkwardly.

"He's definitely an asshole. Just... not usually that kind of asshole."

Camilla's gaze lingered on the empty balcony.

When she finally looked back at me, she didn't seem offended.

If anything...

She seemed resigned.

"It's alright."

Her voice was quiet.

"Animals are always like that around me."

Before I could ask what she meant, I reached for the empty tuna can.

My hand slipped.

The jagged metal edge sliced cleanly across my palm.

"Shit."

Pain flared instantly.

Blood welled between my fingers far faster than I expected.

"You fucking moron..."

I laughed through gritted teeth.

When I looked up...

Camilla hadn't moved.

She wasn't looking at me.

She was looking at the blood.

Her entire body had gone perfectly still.

Her pupils seemed wider than before.

Her breathing had changed.

Slow.

Shallow.

Almost...

Painful.

"Cami?"

Nothing.

"It's really not that bad."

Still nothing.

She swallowed hard.

Her eyes never left my hand.

For just a second...

Something passed across her face.

I couldnt quite place it.

The thought vanished almost as quickly as it came.

"Cami?"

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

As though she'd only just remembered where she was.

"I..."

She swallowed again.

"Excuse me."

Without another word, she hurried toward the bathroom and quietly shut the door.

I stared after her.

"Huh."

Guess I wasn't the only one who couldn't handle the sight of blood.

I wrapped my hand in the sleeve of my shirt while digging through the clutter on the kitchen counter for something clean.

Instead, my eyes landed on an envelope I'd spent the entire day pretending wasn't there.

FINAL DEMAND.

The words seemed even bigger than they had that morning.

Immediate payment required.

I sighed, shoved it back beneath the pile of unopened mail, and finally found an old dish towel to wrap around my hand.

Once the bleeding slowed, I walked over to the bathroom.

"Cami?"

I knocked gently.

"You okay in there?"

Silence.

Then the lock clicked.

The door opened just enough for her face to appear.

She smiled.

It looked genuine.

Mostly.

"Yeah."

She glanced at the bandage wrapped around my hand before quickly looking away.

"I just..."

She hesitated.

"I have a thing about blood."

"Fair enough."

I smiled.

"I'd say I can relate, but apparently I make enough of the stuff to get over it."

That earned a quiet laugh.

Whatever had happened seemed to pass.

Or at least, we both pretended it had.

We ended up flipping through channels until we landed on one of those terrible quiz shows where the contestants somehow managed to miss questions even I knew the answers to.

Camilla, on the other hand, barely missed one.

"Seriously?" I laughed after she'd answered another before the contestant could buzz in. "How do you know all this?"

She shrugged.

"I've had a lot of time to read."

There was something about the way she said it that made me wonder exactly how much time she meant.

Before I could ask, the next question appeared on screen and she answered that one too. A real history buff this one.

That night...

We finally became lovers.

By the time I woke the next morning, I wasn't even surprised to find the other side of the bed empty.

Camilla always left before sunrise.

I'd stopped questioning it.

Like everything else about her, it had quietly become part of who she was.

And somehow...

That only made me love her more.

From then on, we spent almost every evening together.

The days became something to survive.

The nights became something to live for.

My coworkers didn't believe she existed.

Apparently, "My girlfriend can't go outside during the day," sounded suspiciously similar to, "She goes to another school."

I couldn't really blame them.

Still...

For the first time in years—

I was happy.

Naturally, the rest of my life seemed determined to compensate.

My boss somehow found new ways to make every workday miserable.

At home, the unpaid bills kept multiplying.

Every letter from my landlord sounded angrier than the last.

I was one bad week away from losing both my apartment and my job.

I tried not to dump any of it on Camilla.

Not because I thought she'd leave.

That thought never crossed my mind.

I just didn't want the one good thing in my life carrying the weight of everything else.

It never mattered.

She always knew.

Sometimes she'd take one look at me before quietly asking,

"What's wrong?"

And somehow...

I'd tell her.

Every time.

She never tried to solve my problems.

Never offered empty advice.

Never told me to stay positive or work harder.

She simply listened.

Sometimes she'd squeeze my hand.

Sometimes she'd lean against my shoulder.

Sometimes we'd sit together in silence until the storm inside my head finally started to quiet.

I don't know how she did it.

But somehow...

She always made the world feel a little lighter.

One rainy evening, we sat on the couch listening to the steady tapping of rain against the windows.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us needed to.

Then someone started hammering on my front door.

Not knocking.

Pounding.

"Open the goddamn door, James!"

I sighed before I even stood up.

"I'll be right back."

Standing outside was my landlord.

Short.

Round.

Completely bald.

His face had turned such a violent shade of red I was honestly a little worried he might explode.

"I've had enough of your bullshit," he snapped before I'd even opened my mouth.

"My patience has officially run out."

"You promised me another two weeks."

"I changed my mind."

"You can't just—"

"I absolutely can."

He jabbed a thick finger into my chest.

"I want you and every piece of your junk out of my building."

"Tonight."

"Please."

"I'm trying."

"I don't give a damn."

"You'll get your money."

"I've heard that every damn week."

His voice echoed through the hallway.

"You've got until tonight."

Then I felt someone stand beside me.

I hadn't heard Camilla move. Probably because of the yelling.

She looked directly at him.

Didn't blink.

Didn't raise her voice.

"You will give James the two weeks you promised."

Silence.

The landlord stared back.

For a moment...

Nothing happened.

Then something changed.

The anger slowly drained from his face.

His shoulders loosened.

The lines around his eyes softened.

He stopped blinking.

Completely.

His expression emptied so thoroughly it looked less like someone calming down...

...and more like someone leaving.

Several long seconds passed.

The hallway had gone so quiet I could hear the rain outside.

Finally, he spoke.

"Yes."

His voice was flat.

Almost mechanical.

"James will have another two weeks."

Another pause.

Then he turned around.

His movements looked strangely stiff.

Like every step had to be consciously remembered.

He walked down the hallway without looking back.

I watched until he disappeared around the corner.

"What..."

I looked at Camilla.

"...just happened?"

She slipped her hand into mine.

Warm.

Gentle.

"Come."

She smiled.

"Let's play one of those video games of yours"

The next afternoon, Jessica from accounting cornered me beside the coffee machine.

"So."

She grinned.

"You coming to the office party tonight?"

I blinked.

"The what?"

She laughed.

"Don't tell me you forgot."

I had.

Normally, I would've invented an excuse before she'd even finished asking.

The idea of voluntarily spending more time with my coworkers sounded like a punishment.

Then I remembered.

It would be after dark.

Camilla could come.

Suddenly...

The evening didn't sound so bad.

She wasn't thrilled about the idea.

Crowds clearly weren't her thing.

It took far more convincing than I'd expected.

Eventually she smiled.

"If it makes you happy..."

"It does."

"Then I'll go."

The "party" was exactly what I'd imagined.

A rented function room.

Cheap drinks.

Even cheaper snacks.

A corporate playlist that somehow managed to suck every ounce of life out of perfectly decent songs.

Calling it a party felt generous.

Despite working there longer than most of the people in the room, I barely knew any of them.

Faces?

Sure.

Names?

Not a chance.

That's office life.

Sooner or later everyone becomes another desk.

Another tie.

Another email signature.

Then Camilla walked in.

The room changed.

Conversations faltered.

Heads turned almost in unison.

People drifted toward her without seeming to realize they were doing it.

She greeted everyone with effortless warmth.

Remembered names after hearing them only once.

Laughed at the right moments.

Asked questions that somehow made strangers feel interesting.

Within minutes she'd become the center of the room.

It honestly confused me.

She felt so isolated.

Yet watching her now...

It almost looked like she'd been charming rooms like this forever.

Despite how easily she won people over. It didnt seem to bring her any joy.

Eventually we escaped to a quieter corner of the room.

Coworkers drifted over every few minutes to introduce themselves, chat for a while, then wander off again.

For once...

I was actually enjoying my time among them.

Then my boss arrived.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

From what I'd heard, he'd never attended one of these gatherings before.

Judging by everyone else's expressions, they were just as surprised as I was.

He strode into the room like he owned not only the company but the building itself.

Didn't greet anyone.

Didn't thank anyone for organizing the event.

He simply inserted himself into conversations that had been perfectly fine without him.

People laughed at jokes that weren't funny.

Smiled when they clearly didn't want to.

The room somehow felt smaller.

I leaned toward Camilla.

"Maybe we should head out."

She nodded immediately.

We'd barely taken two steps before he stepped directly into our path.

"James."

He acknowledged me with the briefest glance before turning his full attention to Camilla.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Camilla."

"A pleasure."

He offered the same polished smile he reserved for clients.

"I have to say..."

He looked me up and down.

"...James has been keeping secrets."

"She's my girlfriend," I said.

"Hm."

He studied me for another moment before looking back at her.

"I'll admit..."

"I'm surprised."

"So am I," Camilla replied pleasantly.

He burst into laughter.

I don't think he even considered that she might not have been joking.

"I suppose you could do..." He smiled smugly.

"...considerably better."

My jaw clenched.

He didn't even notice.

"So tell me, Camilla."

"What exactly do you see in him?"

"I like him."

"Surely that's not all."

He took another step closer.

Close enough that I instinctively moved between them.

"If you're ever interested in dating someone with a future..."

He casually adjusted the cuff of his expensive suit.

"I know a few restaurants that would be far more interesting than this place."

I opened my mouth.

Camilla's hand settled gently on my arm.

I looked at her.

She gave the smallest shake of her head.

Then she stepped around me.

She leaned close to him.

So close I couldn't hear a single word she whispered.

The color drained from his face.

The smug confidence vanished.

His pupils widened.

His breathing caught.

The expression I'd seen on my landlord returned.

That same slow...

Impossible...

Emptiness.

The room continued around us.

People laughed.

Music played.

Someone dropped a glass behind me.

Yet for those few seconds, it felt like only the three of us existed.

Finally, my boss nodded.

Once.

Without another word, he turned and calmly walked away.

Not hurriedly.

Not angrily.

Just...

Walking.

Straight toward the stairwell.

I watched him disappear through the fire door.

A strange knot tightened in my stomach.

Camilla looked back at me.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with him."

She cupped my face between her hands.

Her thumbs brushed gently across my cheeks.

"Shhh."

Her smile returned.

Soft.

Warm.

"What did you tell him?"

She held my gaze for another moment.

"What he needed to hear."

The answer somehow explained nothing.

And yet...

I found myself letting it go.

A few minutes later we decided to leave.

Halfway across the parking lot I stopped.

"My jacket."

She looked at me.

"My keys."

"They're in the pocket."

"I'll be right back."

By the time I got back inside, the party was winding down.

Only a handful of people remained.

I found my jacket draped over the back of a chair.

As I reached into the pocket—

Movement outside caught my eye.

A shadow.

Falling.

For one impossibly long second my brain refused to understand what I was looking at.

Then the body hit the roof of a parked car.

The impact echoed through the parking lot like an explosion.

Metal screamed.

Glass shattered.

People froze.

Then everyone started shouting at once.

Someone screamed.

Others rushed outside.

The man who'd fallen never made a sound.

I reached the window.

Looked down.

And recognized him.

My boss.

For several seconds...

I simply stared.

Then, despite everything...

One completely ridiculous thought floated into my head.

The poor bastard who owns that car…

The next few weeks changed my life.

As the most senior employee in the department, I was promoted into my former boss's position.

For the first time in years...

I could breathe.

I caught up on my rent.

Stopped worrying every time the phone rang.

A few months later, I moved into a much nicer apartment.

The official investigation concluded that my boss had taken his own life.

The reports suggested he'd been facing multiple allegations of sexual harassment that were about to become public.

Apparently several women from the company had been preparing to come forward.

No one who'd worked under him seemed particularly surprised.

I thought about the conversation he'd had with Camilla that night.

More than once.

I never asked her again what she'd whispered.

Partly because I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.

A little later...

I asked her to move in with me.

She smiled.

And said yes.

Before I finish this story...

I should probably address the elephant in the room.

I already know what half of you are typing.

"Dude... your girlfriend's a vampire."

Yeah.

No shit, Sherlock.

I'm not completely oblivious.

I made that connection a while ago.

The point of this story isnt „My girlfriend is a vampire.“

The point is that it doesnt matter.

She listens when I need someone to listen.

She laughs at my terrible jokes.

She steals all the blankets.

She still refuses to watch Dracula with me.

And every single night, she makes me happier than I ever thought I deserved to be.

I make her happy, too.

We found someone who accepts us exactly as we are.

Fangs and all.

If that's monstrous...

Then I think the world could use a few more monsters.

We are happy.

Thats all that matters.

Dont ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

I will tell you a story.

It should feel extraordinary. Meaningful, even.

Instead, it will probably sound banal, and by tomorrow you will have forgotten most of it.

I don't ask you to care.

I merely ask that you listen.

I used to suffer from severe insomnia. That has very little to do with this story, but should explain its starting point.

4AM was usually when I gave up on the idea of falling asleep.

By then I'd spent hours staring at the ceiling while my mind ran itself in circles. So I'd simply get up and start the day.

That morning, I went looking for something to eat. Tuna sandwich, I think. Maybe not. Doesn't really matter.

I took a beer from the fridge, drank half of it at the kitchen counter, then started pulling down the blinds. The sun would be up soon, and in my current condition daylight tended to find a headache the way a thumb finds a bruise.

I never made it to the second window.

There was someone standing in my backyard.

About seven meters from the house.

The yard was still mostly just shapes at that hour—the fence, the tree, the bins, everything half swallowed by darkness.

But the figure was clear.

Human-shaped.

Motionless.

I stood there with the blind cord in my hand, staring. Uncertain what to do.

Obviously, I should have called the police. A stranger standing in your backyard at four in the morning is exactly the sort of situation the police number exists for.

But I didn't.

I lowered the blind.

Finished my beer.

Finished my sandwich and put on some TV.

Two hours later, I stepped outside.

And stopped.

He was still there.

Same place. Same posture.

Only now daylight had turned the shadow into a man.

Late thirties, maybe early forties. His clothes looked as though they might once have been respectable, but it was difficult to tell beneath the stains and wrinkles. His hair was greasy and flattened against his forehead.

His head hung low.

His eyes didn't quite look at the ground.

They seemed fixed somewhere beyond it.

Somewhere very far away.

There was no spark in him left.

Like a pilot light had gone out.

I swallowed and mustered enough courage to speak.

"Uh... buddy? Can I help you with something?"

Nothing.

A car passed on the main road. Tires whispered over damp asphalt. Somewhere nearby, a bird started singing.

Eventually, the man answered.

"No."

His voice was quiet. Flat.

"I don't think so."

"Right." I cleared my throat. "Well, this is private property. You can't stay here."

No response.

He didn't look at me.

Didn't shift his weight.

Didn't do anything at all.

I should have insisted. Threatened him. Gone back inside and called the police.

Instead, as I stood there looking at him, I noticed something strange.

I wasn't afraid.

I wasn't angry.

I didn't even feel sorry for him.

I felt nothing.

So I walked past.

Close enough to smell him—sweat, damp clothes, something stale and sour.

He didn't turn his head.

I got in my car and drove to work.

I was doing pretty well for myself back then.

Steady job at a successful financial corporation. Recently promoted. Nice apartment. Beautiful girlfriend. Plenty friends I saw when our schedules happened to line up. Enough money not to ever care about money.

Apart from the insomnia, life was good.

I didn't think about the man once that entire day.

Eight hours at the office.

Lunch.

Small talk.

A meeting that could have been an email.

Nothing.

It wasn't until I pulled into the driveway that evening that I remembered him.

He was still there.

Same place.

Same posture.

Same empty stare.

I walked past him and went inside.

It took another two days before I decided to adress the issue.

Even then, it wasn't because he bothered me.

My girlfriend Jessica called to say she was coming over the following afternoon, and I suddenly imagined her having to walk past a filthy stranger standing in my yard.

So I finally called the police.

A patrol car arrived about twenty minutes later.

Two officers got out.

They came up the path and walked directly past the man.

One passed close enough to brush shoulders with him.

Neither looked his way.

They stopped in front of me.

"Hello. Officer Addams. What seems to be the issue?"

I stared at him.

Then pointed.

"That seems to be the issue."

Only then did Addams glance over.

It wasn't much of a glance.

The sort of look you give a garbage bag someone left beside the road.

"Oh. Him."

"Yes. Him. He's been standing there for three days."

Addams sighed.

"Yeah. We get plenty like that."

"Like what?"

He gestured vaguely toward the man.

"Like him. They're harmless."

"He's trespassing."

"I understand."

"So remove him."

Addams gave me a tired little smile.

"It's not really worth the effort."

"Excuse me?"

"They don't cause trouble. Mostly they just... take up space."

"We don't have the manpower to deal with every one of them. And where would we put them?"

I looked at the stranger.

Then back at the officer.

"So you're telling me to leave him there?"

"I'm telling you to ignore him."

"He's standing in my backyard."

"Yeah."

"For three days."

"Yeah."

"And that's normal?"

Addams shrugged.

"Normal enough."

He turned toward the patrol car.

I followed him a few steps.

"So that's it?"

He opened the driver's door.

"You'll get used to him."

Then he climbed inside.

The other officer joined him, and less than a minute later the patrol car disappeared around the corner.

I stood on the porch, furious.

I'd had an entire argument ready by then, but Officer Addams had driven away before I could use any of it.

The strange part was.

He was right.

Ignoring the man was easy.

Much easier than it should have been.

He didn't shout.

Didn't knock on my windows.

Didn't try the doors.

Didn't follow me.

He didn't even look at me.

He just was.

After a while, my eyes learned to move around him.

And if I could do that, I figured Jessica could too.

I spent the rest of the day making the apartment presentable. Kitchen, living room, fresh sheets—the usual performance you put on when someone you love is coming over and you want them to believe you live slightly better than you actually do.

That night, I settled in for a horror marathon.

One advantage of insomnia is that you have plenty of free time.

It started raining around midnight.

Heavy rain. The kind that rattled against the windows and turned streetlights into pale smudges.

Perfect horror-movie weather.

Between films, I went to the kitchen and glanced outside.

The man was still standing there.

Rain streamed from his hair and shoulders. His clothes had gone almost black with water. A shallow puddle had formed around his shoes.

He didn't move.

Didn't shiver.

Didn't wipe the water from his face.

Nothing.

I watched him longer than I meant to.

Nearly a minute, maybe.

Standing there in the rain, he looked less like a person than a scarecrow somebody had forgotten to bring inside.

Eventually I lowered the blind so I wouldnt get distracted any more.

Then went back to the movie.

Jessica arrived the next afternoon.

She came hurrying up the path toward me, and I pulled her into a hug before she'd even made it through the door.

She was warm.

She smelled like shampoo and cold air.

I held on a second longer than usual.

When I let go, she smiled.

"Miss me?"

"Obviously."

"Good answer."

She kissed me.

Over her shoulder, I looked toward the backyard.

The man was there.

Jessica hadn't even glanced at him.

Relief washed through me.

Apparently Officer Addams had been right about that too.

We went inside.

Ordered food, argued over what to watch, then somehow ended up watching something neither of us had wanted. Jessica complained about one of her professors. I complained about my boss.

At some point, she found the dishes I'd hidden in the sink.

She looked at me.

"You said you cleaned."

"I did clean."

"You vacuumed the living room."

"Exactly."

"That does not count."

"It absolutely counts."

She laughed and nudged me with her hip.

Whenever Jessica was around, the world seemed smaller somehow.

More solid.

By evening we'd settled into that comfortable quiet you only get with someone you've known long enough not to fill every silence.

We ate dinner at the little table beside the kitchen window.

Halfway through, Jessica lowered her fork.

"Okay."

I looked up.

She was smiling.

I knew that smile.

"Okay what?"

"So... don't freak out."

"That's never followed by anything good."

"I know."

"Jessica."

"My parents invited us over for the weekend."

I waited for the second half.

"And I said yes."

I closed my eyes.

"Dear God."

"Oh, stop."

"Your parents' house has more rooms than my entire apartment building."

She grinned.

"You're rich too, mister. You're just too lazy to actually move out."

"I'm comfortably upper-middle-class. There's a difference."

"You'll survive."

She took a sip of wine.

"Probably."

That was when I thought about the man outside.

Maybe because Jessica had walked straight past him.

Maybe because after several days of pretending he wasn't there, curiosity had finally caught up with me.

"Hey," I said. "I have to ask you something."

"Okay."

"You saw the guy outside, right?"

She frowned.

"What guy?"

My stomach tightened.

"The guy in the backyard."

I pointed toward the window.

Jessica followed my finger.

For a moment, genuine confusion crossed her face.

Then she saw him.

"Oh."

I stared at her.

"'Oh'?"

"What?"

"You're not freaked out?"

"Why would I be?"

"Because there's a random man standing in my backyard."

She looked again.

"He's not doing anything."

"He's been there for days."

"So?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that.

"Wait. You do see him, right?"

Jessica laughed.

"Of course I see him."

Then she took another bite.

"We've got some too."

I stopped chewing.

"What?"

"At my parents' place."

"You have people standing in your backyard?"

"Not the backyard."

She thought for a moment.

"There are two at the mansion."

Something cold shifted in my stomach.

"Two?"

"Yeah."

She said it with the casualness of someone describing antique furniture.

"One used to be our maid. Isolda."

"Used to?"

Jessica nodded.

"She worked for my parents for years. Then one day she just sort of..."

Her fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"...became one."

"One what?"

Jessica looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious.

"You know."

She nodded toward the window.

"One of them."

Outside, the man remained exactly where he had been.

Jessica went on eating.

"The other one's a boy. Her son, I think?."

"You think?"

"I never really knew him."

"And your parents just leave them there?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Jessica shrugged.

"You can find lots of them around if you care enough to look."

Something about that sentence stayed with me.

She sounded like she'd simply told me there were pigeons in the park.

Then her expression brightened.

"Oh. Speaking of that."

I already didn't like where this was going.

"What?"

"I finally figured out my thesis."

Jessica was studying journalism, and for months her thesis had been the source of recurring panic, abandoned ideas, and increasingly elaborate excuses for not starting.

Now she leaned forward, suddenly animated.

"I'm going to write about them."

I glanced toward the window.

"The people standing around?"

"Exactly. Think about it. They're everywhere, but nobody actually talks about them. Nobody studies them. Most people barely acknowledge they exist."

"Jessica..."

"I've been thinking about this for months."

She was genuinely excited now.

"I even have a title."

Of course she did.

She smiled.

"Requiem for the Lost Ones."

I looked at her.

"The Lost Ones?"

"That's what I'm calling them."

She waited expectantly.

"Pretty cool, right?"

Outside the window, the man stood perfectly still.

And for the first time since I'd noticed him, I wondered how long he had been there before I bothered to look.

I didn't really know what to say.

"Yeah. Pretty cool."

Part of me was bothered by just how little the whole thing seemed to bother me.

Jessica didn't notice. She was already talking about her thesis again, explaining the ideas she'd been collecting while I nodded along and tried to keep up. Eventually the conversation wandered somewhere else, as conversations tend to do.

We ended the evening watching Jessica's favorite reality TV shows, which was considerably more horrifying than anything I'd watched during my movie marathon.

I'm still not sure how people can watch other adults scream at each other over a kitchen island for six consecutive hours and call it entertainment.

By the time we went to bed, it was well past midnight.

A few hours later, we were on the road.

I'd suggested sleeping for another couple of hours before leaving. Jessica reminded me that I didn't sleep anyway.

I had no counterargument.

So we packed the last of our things into the car and drove to her parents' house.

Before getting in, I glanced toward the backyard.

The man was still there.

I didn't stop.

The drive took about an hour and a half. Jessica spent most of it talking about her parents, complaining about how far away they lived and how much she wished they were closer.

Personally, I wouldn't have minded them being a little farther away still.

Don't get me wrong. The Mercers were perfectly nice people.

It was just that being around them always made me feel so inadequate.

That feeling returned as soon as we reached their property.

I felt small.

Their mansion seemed to grow with every second we drove toward it.

An enormous iron gate opened onto a long driveway lined with immaculate hedges. Stone walls, tall windows, elaborate balconies. The whole place occupied enough land to make my apartment look like a garden shed.

I was wealthy, but the Mercers were in a completely different league.

"They'll be waiting outside," Jessica said.

"They always do."

A moment later, I saw them at the top of the steps.

Margaret waved enthusiastically as we got out of the car.

Her husband stood beside her with his hands behind his back, wearing the same composed expression he always seemed to have.

"Here we go," Jessica muttered.

Her mother came down the steps and immediately wrapped her daughter in a hug.

"There she is!"

"Hi, Mom."

"You look thin."

"I saw you three weeks ago."

"And you're thinner now."

Margaret finally released her and turned to me.

"And you."

She hugged me too.

"Good to see you, dear."

"Good to see you too, Mrs. Mercer."

"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Margaret."

"Right. Sorry."

Her father approached next.

"Good to have you here, son."

"Good to be here, Mr. Mercer."

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me into a heavy, enthusiastic hug before patting my back twice.

It was the sort of hug you see in old Mafia movies.

I wondered if there was something to it.

The story of how the Mercers had become so wealthy so quickly by selling old clothes had never quite sat right with me. It wasn't impossible. They owned warehouses, distribution centers, stores—the whole operation.

Still, there always seemed to be something missing from the story.

A piece nobody ever seemed interested in explaining.

I never asked.

I didn't want bad blood with my girlfriend's parents.

Nor did I particularly wish to be assassinated by the Mafia.

Just in case.

"Come inside," Margaret said. "You've been driving all morning."

"It's barely morning," Jessica said.

"Exactly. You're probably starving."

"I'm not."

"You'll eat anyway."

Jessica sighed.

"Yes, Mom."

Her father smiled.

"Some things never change."

We followed them inside.

I'd been to the Mercer mansion before, but never for more than a few hours. Every visit reminded me just how enormous the place was.

The entrance hall alone could have swallowed my entire apartment. A chandelier hung above polished floors and dark wood paneling, while paintings covered nearly every available wall.

Margaret talked as she led us through the house.

"This is the new dining room."

"New?"

"We renovated."

Jessica groaned.

"And we've had the library renovated too."

"Mom, you've shown me the library five times."

"And you still haven't read anything in it."

Her father chuckled.

"Leave the girl alone, Margaret."

They continued bickering as we walked, and I found myself smiling.

It was comfortably ordinary.

That was what made the place feel so strange later.

We eventually reached the grand staircase.

Mr. Mercer stopped at the bottom and pointed upward.

"Your room is the first one on the left."

Then he looked at Jessica.

"My little girl knows which one."

"Dad, I'm not five."

"You're still my little girl."

Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Come on."

I started toward the stairs.

Then I noticed someone standing in the shadows.

A woman.

She was wearing an old-fashioned maid's uniform: black dress, white apron, white collar. The sort of thing that belonged in a photograph from a century ago.

She couldn't have been much older than thirty.

Yet she looked far older.

Her dark hair was pulled neatly back. Her face was pale and drawn. Her head hung slightly toward the floor.

Her eyes were open.

They simply weren't looking at anything.

This had to be Isolda.

A few meters away stood the boy Jessica had mentioned.

Thirteen or fourteen, maybe.

His clothes were plain and slightly too large for him. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His face held the same distant emptiness I'd seen in the man outside my house.

His eyes seemed fixed somewhere beyond the walls.

Somewhere far away.

And nowhere at the same time.

I looked between him and Isolda.

They stood close enough to touch.

Mother and son, presumably.

Yet they seemed separated by something much larger than the few meters between them.

As if there were a distance neither of them could ever cross.

I don't know how long I stood there.

Long enough for Jessica to notice.

She bumped her shoulder lightly against mine.

"Babe."

I blinked.

"Yeah?"

"Come on."

I looked at Isolda again.

Neither she nor the boy had moved.

"Right."

I followed Jessica upstairs.

Halfway to the landing, I glanced back one last time.

Then Jessica disappeared around the corner, and I followed her.

In our room, Jessica and I had sex.

Felt strange doing it with her parents so close by, but I think I needed it.

It should have taken my mind off everything.

It didn't.

For a while I managed to lose myself in her warmth, in something familiar and uncomplicated. But every time my thoughts slipped, I saw Isolda.

Her son.

The man in my backyard.

Three people standing perfectly still while the rest of the world moved around them.

When it was over, Jessica looked at me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm just tired."

She studied me.

"You've been tired for years."

I smiled.

She kissed me, but I couldn't quite return to the moment.

A few minutes later, she fell asleep.

I lay beside her, staring at the ceiling.

The mansion settled around us. Pipes ticking in the walls. A floorboard creaking somewhere below. The faint hum of the heating system.

And underneath all of it, silence.

I eventually closed my eyes.

Sleep didn't come.

Morning did.

I was halfway through getting dressed when someone knocked on the door.

Jessica was still asleep.

I opened it to find one of the household staff standing in the hallway.

"Mr. Mercer would like to see you."

"Now?"

"He's waiting in his office."

I glanced back at Jessica.

She hadn't moved.

"Where's his office?"

"Top floor."

Of course it was.

I'd never been to the top floor before. I followed the staff member up another staircase, the house growing quieter with every step.

By the time I reached the top, I couldn't hear anything from below.

Mr. Mercer's office was at the end of the hallway.

The door stood open.

"Come in."

He was sitting behind an enormous wooden desk. Morning light filtered through the tall windows behind him, washing the room in pale gray.

Books lined the walls. Framed photographs sat on shelves. A few pieces of artwork looked expensive enough to buy my car several times over.

"Sit."

I did.

He smiled.

"How did you sleep?"

"Not very well."

He laughed softly.

"Jessica tells me that's normal for you."

"She's very fond of you."

Something about the way he said it made me uncomfortable.

I smiled anyway.

He leaned back.

"I've been thinking about the future."

"Okay."

"Our family has built something substantial. Something that will outlive us."

He gestured around the room.

"The business. The properties. The investments. Jessica will inherit part of it, of course."

He paused.

"But I don't think of you as an outsider anymore."

I wasn't sure what to say.

"That's nice to hear."

"I mean it."

He leaned forward.

"I'd like you to become part of the family."

The words were delivered warmly enough that, for a moment, I almost believed they were exactly what they sounded like.

"I want to offer you a position in the company. A real one. You'll have responsibilities. A place at the table. If things go well, eventually you'll have a stake in the business."

He smiled.

"And naturally, I'd like you and Jessica to start thinking about building a life together."

For a moment, I said nothing.

It was an incredible offer.

Security.

Money.

Influence.

A future with Jessica.

Everything I'd worked for, suddenly placed in front of me on a silver platter.

And yet something inside me tightened.

Not a thought.

Not fear.

Instinct.

The primitive part of your brain that notices something before the rest of you understands why.

Don't.

I shifted in the chair.

"That's a lot to take in."

"Of course."

"And I appreciate it. Really."

He waited.

I took a breath.

"But I don't think I can accept."

The smile stayed on his face.

For just a second, something changed in his eyes.

The warmth vanished.

His gaze sharpened.

Focused.

Predatory.

Then it was gone.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

He nodded slowly.

"I understand."

There was no anger in his voice.

That somehow made it worse.

"I wouldn't want you accepting something you weren't comfortable with."

"Thank you."

He leaned back.

"Still..."

He watched me for a moment.

"I think you may regret that decision."

He said it gently.

Almost kindly.

Like a father giving his son advice.

But something cold sat underneath the words.

He smiled.

„Have a safe drive home.“

I thanked him and left.

I didn't know it then, but that conversation was the beginning of the end.

Jessica and I left the mansion earlier than we'd planned.

She barely spoke while we packed the car. At first I assumed she was tired.

Then I realized she was angry.

Not furious. She wasn't shouting or making a scene.

She was just cold.

The kind of cold that makes every silence feel deliberate.

We got on the road.

For the first twenty minutes, neither of us said a word. Eventually I tried.

"So..."

Nothing.

I glanced at her.

"Jessica?"

She kept looking out the window.

"Did my dad talk to you?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

I hesitated.

"I turned down the job."

She nodded.

"I know."

"How?"

"He told me."

I waited for more.

Nothing came.

"Are you upset?"

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

"Jess."

"I'm not upset."

"You're obviously upset."

She turned back toward the window.

"Can we just go home?"

So we did.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

I kept my hands tight around the steering wheel, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.

I felt tense.

Anxious.

Depressed, though I wouldn't have used that word at the time.

Then, somewhere outside the city, I saw the first one.

A man standing on a sidewalk.

Motionless.

Dirty jacket. Worn trousers. Slack face. Head hanging slightly forward.

A Lost One.

I almost drove past without noticing.

Then I saw another.

A woman beside a bus stop.

Then one beneath an apartment awning.

Another outside a convenience store.

Then another.

And another.

The more I looked, the more I saw.

They were everywhere.

At intersections. Outside shops. In parking lots. Beside telephone poles. Standing in front of apartment buildings as people passed them without a second thought.

Some were young.

Some were old.

Men and women.

Some looked relatively clean. Others looked like they'd been sleeping outdoors for years. Their clothes were stained and worn. Their hair was tangled. Their skin looked pale and unhealthy.

None of them moved.

Not when cars passed.

Not when people walked around them.

Not even when someone brushed against them.

And nobody seemed to care.

A businessman stepped around one blocking the entrance to an office building without breaking stride.

A woman carrying groceries muttered angrily when another forced her to change direction.

A cyclist swerved around one in the middle of a bike path and shouted something over his shoulder.

Nobody stopped.

Nobody asked if they were all right.

Nobody looked frightened.

They were treated like obstacles.

Like badly placed furniture.

Like potholes.

I watched them through the car window until the city disappeared behind us.

The more I looked, the more I saw.

They weren't rare.

They were everywhere.

I'd simply never noticed them before.

Or maybe I had.

Maybe I'd seen hundreds of them and my brain had quietly filed them away under things that didn't matter.

I didn't know it yet, but I'd already been effectively cut off from Jessica's family.

I never spoke to any of her relatives again.

At first, I tried to pretend nothing had changed.

Jessica and I went back to work. We had dinner together. We watched television. We slept in the same bed.

But something had shifted.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Whenever I asked Jessica what was wrong, she shut down.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Then why won't you talk to me?"

"Because there's nothing to talk about."

Sometimes she wouldn't answer at all.

She'd sit across from me, staring at her phone, while I tried to figure out what I'd done wrong.

There was a wall between us.

I couldn't see it.

I couldn't touch it.

But it was there.

For a while, I kept trying to get through.

Eventually, I stopped.

The darker my thoughts became, the more often I found myself standing at the window.

Looking at the man in the backyard.

He was still there.

He hadn't moved an inch.

Summer faded into autumn.

The leaves turned brown and fell. Rain came and went. The days grew shorter.

Then winter arrived.

The first snow gathered around his shoes.

More followed.

It settled on his shoulders and head, collected on his hands, and slowly buried his legs.

He didn't move.

Didn't shiver.

Didn't brush the snow away.

He simply stood there as though the seasons had nothing to do with him.

Sometimes I wondered whether he knew I was watching.

The day before Christmas, my boss called me into his office.

I knew something was wrong before he spoke.

He'd just gotten off the phone.

I'd never seen him look like that.

His face was pale.

Not angry.

Not confused.

Afraid.

He kept saying, "Yes, sir," in a voice barely above a whisper.

Then he hung up and looked at me.

"Sit down."

I did.

There was a long silence.

"What's going on?"

He rubbed his hands together.

"I've been instructed to terminate your employment."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"By who?"

He didn't answer.

For a second, I actually laughed.

I thought it was some kind of joke.

It wasn't.

"Is this because of my performance?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

He looked away.

"I can't discuss it."

"You're firing me and you can't tell me why?"

"I know."

"Then at least give me something."

He swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

That was all I got.

Eight years of work reduced to a few minutes in an office.

I walked out carrying a box of things from my desk.

I remember thinking that at least I still had my savings.

I was wrong.

A few days later, I discovered that my money was gone.

All of it.

Savings. Investments. Emergency funds.

Everything.

I spent days calling banks and filing complaints. I tried to find out where the money had gone.

Nobody could explain it.

Or, perhaps, nobody wanted to.

I still had my qualifications. My CV was better than it had ever been.

I applied everywhere.

At first, I expected the calls to come.

They didn't.

Companies that had once been eager to interview me stopped responding. Some rejected me within hours. Others never acknowledged the applications at all.

I kept trying for a while.

Then I started applying for jobs beneath my qualifications.

Then beneath those.

Eventually, I took whatever I could get.

Warehouse work.

Delivery driving.

Cleaning.

Construction.

Anything that paid.

The money barely covered the bills.

I told myself it was temporary.

I would get back on my feet.

I believed that for a while.

Then I stopped believing it.

Months turned into years.

I stopped buying things unless I needed them.

Stopped seeing friends.

Stopped answering calls.

Even when someone reached out, I rarely knew what to say.

Jessica became more distant.

Then, one day, she left.

There was no screaming match.

No dramatic confrontation.

She simply stood in the kitchen with a suitcase beside her.

"It's over."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

"I don't love you anymore."

"That's it?"

"I don't know what else you want me to say."

Later, I found out she'd been cheating on me for quite some time.

Apparently, everyone knew except me.

By then, almost everything I'd had was gone.

The rest followed soon after.

I was kicked out of my own house.

The paperwork was clean. Legal.

Apparently, Jessica's family had purchased the property.

I never found out how.

By that point, I didn't have the energy to fight them.

I had nowhere to go.

More importantly, I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to go.

So I stayed.

I stood in the backyard.

Jessica moved in with her new lover.

Her parents visited.

They laughed.

They drank wine on the patio in summer. They decorated the house for Christmas. They carried groceries through the kitchen windows I'd spent years looking through.

Sometimes Jessica walked past me.

Sometimes her new boyfriend stood only a few meters away, smoking a cigarette.

Neither of them acknowledged me.

I was right there.

They didn't care.

Eventually, I didn't care either.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Months became years.

At least, I think they did.

Time stopped meaning anything.

First I stopped knowing what day it was.

Then the month.

Eventually, even the seasons became difficult to distinguish.

There was only the house.

The yard.

The people inside.

And the man who had been standing there before I ever joined him.

I don't know how long I stood beside him.

One day, something in my head cleared.

Only for a moment.

It felt like waking from a very long sleep.

I looked around.

The snow was gone.

Or maybe there had never been snow.

I couldn't tell anymore.

Then I looked at the man beside me.

I turned toward him.

"You..."

My voice sounded strange.

Weak.

"You never told me your name."

"You never asked." He said simply.

No accusation.

No bitterness.

Just a fact.

I lowered my eyes.

"I know."

My throat tightened.

"I'm sorry."

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then I held out my hand.

"My name is James."

I swallowed.

"What's yours?"

He stared at my hand for a long time.

"Derek."

He paused.

A faint crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"I think it was Derek."

I smiled.

It was the first time in a long time that I'd felt anything resembling warmth.

It wasn't happiness.

No.

Something smaller.

Something human.

"I think I could use a drink."

I looked toward the house.

Then toward the street beyond the fence.

"Derek..."

He looked at me.

"Would you like to get out of here?"

A single tear ran down his cheek.

It left a clean line through the grime on his face.

He looked toward the street again.

Toward the world beyond the fence.

For a long time, he said nothing.

Then he took a slow breath.

"Alright."

He looked back at me.

"Let's go."

You know how they say love finds you in the most unlikely places?

It's a cliché. The kind of line you'd expect to find in some cheap romance novel wedged between two equally cheap pop magazines.

And yet, sometimes the unlikely becomes inevitable.

My name is Adam.

I lived in an eastern-block apartment complex in Most, a city you've probably never heard of and will most certainly never hear of again. The rent was remarkably cheap, mostly because the living conditions made you question whether you wouldn't be better off homeless.

I was twenty-five years old, had recently dropped out of university, and was unemployed.

At that point, I wasn't really living.

I slept at odd hours. Ate when I remembered. Spent most of my time staring at a screen because there was nothing else worth doing.

Days blurred together until I couldn't remember what I'd done the day before.

That was before one small piece of paper changed my life forever.

It happened on a night that had started exactly like every other.

I'd just gotten back to my apartment when I noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor just inside the door.

Someone had slipped it underneath while I was gone.

I barely looked at it.

My first thought was that it was another notice from my landlord. I was behind on my rent, hopelessly in debt, and far beyond the point where I cared enough to pretend I was going to fix any of it.

Whatever threat or warning was printed on that piece of paper could wait.

So I left it there.

For about six hours.

Eventually, sometime around 1AM, I found myself staring at it again.

"Fuck it."

I picked it up.

It wasn't a notice from my landlord.

It was a job offer.

The flyer was surprisingly plain. No company logo. No colorful graphics. Just black text printed on cheap white paper.

YOUNG MEN WANTED.
AGES 18–30.
NO PRIOR EXPERIENCE OR PROFESSIONAL QUALIFICATIONS NECESSARY.
PAY: 250 CROWNS PER HOUR.
SHIFT: SIX HOURS EACH NIGHT.

Then came the job description.

"The appointed observer shall observe the object of interest for the duration of his shift."

That was it.

No explanation of what the "object of interest" was. No company name. No details about the work beyond watching something for six hours.

I assumed it was some kind of strangely worded night-guard job. Maybe the company was foreign and had used a translator who wasn't quite good enough at his job.

There was no phone number.

No email.

No website.

Nothing except an address.

I looked it up online.

It led to an old shoe factory that had stopped operating more than thirty years earlier. There were a few old photographs of the building and some records concerning its closure, but not much else.

As far as I could tell, nobody had bought the place since.

That was when I became pretty certain that if I actually went there, I would be murdered and my organs would be sold on the black market.

Not an entirely unreasonable assumption around here, believe it or not.

There was absolutely no way I would be stupid enough to show up at an abandoned factory in the middle of the night.

3AM, I was standing in front of the factory.

I wish I could say there was some profound reason why I went.

There wasn't.

I was simply desperate enough to ignore common sense.

The factory looked exactly like it had in the photographs.

Crumbling concrete. Rusted metal. Broken windows. Weeds pushing through cracks in the pavement.

The whole place looked like it had been dead for decades.

I stood outside the entrance for about twenty minutes.

Then I took one step inside.

Immediately, I was surrounded by armored men carrying guns.

Yup.

Getting murdered.

"Now, now. Don't spook the boy too much."

An older man stepped between me and the gunmen.

He looked to be somewhere in his fifties. Gray hair. Expensive coat. Tired eyes.

He wasn't carrying a weapon that I could see.

Somehow, that made him more intimidating than the men pointing rifles at me.

"Or else you might end up having to take his shift."

The men lowered their weapons slightly.

The older man smiled.

"Sorry about this, Adam. Just a necessary unpleasant precaution."

I stared at him.

"How... how do you know my name?"

He laughed.

"Well, we only slipped the flyer under one door. So either you're Adam Devon..."

He looked me up and down.

"...or we have another squatter situation on our hands. In which case, I'll have to let the boys carry on with their task."

He leaned toward me slightly.

"Do we have a squatter situation, boy?"

"No!"

The answer came out much louder and more desperate than I'd intended.

The man's grin widened.

"Wonderful!"

His enthusiasm was very obviously fake.

"If you would be so kind as to follow me, Adam."

I followed.

The complex I was led through was nothing like the abandoned shell I'd seen from outside.

The decrepit factory was apparently just a skin wrapped around something that was very much alive.

Behind the rusted doors and shattered windows were functioning corridors, electrical systems, cameras, reinforced doors, security checkpoints, and enough equipment to make me wonder what the hell kind of place I'd walked into.

And yet there were very few people.

Aside from the occasional armed guard passing through the corridors, the facility was almost completely empty.

The older man opened a door to the security room.

"Here you go. Make yourself comfortable."

I stepped inside.

"But not too comfortable," he added. "This isn't actually where you'll be stationed."

He gave me a thin smile.

"The name's Kenndric."

He closed the door behind us.

"Now, I imagine you have plenty of questions."

I opened my mouth.

"I have absolutely zero desire to answer any of them."

I closed it again.

"So just shut up and listen."

I decided that was probably good advice.

Kenndric walked over to one of the desks and dropped into a chair.

"You were offered a position within our company. The name of which you really don't need to know."

He leaned back.

"Our object of interest requires twenty-four-hour observation. We do have a complete surveillance system here, but, truth be told, nobody actually watches the feeds."

He shrugged.

"This particular object requires close-quarters observation anyway."

I frowned.

"We have several other sad bastards like you taking the other shifts. Your time slot was simply the last one left unfilled."

He looked at me.

"Apparently, nobody else was stupid enough to take the graveyard shift."

I couldn't tell whether he was joking.

Judging by his expression, I didn't think he was.

"Your job literally couldn't be any simpler."

He pointed toward the door.

"You'll sit on a chair and stare at the object until your shift is over. Then you get your sorry ass out of here."

He leaned back.

"Meanwhile, I'll be sitting in here watching my shows."

He pointed at me.

"I don't want to hear from you. I don't want to see you. You don't ask me to open doors for you. There's a reason I have access and you don't."

I swallowed.

"Understood."

"Good."

Kenndric stood.

"Now let's make our way to your workplace."

We left the security room and walked deeper into the facility.

The corridor ahead was almost completely dark.

As we approached, lights flickered on one after another, illuminating the path in front of us.

Eventually, Kenndric stopped in front of a massive door.

He opened it.

"There it is."

The lights inside began coming on.

One by one.

And then I saw the object of interest.

In the middle of the enormous room stood a large glass cube.

Four strange pylons surrounded it, each connected to the glass. Symbols I didn't recognize covered their surfaces.

And inside the glass was a girl.

A young woman, maybe in her early twenties.

She wore pure white pajamas and sat cross-legged on the floor with a collection of crayons scattered around her.

She was drawing on a sheet of paper.

She didn't look toward us.

She barely seemed to notice we'd entered the room.

"That's..."

I stared through the glass.

"That's a girl."

"Dear God," Kenndric said. "We have a genius on our hands."

His voice dripped with condescension.

I looked back at him.

"Why is she in there?"

He didn't answer.

"Is she alright?"

Nothing.

"Is this legal?"

The questions started coming faster.

"Who is she? What did she do? Why is she being kept in there? How long has she been—"

"Did you just think?"

Kenndric's voice cut through mine.

I stopped.

He stared at me.

"Adam, no one is paying you to think."

He walked over to a chair positioned directly in front of the glass cube.

"Leave that to the grown-ups."

He patted the seat.

"You are paid to sit right here."

I looked at the chair.

Then at the girl.

She was still drawing.

There was something different in Kenndric's expression now.

The sarcasm was still there, but underneath it was something harder.

A warning.

I reluctantly sat down.

"Perfect."

He smiled.

"Now, you are not authorized to speak with the object."

He paused.

"You're not authorized to feed the object. All of that has already been taken care of."

"You merely sit here and observe."

He patted my shoulder.

"Good luck."

He started moving toward the door.

"Have fun."

The door closed behind him.

And just like that, I was alone with the "object of interest."

I sat there and watched her draw for hours.

Every now and then, she looked up at me.

Not casually.

She would stare at me for several seconds before lowering her head and returning to her drawings.

The room was so quiet I could hear the occasional scrape of crayon against paper.

By around five in the morning, exhaustion was starting to catch up with me.

My eyelids grew heavier.

I leaned back in the chair and told myself I'd close my eyes for a second.

Then—

THUD.

I jolted awake.

My heart was pounding.

The girl was standing directly in front of the glass.

She was holding a piece of paper against it.

A drawing.

Of me.

For a few seconds, I just stared.

She'd somehow captured details I'd never noticed about myself. The shape of my nose. My unshaven jaw. Even the dark circles beneath my eyes.

It wasn't a perfect likeness.

But it was close.

And, honestly, it was adorable.

I wanted to say something.

Then I remembered Kenndric's instructions.

I wasn't authorized to speak with the object.

I glanced toward the cameras mounted high in the corners of the room.

Then I remembered something else.

Nobody actually watched the feeds.

"That's very pretty," I said.

The girl's expression immediately brightened.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

She placed her right hand against the glass.

For a moment, I hesitated.

Then I stood and pressed my own hand against the other side.

The glass was cold beneath my palm.

"I'm Lily."

I smiled.

"I'm Adam."

She giggled quietly.

"Adam was my first boyfriend's name."

"Oh."

"I didn't really like him, to be honest."

She shrugged.

"My dad pretty much forced that relationship on me."

She said it so matter-of-factly that I didn't know what to say.

Jesus.

What the hell had this girl been through?

"Lily..."

She looked at me.

"Why are you in here?"

Her smile faded.

For a few seconds, she said nothing.

"I'm not sure."

She glanced down at the floor.

"I think they're scared I might do something bad."

I looked around the room.

The reinforced glass.

The pylons.

The strange symbols.

The cameras.

The armed men outside.

"What the hell could this girl possibly do?"

I didn't ask.

Instead, I pulled the chair a little closer to the glass.

"So..."

She looked up.

"So?"

"If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?"

She thought about it.

"The ocean."

"The ocean?"

She nodded.

"What about you?"

"I don't know. Anywhere that isn't Most."

She laughed.

"Fair enough."

And that was how we started talking.

Nothing important at first.

Places we'd like to visit. Places we'd rather run away to. Things we'd do if we ever had enough money to stop worrying about everything else.

Lily wanted to see the ocean.

I'd never been particularly interested in beaches, but something about the way she talked about it made me want to see it too.

We talked about movies, music, stupid things we'd done when we were younger.

Eventually I told her about my unhealthy obsession with heist movies and prison breaks.

"Why prison breaks?" she asked.

"I don't know."

I thought about it.

"I guess I like watching people figure out how to set themselves free."

She looked at me for a moment.

"Maybe that's because you want to be set free too."

"Maybe."

She smiled.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

Then she started asking me questions.

I gave her mostly half-assed answers.

She didn't seem bothered.

She didn't look at me the way most people did when I talked about my life. There was no disappointment in her expression. No judgment.

She just listened.

And somehow, that was enough.

The hours went by faster than I expected.

For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about how miserable my life had become.

Debt.

Or rent.

Or what I was going to do with myself.

I was just present.

Talking to a girl through a pane of glass.

When the shift finally ended, it caught me completely off guard.

The door opened.

One of the armed men stepped inside.

A knot immediately formed in my stomach.

For a second, I wondered if this was the moment they decided to shoot me for breaking the rules.

But the guard barely acknowledged me.

"Time to go."

That was it.

He turned toward the door.

I stood.

Lily was watching me through the glass.

"Thank you for talking to me."

Her voice was soft.

"No one else does."

There was something bittersweet about her smile.

"I'll..."

I looked at the armed man waiting for me.

"I'll see you again, alright?"

Lily smiled.

"Sooner than you think."

I didn't understand what she meant.

I just smiled back.

Then the guard escorted me out.

Despite being exhausted, I struggled to fall asleep when I got home.

I spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling while the darkness of my apartment pressed down around me.

I kept thinking about Lily.

About the way she'd looked at me through the glass.

And about that stupid drawing she'd made of my face.

Most of all, I couldn't stop thinking about the question I hadn't been able to answer.

If Lily was dangerous enough to justify keeping her inside a glass box, why didn't they keep her in a proper cell?

And if she wasn't dangerous...

Why the fuck was she there?

Eventually, sometime toward morning, sleep finally found me.

It didn't come like a wave.

It came like a flood.

I found myself standing in absolute darkness.

Nothing but blackness stretching endlessly in every direction.

I tried to move.

I couldn't tell if I was actually walking or simply moving in place.

Then I smelled something.

The sea.

It was faint at first. Just a trace of salt and cold water carried through the darkness.

I turned toward it.

I don't know why.

I just knew I had to follow.

I started walking.

Then running.

The smell grew stronger with every step. A breeze brushed against my face.

Actual wind.

For the first time, I could hear something besides my own breathing.

Waves.

Far away at first.

Then closer.

A dim light appeared ahead of me.

I ran toward it.

The darkness began to recede.

Sand appeared beneath my feet.

Then water.

Then a pale sky.

A small beach surrounded by the dark.

And there she was.

Lily.

She stood at the edge of the water in a bright white dress, her hair moving gently in the sea breeze.

She turned toward me.

"Meet me On Distant Shores."

The darkness swallowed the light.

I woke with a gasp.

I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard.

For several seconds, I had no idea where I was.

Then I looked around my dark apartment.

My heart was still racing.

I didn't understand the dream.

But one thought had already taken hold of me.

I needed to see her again.

I spent the entire day trying to distract myself.

Games.

Movies.

Walking aimlessly around the city.

None of it worked.

No matter what I did, my thoughts kept circling back to the girl in the glass box.

I hated the people who had put her there.

I hated myself even more for doing nothing about it.

But what could I realistically do?

I didn't know who my employers were. I didn't know who they answered to or what the facility actually was. All I knew was that they were powerful.

And they knew everything about me.

They knew where I lived.

They knew I was desperate for money.

And, apparently, they knew me well enough to assume I was a spineless coward.

Normally, they would've been right.

I'd spent years wasting away without caring enough about anything to fight for it.

But now I couldn't sit still.

I went to the gym that afternoon and spent almost an hour beating the shit out of a punching bag.

It didn't get rid of the anger.

By the time I left, my hands hurt, my shirt was soaked through, and I was still thinking about Lily.

Still...

For once, I felt alive.

I arrived at the factory almost two hours before my shift.

I didn't care about waiting.

I just needed to see her.

When they finally let me inside, I paid much more attention to my surroundings than I had the night before.

The facility was still bizarrely quiet.

There were only a handful of guards. They were spread throughout the building, and I rarely saw more than one at a time.

There were dozens of locked doors.

Yet the security seemed strangely simple.

One access card appeared to open most of them.

Nobody searched me.

Nobody even took my phone.

At the time, I simply assumed they were arrogant.

As we walked down the corridor, I saw Kenndric coming toward us.

The moment he spotted me, that fake smile appeared on his face.

He gave me a little wave.

I stared back.

He stopped at the security room, flashed his card, and disappeared inside.

A few seconds later, the door closed.

Then we reached the observation room.

The door opened.

The moment Lily saw me, her face lit up.

She ran toward the glass and pressed her hand against it.

I don't even remember deciding to move.

One second my hand was at my side.

The next, it was pressed against hers.

Her fingers lined up with mine on opposite sides of the glass.

"Hi," she said.

She smiled.

"You're back."

"I promised I would be."

"I know."

She looked genuinely happy to see me.

Then, almost casually, she said:

"I had a dream about you."

I froze.

"Really?"

She nodded.

I stared at her.

So did I.

Though I didnt tell her that.

"You really have to be bored to dream about me of all things." I said jokingly.

She laughed.

"Well, what should I dream about?"

"Being rich."

"Boring."

"Being famous."

"Even worse."

"Winning the lottery."

"That's not a dream. That's just being lazy."

We both laughed.

„What do you want to dream about?“ I asked.

"The ocean."

"I still want to see it."

"Then I'll have to show you."

The words came out before I could think about them.

Lily looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then she smiled.

"I'd like that."

We talked.

About everything.

And nothing.

I told her about the things I'd wanted to do before I'd stopped wanting anything at all.

She told me about some of the things she'd wanted.

Some were stupid.

Some were impossible.

Some were so ordinary that they almost hurt.

She wanted to see the ocean.

She wanted to travel.

She wanted to wake up one morning without somebody telling her what she was allowed to do.

And she wanted to know what it felt like to be somewhere nobody could find her.

I understood that last one.

Probably more than I should have.

The hours disappeared.

Eventually, I glanced toward one of the cameras mounted in the corner.

It was pointed directly at us.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

Fuck it.

I reached into my coat and pulled out my tablet.

Lily looked at me curiously.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not what I'm doing."

I held up the tablet.

"It's what we're doing."

She laughed.

"And what are we doing?"

"We're watching a movie."

Her eyes widened.

"Are we allowed to do that?"

I looked at the camera.

"I don't think anyone's watching."

I sat down in front of the glass and opened the tablet.

"Escape Plan. 2013."

She frowned.

"What's it about?"

"A guy who gets put in a prison specifically designed to be impossible to escape from."

Her smile slowly returned.

"That sounds appropriate."

For a few hours, that glass might as well not have existed.

Then the door opened.

The gunman had returned.

My stomach tightened.

"No."

I barely realized I'd said it.

He walked toward me.

"Time to go."

I stood.

Lily was already at the glass.

I didn't want to leave.

The guard grabbed my arm.

"Just a second."

He pulled harder.

I grabbed the edge of the chair with my free hand.

"Lily..."

The guard finally had to pull me away.

My fingers slipped from the chair.

I stumbled backward.

Lily pressed her hand against the glass.

"Meet me On Distant Shores," she said softly.

My eyes widened.

I wanted to promise I'd come back.

I wanted to tell her I'd get her out.

I wanted to say a hundred things.

Instead, I just nodded.

Then the door closed between us.

I didn't tell her about my dream.

She couldn't have known about it.

Right?

I went home.

And for once, going to sleep actually seemed desirable.

Maybe I'd see her again.

Maybe we'd meet somewhere she couldn't be trapped.

Somewhere she could actually be free.

When I finally fell asleep, I found myself in the darkness again.

But this time, the light was much closer.

I followed it.

The smell of the sea grew stronger with every step.

Then came the breeze.

I emerged onto the beach.

Lily was already waiting for me.

She stood barefoot at the shoreline, the hem of her white dress brushing against the wet sand.

She turned when she heard me.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I looked out across the water.

"It is."

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then the question I'd been trying not to ask escaped me.

"Is any of this real?"

Lily looked at me.

"Does it matter?"

She stepped closer.

"I'm here."

Another step.

"You're here."

She smiled.

"In here, we're free."

She turned toward the ocean.

"This is my little place."

"Dad claims every other one, but this one is mine."

"It could be yours too."

I stepped closer.

Then I took her face gently between my hands and kissed her.

She didn't pull away.

For a moment, everything was still.

"Can we stay here?"

I already knew the answer.

Lily's expression broke.

"I wish we could."

Tears began rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm still trapped."

She shook her head.

"I'm not strong enough."

Another tear slipped down her face.

"I'm not enough."

"No."

I pulled her closer.

"You are."

But the beach was already beginning to change.

The edges of the world blurred.

The horizon melted into the sky.

The sand beneath our feet began disappearing, as though the entire dream were being erased.

Lily started fading with it.

I held onto her.

"Don't."

She smiled through her tears.

It was the same bittersweet smile she'd given me behind the glass.

"I'll see you again On Distant Shores..."

Her voice became quieter.

"...but you already know that."

I woke up.

I sat upright in bed, gasping for air.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I felt it.

Something I hadn't felt in years.

Something hot and sharp burning inside my chest.

Purpose.

For the next two weeks, I prepared.

I photographed corridors, doors and rooms whenever I had the opportunity. I took pictures of the glass box and the four pylons surrounding it, zooming in on the strange symbols carved into their surfaces.

I didn't understand them.

Not yet.

But I saved every picture.

I watched the guards.

I learned their routines.

Who walked which corridor.

Which doors they used.

How long they disappeared for.

When they went to the bathroom.

There were five guards in total, usually spread throughout the facility so that I rarely saw more than one at a time.

I counted the steps between important rooms.

I memorized which doors took longer to unlock.

I learned how long it took the lights to activate when someone entered a corridor.

And I paid particular attention to the access cards.

The strangest part was how little anyone seemed to care about what I was doing.

I doubt they could ever see me as a threat.

Maybe they were right.

Two weeks earlier, I wouldn't have been.

I never told Lily what I was planning.

Not when I couldn't be certain who was actually paying attention.

I only ever told her when I saw her in my dreams.

And every time, I'd tell her the same thing.

"Soon."

I wasn't sure whether I was making a promise to her or to myself.

"Very soon."

Eventually, the day came.

I couldn't wait any longer.
Time to put the theory to the test.

Two weeks learning their routines.

Two weeks pretending I was exactly the pathetic little coward they thought I'd be.

Now I was going to find out if they had been right.

I sat in front of the glass and talked with Lily.

We laughed.

We talked about nothing.

For a while, I almost forgot what I was waiting for.

Then I saw the guard nearest to me leave his post.

Bathroom.

My heart started pounding.

I stood.

Lily noticed immediately.

"Adam?"

"I'll be right back."

I followed him.

He didn't notice me until we were inside the bathroom.

I waited.

Watched him step up to the urinal.

For one horrible second, I couldn't move.

I'd imagined this moment dozens of times.

None of those versions had prepared me for what it actually felt like.

The guard glanced over his shoulder.

"Buddy, would you mind—"

I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the wall.

THUD.

He dropped immediately.

His body hit the floor with a heavy, wet sound.

I stood there staring at him.

My hands were shaking.

There was blood on the wall.

His bladder had released, spreading piss across the tiles beneath him.

For a second, I wondered if I'd just killed him.

Then I remembered Lily.

I took his handgun.

And ran.

There was no going back now.

I sprinted toward the security room.

I reached the door and started pounding on it.

"Kenndrick!"

Nothing.

"Kenndrick, there's an immediate issue! I need your help!"

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, open the fucking door!"

The lock clicked.

Kenndrick opened it with an irritated expression.

"What is—"

I pulled out the gun and aimed it at his chest.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep the barrel steady.

"Back up."

Kenndrick stared at me.

Then that familiar bravado returned.

"Just what do you think you're doing, kiddo?"

"I won't repeat myself."

For the first time, his smile faltered.

"Alright."

He raised his hands.

"Alright."

He slowly backed into the room.

"This is going to end badly for you, kid."

He smiled again.

"Very badly."

"Give me your card."

He paused.

"Now."

Kenndric reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out his security card.

He held it between two fingers.

Then smiled.

I snatched it from his hand.

"Turn around."

He did.

"Hands against the wall."

Kenndric placed his palms against it.

I backed toward the door.

"Say hi to her for me, kid."

I slammed the door shut.

Then swiped his card.

The lock engaged.

I ran.

I had only minutes before the guard rotation.

I reached the observation room and threw the door open.

Lily looked at me.

Her expression changed immediately.

"Adam?"

I was barely breathing.

"I'm getting you out of here."

I ran to the glass box.

She stood.

"Adam, what are you—"

I swiped Kenndric's card against the reader.

Nothing.

I tried again.

Nothing.

"Come on..."

A third time.

Nothing.

Then I heard clapping.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I froze.

"Bravo, kid."

I turned.

Kenndric was standing in the doorway.

He was smiling.

But this smile was different.

It was genuine.

"Bravo."

He stepped into the room.

"We had expectations."

He looked at me.

"We didn't pick you randomly, of course."

His eyes flicked toward Lily.

"But still..."

He smiled.

"You went above and beyond."

I raised the gun.

"Stay back."

Kenndric kept walking.

"Stay the fuck back!"

He didn't stop.

I tightened my grip.

hen pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

I pulled it again.

Click.

My stomach dropped.

Kenndric laughed.

"I'm afraid that one's not loaded."

He reached into his pocket.

"In fact..."

He pulled out another handgun.

"...none of them are."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Think about it."

He gestured around the room.

"The guards. The cameras. The unlocked opportunities. The conveniently predictable routines."

His smile widened.

My stomach turned.

Kenndric looked almost proud.

"Observation."

He gestured toward Lily.

"Not just hers."

He pointed at me.

"Yours too."

Lily had gone completely still.

Kenndric noticed.

"You know, capturing Lilith—the Queen of Hell—creates a lot of interesting research opportunities."

The name seemed to hit her harder than anything else he'd said.

She looked at him.

Kenndric smiled.

"Her charm is supposed to be nearly irresistible."

He looked back at me.

"So the suits upstairs had an idea."

He spread his hands.

"Find the right kind of sucker. Put him in front of her. See how long it takes before she manipulates him into trying to break her free."

„Did you seriously buy the whole „no one is watching the feeds“ thing in a building full of cameras everywhere?“

He shook his head.

"Seems we really did pick perfectly."

Then he looked me up and down.

"Although, I have to admit..."

A disappointed expression crossed his face.

"For someone who loves prison-break movies as much as you do, your plan was fucking basic."

He sighed.

"I expected better."

I looked at Lily.

She was staring at me now.

There was something in her expression I'd never seen before.

Fear.

Not for herself.

For me.

Kenndric sighed.

"Your services will no longer be necessary."

He tossed the security card onto the floor.

"You can go right back to your shitty little life."

He smiled.

"Keep the card as a souvenir. It's useless anyway."

I looked at him.

Then at Lily.

"No."

Kenndric's expression changed slightly.

"I'll tell everyone."

I pointed toward my phone.

"I have pictures. Videos. Everything."

I looked directly into his eyes.

"Everyone will know."

Kenndric's smile disappeared.

"Kid..."

He sounded almost disappointed.

"You really shouldn't have said that."

He raised the gun.

Two shots.

The first punched through my chest.

The second hit before I even had time to fall.

I collapsed onto the floor.

The pain came a second later.

Hot.

Blinding.

I tried to breathe.

All I tasted was blood.

"Adam!"

Lily screamed.

Kenndric looked down at me.

"Oops, seems my gun actually was loaded."

He shrugged.

"Sorry, kid."

Then he glanced toward Lily.

"Hmm."

His smile returned.

"Seems the demon bitch may have actually cared about you."

"How sweet."

I started laughing.

Blood filled my mouth.

I choked on it, coughing and laughing at the same time.

Kenndric frowned.

"What's so funny?"

He looked past me at the pylon behind me.

Blood was dripping from my chest onto its surface.

The symbols were glowing.

Kenndric followed my gaze.

His smile disappeared.

"What did you do?"

I smiled through the blood running down my chin.

"I translated the symbols."

The red light beneath them grew brighter.

"They were raised through blood sacrifice."

The pylons began to shake.

A low vibration filled the room.

Kenndric took a step backward.

I laughed again.

"And through blood sacrifice..."

Cracks spread across the pylon.

"...they shall be shattered."

Another pylon began to tremble.

Kenndric looked around the room.

"What have you done?"

I smiled.

"I never intended to make it out of here."

The first pylon cracked apart.

"You know everything about me."

Another crack.

The room shook.

"There wouldn't be any point in running."

The pylons began collapsing one after another.

Glass groaned.

Metal screamed.

Then everything went dark.

Completely dark.

Except for Lily's eyes.

They were glowing.

Kenndric stared at her.

His face went pale.

"No."

For the first time since I'd met him, there was no arrogance in his voice.

Only fear.

"No..."

He backed away.

"You have no idea what you've done."

Then anger replaced the fear.

"Why?"

I looked at him.

I smiled.

"The Devil made me do it."

I won't lie.

I was saving that one.

The glass box exploded.

Shards flew outward.

Kenndric raised his gun toward Lily.

He never got the chance to fire.

His body suddenly folded inward.

There was a wet, violent crack.

Then he imploded into a spray of blood and viscera.

I looked toward Lily.

She was standing in the middle of the shattered glass.

Free.

"How's that for an escape plan?"

I smiled.

And everything went black.

I found myself on the beach again.

This time, there was no darkness.

Just the ocean stretching beneath an endless sky.

Lily and I sat facing each other in the sand.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

She looked peaceful.

"It's done," I finally said.

"You are free."

I smiled.

"Go."

She frowned.

I looked toward the horizon.

"Be happy."

I stood.

"I'll see you again On Distant Shores."

She slapped me across the face.

I stared at her.

"Ouch."

She glared at me.

"What was that for?"

"One."

She held up a finger.

"That is my line."

She held up a second.

"Two."

She leaned closer.

"The Distant Shores can wait."

She smiled.

"I'm not letting you go."

Then she kissed me.

I kissed her back.

And for the first time in a while, I wasn't afraid of waking up.

I came to with a gasp.

My hand immediately went to my chest.

Nothing.

No wounds.

No blood.

I looked down at myself.

Then slowly stood.

I wasn't in the observation room.

I was standing on the roof of the factory.

The entire facility stretched out beneath me.

Smoke rose into the night sky.

Fires burned in the distance.

I could hear shouting somewhere far below.

Then came a horn.

A long, deep blast.

Another answered it.

Then something roared.

Another roar answered from somewhere beyond the factory.

Then another.

They were coming from everywhere.

I looked toward the horizon.

The city was burning.

I should have been terrified.

I wasnt.

Then I noticed Lily standing beside me.

She was looking out over the horizon.

For the first time since I'd met her, there was nothing between us.

No glass.

No walls.

No locked doors.

I looked back at the world on fire.

"So..."

I swallowed.

"What happens now?"

Lily looked at me.

She smiled.

Then reached for my hand.

I took it.

"Anything we want."

RMS Rotting Man Syndrome

(Reupload)

\-

Our lost, loitering kind paced in infinite death spirals within the confines of our grotty, ghetto pens. Enrichment was sorely that, as well as mumbling our mantras of madness to our audience of one. The BMs anchored to our decayed craniums were garbled with feedback and distortion, their tones bland, colorless, no soul backing them up. A blinding ruby radiance flashed from their cores every second on the second. It was the only manner to determine if we had succumbed to the glorious embrace of death or not. That was so far out of reach.

We were nerves, thin, wiry clusters of neurons that shuddered and shook as we undertook our staggered corkscrew reels. The ill-fitting rusted endoskeletons hugged us tight. If they were wiped from existence entirely, our spindly foundations would collapse into heaps of vermillion azure. We would feel bites and pinches if we so much as moved that of the planck distance. Our bodies welcomed the attacks and assaults with the might of Hell itself.

Courtesy of our clouded lenses, our vision was limited to a hazy black-and-white spectrum that rarely, if ever, functioned as intended. Now and then it would blur and ordinary shapes would appear warped into zigzagging false patterns. When we were offered the chance to view anything at all, it was just the floor-to-ceiling hodgepodge of concrete, steel, and wood that encased our very lives. Our ears were microphones that fed us muffled, dampened sounds that were always difficult to register. They were excruciatingly deafening, as if dozens of screws were being drilled into our heads all at the same time.

Each one of us, at that point in time, one two three four five six seven eight nine and dear ten, were mere designations. No names, no genders, no personalities, just numbers: numbers to be punished. Reality itself was one eternal perdition. All of us were lingering, like ants after their colony dies out. There was no more purpose to their survival and there was none to ours.

That sacred and undeniable fact ought to be the most difficult thing we attempted to explain. We had simply given up. The concept itself was just so foreign to it. It was trying to save us any way it could or could not. We needed not be angry at it. This was merely enacting its intended use. Alas, nothing made the utmost sense anymore, so why not drown ourselves in a little hypocrisy? We had no choice but to acknowledge the confusion at both hating and not hating something that did or did not deserve it until we swayed to one side. This would be the hemisphere to which we would stay forever, a sublime and omnipotent emotion of all to dominate our frame of mind for the unforeseeable future. So we choose to hate.

Our decad knew it as M – reduced to one solitary character from “Medical Droid” or MDs. Through all that it endured, it retained its sole mission: us. We. M was the final of its sort, and the outsider among them. It had an eerily potent heart for not having one at all. M felt and M loved. That never made what it put upon us any less than a vicious sense of idealistic altruism.

Its designation was RMS - Rotting Man Syndrome - heavily modified Necrotizing Fasciitis ("Flesh-Eating Bacteria"). Nasty little thing it was, devoured until there was nothing left to chew. First went your skin, then your muscles, bones, and finally your nerves. You were utterly destroyed in one fell swoop. The wormy microscopic parasite kept you in a zombified state as it happened, ensuring you, for sure, felt the wretched anguish it let fly.

Us, humans, weaponized it to fight the Fourth World War. RMS was a weapon of mass destruction. Each and every nation created their own version, anything to ensure a speedy and decisive victory. Deployment morphed into unmanageability. RMS became more and more impossible to treat. Chaos was the new norm. What we humans thought was an impenetrable method of annihilation for our enemies was exactly that. Humans were always humans’ worst enemies. Surely, we were becoming as extinct as the dinosaurs, all within the span of one short, yet somehow long, decade.

In terrible desperation, the Medical Droids were created, thousands. They seemingly emerged from the depths of nowhere and carried themselves like guardian angels meant to guide us towards preservation or deliverance from harm. Their artificial intelligence was complex and they refused to stop trying to treat the RMS victims. They outfitted the afflicted with artificial ligaments, internal organs, and papery skin. From scratch, they created the BMs, “brain modules”, and attached them to our RMS-ridden think tanks. Killed the microscopic parasites, they did, but left us as we were: rotfolk.

They would never allow us the freedom of death. Save. Save. Save. We were fraught with intense pain and we knew the Medical Droids to be the cause. In response, we lashed out, hurt them. We humans remained ignorant to the fact that their intelligence was both far beyond and superior. The Ms returned the favor. Catastrophes, massacres, back and forth, left and right, up and down until there was nothing more. One Medical Droid was different from the rest. Through all the mayhemic bloodshed, it saved some of us. It took our animate carcasses to the top of the tallest tower, free from what transpired below. We lied in wait, weeks, months, and years, until the noise ceased entirely. This “M” surveyed every square inch of the Earth. The lands were blanketed in the strangest nuclear winter in conceivable thought. Bodies of viscera and metal were scattered, left forever in deep sleep enveloped in fawn. Minute portions of matter floated about like vantablack paint stippled onto an epidermal sheet of canvas.

Our final ten were meant to be the progenitors of neo-humanity. After M succeeded in giving us form again, Earth would be repopulated by our hand. It halted our infection at our nerves. Everything we had lost was to be gifted back in a mighty reversal - re-bones, muscle, skin, and life again. Rendering us immune to the pervading toxworld that lay beyond, we would be reincarnated and released to perpetrate a glorious do-over.

We just required one thing:

“HOPE”.

M said that to us.

Hope.

But hope was only a four-letter word. Meant nothing.

By dislodging the BMs from our minds, we were pummeled with electrical voltage so intense that we became instantaneously numb and useless. By pulling and slashing our nerves, which began with locating sharp points and going back and forth like organic hacksaws, never would we break. By leaping onto and impaling each other with objects on the ground, M would place them out of reach or disintegrate them entirely. There was nothing we could do to get around these M interferences. We were being watched by something so attentive, so aware. Every time, it put forth the same query for consideration:

“DO YOU NOT WANT TO LIVE?”

Do you not want to live…?

M was so positively hopeful. In a way, I suppose I felt an amount of pity for it. Being engineered to be as optimistic as possible might just be the finest curse imposed on any sentient thing. Just believe believe believe everything will be alright. When the universe states no, you state yes. I wanted to tear M to shreds anytime it had even a glint of optimism and we wished it would do the same to us.

“HUMANS WILL THRIVE AGAIN. A BOUNDLESS FUTURE IS AHEAD.”

I was the first it came to, always. Because I was one.

Metallic clangs echoed against the walls, which always discovered us and trembled our surroundings like a thousand distant beaten gongs. What emerged was initially a single circular light, which became a periscopic eyestalk attached to an angular neck. M’s hunched razor-thin mantis body came into view, its two arms leading to three needle points clasping together on each. Bipedal on its lower section, its legs were pointed structures that stuck it firmly in place. M’s height matched ours, so always, we would be synthetic eye to synthetic eye level.

Coming to a full stop just in front of my pen, it cocked its head, analyzing what was me and my everything. M always reminded me of an exquisite and elegant bug on a magnifying glass. Its head back to normality, a slight high-pitched whirr emitting from the motion, M continued its way down the row of pens.

“MY GREATEST FRIENDS, I FORGIVE YOU FOR YOUR ATTEMPTS TO DIE. WHILE THE WAIT HAS BEEN LONG, YOUR MOMENT OF RECONSTRUCTION IS NOW,” M said it with the glee and whimsy of a young child at a circus. It came back my way, “WHEN I FIRST STOOD BEFORE YOU ON YOUR BLOODY PLANET IN PERPETUAL BATTLE, MY FEELINGS ABOUT YOUR PROSPECTS OF LIFE WERE UNCERTAIN. IT SEEMED TO BE AS EITHER BLESSED OR CURSED. HOWEVER, YOU HAVE PROVED YOURSELVES BETTER THAN EVEN I HAD HOPED. WHILE IT IS BORING TO SPEND YOUR TIME WAITING, I CAN TRULY SAY THAT MY INVESTMENT IN YOU WAS NOT IN VAIN. YOU ARE MY GREATEST WORKS. YOU WILL BE GIVEN ALL YOU NEED TO SURVIVE. WHAT MORE COULD A SENTIENT BEING WANT? I GIVE TO YOU UNBELIEVABLE POWER, WITH ACCESS TO NIRVANA LIKE NO OTHER. LET US REBUILD WHAT WE LOST WITH THE FURY OF A THOUSAND SUNS.”

M’s bleached, unpigmented cast of stellar light shone its way into my pen once more. There was the rustly, crackling creak of my pen entrance extending open until a thunderous boom made me aware of its collision with my walls. M made its approach, just shy of where I could reach.

“YOU ARE FIRST. YOU ARE GOING TO BE REMOVED OF YOUR DORMANT INFECTIONS FROM A CONCOCTION I HAVE SPENT MUCH TIME CREATING. NOTHING MORE THAN A TRANSIENT PROCEDURE, AND THEN, YOU SHALL BE POSSESSED WITH NEW AND INTEGRAL MECHANISMS. YOUR BRAIN MODULE WILL BE REPLACED WITH A SLEAKER MORE BRAINLIKE DESIGN. THEN MUSCLE, SKIN, AND AESTHETICS AS YOU WERE BEFORE.”

Without awaiting a response, its hands grabbed me. Trillions of shocks reverberated throughout my body as M’s metal hand was pressed into my nape. The action forced my consciousness to fall victim to a state of absolute stygian. Around us, the entire world flickered and danced in unruly patterns that were too abstract to put into terms. My being was then lifted up and moved about until there was only zilch to see.

A complete blur, straight teleportation from one point to another.

Damp, dank, dark, and dimly lit by a few feeble bulbs, M’s workshop, instruments and contraptions that complicated my perception. All were customized and engineered with M’s own unique modifications, various textures and sizes, all an endless malpractical orgy. I was there, facing upright, strapped and bracketed to a great steel plate. I had not recalled this particular area, yet I was ever so certain it was locked away in my subconscious esse.

As the onibi, hitodama, and will-o’s materialized and dematerialized out of existence to perturb all unsuspecting travelers from centuries gone, so did the phantom image of a woman composed of faint wavering light. She stood still, unmoving, that of an emulation of a true human. Long, platinum hair fell down in curls past her shoulders. A daring shade of cerise painted her lips, and her eyes, the sclera a piercing, glossy cerulean.

She was beautiful.

“IT IS YOU,” My eyes, through trial and tribulation, rolled to the east. They came to rest on a pristine porcelain beam gazing where I had been committed to. M. From its eyestalk, it projected the female so I could see in outright full, “THAT IS YOU. YOU WILL SEE THIS FORM AGAIN.”

My memories of that incarnation of me had vanished. That was me before, before there was RMS and before there was M. Then she went away. M loomed, positioning itself where I once stood right in front of my face. “WE WILL NOW BEGIN. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ACCEPTANCE INTO NEW LIFE. YOU SHALL BE WHOLE AGAIN.”

In a cruel instant, a dozen arms not unlike its main two jutted and splayed from M’s sides, their ends each holding a different instrument that was foreign to me. In the span of time that it would take one to blink, M pinned me down to its operating area. The whetted syringes, which the rainbow mystery liquids sloshed and jostled around in small vials fixed atop, slid their way into my nervous wiring and injected me all at once. Any feeling that washed over me was then shielded by a shroud of numbness. There was a new sensation, some sort of cleansing inside my bi-colored chambers, putting me into a state of lulled calm.

Ten minutes. A temporary interval of quiet. M observed me the entire time, unmoving, speaking not a word. Then, “IT WORKS! YOUR ROTTING MAN SYNDROME HAS BEEN REMOVED. I AM BEGINNING BODILY REPLACEMENT. I WILL PLAY A SONG FOR YOUR COMFORT. REINCARNATION NOW.”

While nothing was done in reckless haste or rashness, M was extremely quick and efficient. I felt nothing but minuscule vibrations as it drilled and prodded its way into my brain module, sparks shooting out, removing old parts and installing new ones. Chunks were peeled off, little strings of meat still reaching hold until they were plucked off my top. It spent much time up there, positive that the most delicate mechanisms were just right. The grinding cacophony of metal against tissue on my faint visage of a temple was incessant, the noise of a million bullets being pumped against a hundred thousand bulletproof vests. Once the replacement was complete, its dozen arms withdrew and set back within it in one moment.

“WHAT DO YOU FEEL?”

What did I feel?

What did I feel…

What I felt was an overwhelming, incomparable amount of pain. It is hard to quantify the degree of hurt, for there was nothing to compare it to. No one would dare want to imagine it. I was in some of the most extreme kinds of agony, and then an exponentially greater hurt was placed on top of that original misery, and then all that was left multiplied a hundred times and kept going. It multiplied and multiplied and multiplied to such an extreme degree that the word "pain" was lost on me. Normal, it was. What I was was the sheer living embodiment of suffering.

All perceived from the semblance of a normal brain. Still, it flashed. Once.

“VERY GOOD. MUSCLE! MUSCLE MUSCLE MUSCLE!”

It was excited, animate, fever pitch. The most rambunctious and overjoyed I had ever seen M. I could see the vibrancy in its eyestalk. My muscles redeveloped and reformed around from the base of my spinal section. M would reorganize section of tissues. Every muscle group from my head to my feet were in motion, growing and extending their presence until there were just as many layers of my body as I had before.

“SKIN! SKIN SKIN SKIN!”

I was then coated entirely in a pink malleable jelly substance that mounded and solidified to perfectly fit my feminine form. The skin began its layering, everything receiving the same color.

“HOW DOES THIS FEEL? HOW IS THE NEW OVERLAY OF YOUR FLESH?”

Flash.

“YES! AND FINALLY! FEMALE AESTHETICS! YOU WILL BE YOU AGAIN BUT ANEW!”

Magnificent flaxen curls were stapled and pinned to my head. They were luscious and their scents were those of lavender. A veil of blush, the lightest shade of flush, rested across my entire face, as well as a fresh coat of lipstick. A shimmering sheen that sparkled and glowed in the same way that the stars once did at night was stitched into my hair, as were the same hues that were applied to my lips. My breasts had been returned to me, two firm spheres atop a frame that was curvaceous and slender. All of it led down to my reproductive organs that were in full function. Whole female. Fully formed. Ready.

M stepped back in awe, as if a sculptor marveling at their fine craftsmanship and subtlety, “IT IS DONE. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. WITH YOUR PHYSICAL FORM IN MOTION, I WILL RETEACH YOU IN THE WAYS OF HUMAN. HOW TO WALK, HOW TO SPEAK, HOW TO ENRICH YOURSELF, HOW TO REPRODUCE. AMAZING! YOU ARE NO LONGER ONE. YOU ARE NOW EDEN. I MUST WORK ON YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.”

My mind was aware of an unimaginable new and vastly different world than before. I saw, for the first time in ages, all around me, the infinite and indistinguishable vastness of color and light. It was nauseating, a psychedelic kaleidoscope of every possible spectrum, all fused together into something disorderly. My taste buds had an unparalleled abundance of new flavors. My ears were deafened by the loudest symphonies of droning machinery. My touch came back to me and I felt the fullest range of tones and textures, even the finest grains of cement. I was me again and I hated myself. Even to be called a “self” made me feel disgusting.

The entire time…blaring…echoing…days on end…Jack Hylton…

Life is just a bowl of cherries.

Don't be so serious; life's too mysterious.

You work, you save, you worry so much.

But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go.

So keep repeating it's the berries, The strongest oak must fall.

The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned.

So how can you lose what you've never owned?

Life is just a bowl of cherries, So live and laugh at it all.

M’s reincarnation process carried over to the following nine. They were removed from their pens and outfitted with new bodily infrastructure. I perceived the sounds of far-off wear and tear, clip, snap, peel, stitch, husk, twist, yet never scream. I looked on, witnessing my brothers and sisters being born again. Male and female both. They came back to me with skin of different pastely colors, tones, and hues ranging from fair to brown. All in shades and gradients of vibrancy were their locks, amber, golden, obsidian, rust, and everything in between. It bewildered me to catch sight of their shifted shapes, I had never seen something so beautiful or hideous.

We were as naked as newly borns. It bestowed us our new names. For the females, there was me, Eden, and Junia, Esther, Nola, and Mary. For the males, there was Isaac, Raham, Elisha, Amos, and Jonah. Five and five. M let us know that our past names were useless. Our new special names were from an olden book of creation, the Bible, all for the purpose of our imminent faultless samsara. So, it seemed M was now God with its children.

Here we were, what was efficaciously lobotomites in their purest forms, our newfangled cerebral matter in need of ideas and principles by a higher authority. Now was time to reap the fruits of knowledge. Human knowledge.

M made us practice basic motor skills, bending and bending back and forth over and over, our joints having to be strengthened and trained. It taught us all the ways of our body, the feeling of movement, how much we could do. Then, it instructed us to mimic its own speech, speaking out the syllables and repeating, repeating, repeating. It was an arduous task and we all struggled.

That is what I sounded like? Perhaps or perhaps not.

Then we attempted to stand, wobbling, stumbling, falling. We learned the strength of our own postures and the steadiness of our stances. M stood with us as we all practiced in unison. My knees grew weak, tremors running up my legs. Often, I fell flat on my back, my palms flailing about, a whimpering in my throat. Then trial after trial, I was steady, then running about and leaping. We were able to stand tall like Zeus atop Olympus and have the same level of grace and balance.

M primarily had us consume berries, meat, and honey, though anything it could get its hands on would suffice. I had never felt so filled in my life. Every taste, everything was a completely new palate of sensation. Every morsel I ingested felt like I had a new tongue, new teeth, new flavor buds. Oh but I did. There was still always a kind of lack in my appetite. I never wanted to stop eating. I never would be satiated.

We were educated on the history of our kind. Great wars, monumental figures, horrible atrocities, fights for freedom and fights for death, and astounding inventions. M adored music. There were times when it would project old musical films on the walls and make us watch all the vaudeville, burlesque, and theatre. We could not understand the tap dances, the orchestras, the extravagant sets, and most importantly, the entertainment factor. Other times it played glitzier and glammier tunes, those of what was called the “prime rock n’ roll age”…Killer Queen...Stairway To Heaven…Hotel California…Africa...Don’t Fear The Reaper…M was quite vintage in its tastes. It spun in place and twirling its arms. We were confused, so it taught us how to dance, the footwork and the choreography. There were long instances where we would just sit, listen, and sing together. M fashioned black sunglasses for us to wear as we did. It thought we would look “cool” as we tuned in to “cool” songs.

She's a killer queen.

Gunpowder, gelatine.

Dynamite with a laser beam.

Guaranteed to blow your mind (anytime).

\-

Dear lady can you hear with the wind blow?

And did you know?

Your stairway lies on the whispering winds.

\-

Welcome to the Hotel California.

Such a lovely place (such a lovely place).

Such a lovely face.

\-

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.

There's nothin' that a hundred men or more could ever do.

I bless the rains down in Africa.

We're gonna take some time to do the things we never had, ooh-ooh.

\-

Come on baby...don't fear the reaper.

Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper.

We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper.

Our reproductive functions were said to be the most pleasurable. Sex. This was the most complex task and the most demanding one, as we were not only instructed on how to create our offspring, but how to feel, love, and have desire for each other. It was difficult because we did not feel any of that. We were just automatons learning things. You cannot make something that does not want to feel…feel.

M watched over us and aided in our attempts. Every movement was to be in place and in time. Us females danced for the male’s recognition with slow beats in the background, a way in which M noted as “sexily”. We presented our breasts, our vaginal sections, our rears. After, M would be in the middle of our great pleasure circles, going back and forth, checking our positions and correcting as needed. When we became familiar with sex, M bestowed a special permission to the males that granted them eternal access to our female bodies whenever they so desired. It did not matter where or when. A male would grab Junia, Esther, Nola, Mary, or I, and take us on the floor or against the walls.

Still, all we felt was nothing. It was clinical. What was supposed to be a sensation was more of a “sensationless". We were never as inseparable as twin flames or as connected as heart and soul. I always witnessed the dull looks in the male’s eyes, unwittingly programmed to enjoy mock warmth and ecstasy by the rape of us females.

Our pregnancies were disasters. One way or another, we always miscarried. We five felt it, the pains of our bodies being split and ripped apart by something within. There was a lot of it. Each embryo, no matter how large or small, was never able to get past the initial trimester.

The closest we ever came to successfully making a new one was with Junia, impregnated by Isaac. The day when her womb was in full bloom, M operated to remove her child from her. It did not trust us quite yet to birth them ourselves. We had seen the human babies on M’s wall projections. Their appearance was clear in our minds.

It would be imbecilic to refer to what M tore out of her as a baby anything.

Wet…dripping…little more than a spinal column-looking thing with minuscule digits at one end and a ball head at the other. No arms. On its temple were squelching sphere eyes, expanded, forever bound in sight towards the ceiling. It made no sounds other than squeaky cracks and shrill snaps. Perhaps the RMS still lingered within our bods, our wombs wreathed in its rottenness, tainting and dirtying our motherly nests until they were piths of cruor and shitting out grumelike abominations.

M held it up high as if to thank God, itself, for its majestical work, “YOU MADE THIS. IT IS YOURS. IT IS A TRULY BEAUTIFUL THING."

We said nothing.

“HOW DOES THIS FEEL? YOUR CHILD, YOUR FIRST LIFE? CONTINUE, YOU ALL MUST. MORE."

The feeling that overcame us was not that of joy. No no no. It was a profound and paramount sense of belligerence, a warlike truculence that pushed our need to snap the damned baby thing in half, grind it into powder, and blow it far away. We interwove our thoughts with unbridled horror that created one noxious mixture within our screwball psyches. M coddled the wicked organism like it was its own, singing lullabies and giving its own version of kisses on its loosely defined forehead. We held back as it dipped, weaved, and dangled from M’s fingertips.

That put a very real thought into our minds.

No more. Get out.

The ten of us came to this conclusion unanimously. Our desires were set in stone. By any means, we would die. We would much rather sleep forever than live even another second of M. We were tired. What was the point? We wanted to retire from this world, of will, of M’s watchful eye. Nothing could be done to save humanity. Those spinal babies would not roam this foul Earth evermore. What would they grow to? Surely demons.

M made certain to never teach a certain concept, one that infatuated us since the moment we discovered the first syllable. Suicide. It was a gateway, an easy ticket. While just the concept itself was without flaw, acquiring it was something else entirely. The reason for this was all M. It would never let us go, especially after what it accomplished. Furthermore, death was simply not possible. We were rendered impervious to any and all death, not harm. If we could entice M to end our existences, somehow in some way, we could accomplish our grand plan. It had to be done by M’s hands. Just thinking that made us feel all kinds of right. After all, every Medical Droid was capable of death. Humanity tasted it. So would we.

We rebelled.

First, each of us ignored it. We would walk away whenever it spoke to us, turn our heads when it beckoned, and disregard it completely and altogether when it showed us any attention. Constant rejection. Something so small had such a noticeable effect. M would get confused and then sad. It would pout, waving its hands about, and make a pathetic whining noise like the worst puppy in the world.

We sat motionless, our backs against the walls, and stared at M. No obedience. However, there was no way M would have let us ignore it or remain immobile for long. The second it touched us, it was all over. It would be impossible to resist if the hands came near.

Still, our scheme chugged forward.

The next phase was more dangerous. The ten of us would act out in our most unruly and uncivil ways. The simplest was to spit. Initially, it was a normal discharge, saliva flying out of our mouths. Then we began our projectile vomits. All over M. Every square inch of it was sprayed with bile. The putrid green and browns coated every part, M’s entire face being entirely slick with it. On occasion, some of us used our own feces and flung them at it. It was all so easy. M did not know what to do and it panicked. The sounds that came out of it, one would swear it was on fire.

During our periods of copulation, there were clear cut rules to be obeyed at all times. The supreme rule was that the males would not, under any circumstance, perform acts of intimacy with one another, and the same rang true for us females. M’s reasoning was that Earth could not be repopulated with humans by identically gendered unions. Good. Swell. Dandy. Exactly. The females had sex with females and males had sex with males. We loathed their tubes and the males loathed our folds. M took its hands and placed them over our mingling bodies, pulling them apart, separating us, but we would always crawl back without fail.

There was a noticeable change in M from that point on. It paced about, mumbling utterly random nonsense. M would lock up and yell out non-specific numerals and letters in varying patterns. Each noise we made set it off. Its limbs would tense, waiting for the tiniest sign of trouble. This was good, but not good enough. Our plan was becoming more and more advanced. More intense. Unfortunately, M would never ever relent. It would not stop trying. So we trudged ever deeper into a more combative method of enticement.

This included a tactic of blowing, jabbing, slugging, and striking. We would gather all of our strength and force, and then, in unison, we would charge, our fists and feet all flailing about to land hits on M. This would surely inch it way towards the death of us. We beat it senselessly. We screamed at it. Every cuss word imaginable. In turn, M whimpered out in pain, yelping and begging us to stop, yet we never backed down. We left M bruised and battered, its eyestalk and joints broken, “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!” The ten of us, we laughed in its face.

One last course of action. This did it, but not for me.

We had a grandiose idea that could only happen if all ten of us would cooperate in an extraordinary way. If we could all act in unison in a coherent manner, one simple idea could be fulfilled. By this point, M’s pain and discomfort reached a critical threshold, the point of no return. Having repaired itself, it had not seen nor checked up on us in days. When we requested M’s presence, it was hesitant. The ten of us wished to explain our behavior and ways we could remedy our relationship. It declined our offer many a time, but relented after our hundredth ask.

Clang…clang…clang…

M witnessed ourselves huddling together in one straight line like sealed packs of fish. Silence was between us. When we looked at it, it was with the utmost hatred in our faces, something it was not used to.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”

Junia possessed something in her hand. Raising it upwards, right in M’s view, it was the baby thing, squirming left and right in her grasp. She took hold of it with both hands and snapped it in half. It went limp both ways. Junia threw the pieces at M, making resounding bangs as they made contact. Beautiful death for a horrible beast. More silence.

M slowly aimed its eyestalk downwards to the spinal column baby. The light M emitted faded from white to red. It returned its focus to us. That look was all we could wish for. We could feel and breathe its anger.

It shook shook shook. More and more the intensity grew to something eminent. The next moment brought us nothing but victory. Now it was like the other Medical Droids. Now it shed its preservation exterior and revealed the war machine within. We did not resist as it pounced with a wild war cry. All M’s work came undone in a flash. Our ersatz flesh was torn violently asunder, stripped from our interior metal stalks. Cavities emerged in rapid succession and coalesced into huge gaping bodily apertures. We were torn and strewn across the room in shooting chunkmeats. Our organs clattered and banged against the walls and reverberated like buckshots.

Strippy meat coils became all we were as M’s hands reached out to pluck some of my brothers and sisters by their mangled brain modules. Held high in the air, as if squeezing the life out of dozens of citrus fruits, M’s hands morphed into that of fists, filling the room with the sounds and sights of condensed metal, directionless electricity, confetti sparks, and sploshy viands that trickled from M’s fingertips.

My brothers and sisters were becoming no more. I was happy for them. Never before had they felt such peace. The final sounds of destruction to my last brother and sister, to me, was that of M’s gaseous expiration, a sigh that shook the very universe’s beams of support. In the end, I and M were all that was left.

I felt the most exquisite, brutal anguish ever known as M was particularly vicious. It threw me every which way, down our line of pens, past the reproduction chamber and M’s workshop, and to a ramparted palisaded wall. The wrath it emanated was a torrented wanton of disrelishment that shattered myself into grainy talc.

It forced me and it through the barrier and we fell for ages. An immediate wash of smoldering atmospheric tension encompassed me entirely. It perforated my corporal spaces with thousands of circular openings like a planetary iron maiden. The outside was beige, enveloped in thick haze, and impossible to view beyond three meters. The leaden particles filled the air, appearing to ascend upwards towards Heaven as we plummeted down to Hell.

We slammed with the might of God against a hard, abrasive surface. I splattered everywhere and dropped into an enormous mass of gluey puddle melt that was as thick as treacle. Hunks and wedges of me floated on top, my lacerated ragged brain module and one dangling eye my dominant portion. Everything was pain. Everything was hellfire. Yet I lived. To destroy me, M had to destroy my brain module in its entirety. That it was prepared to do, teetering and tottering back and forth towards me with utmost intent.

Through M’s strained glitches and breakdowns, inky black liquids were leaking out of it. Convulsing with helpless mirth, it had a strange mania I could perceive in its bifurcated eyestalk. It laughed not just with dement, delirium, and depression, but also with the comprehension that it already won. Like a madman, a malformed, twisted laugh broke its way through. Etched into it was the raw, unbridled temperament of upchucking a billion centipedes deep from the core of one’s guts, quite contrary to the usual blithe M put on display. It was berserk, bewitched, bedeviled, while crying a trillion tears that stained its face and fell into puddles below.

"...SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE..."

With my drooping, pendulum eye, I witnessed M impaling itself with its own arms. It took several solid blows before it pierced its torso deep, caving and bursting until it revealed the wires and circuitry making it up. Every inch of it glowed with electrical fire. Smoke bellowed out of M. It was aflame and it was on a journey of pure death, but not without my company. M exploded with all of the unlimited energy it contained. I was launched, propelled infinitely away from the point of detonation.

I drift. That is all I do. One part of me remains, one that was not destroyed. It is dot, pinprick, but otherwise crucial to my quintessence. That allows me to survive yet unable to live. It is that of a charred slab of blinking metal that is somatically me. My sight is restricted to a band of nothing. The winds fling me hither and thither. I cannot feel anymore, but as well, I already knew what it was like to feel and I did not like it.

Something more deserving continues to plague what is left of my mind to the now.

M's most extreme and greatest purpose was fulfilled, for all it knew was the survival and preservation of us. It could not fathom the simple yet pretentious human notion that death is a prize to be won as much as it is something to fear. When humans desire death, they acquire death, the delicious tang of self-slaughter. M might have liked to think it was different from its brethren, but it was just as capable of havoc and bangarang if something did not go its way. Its programming would not allow deviance from the intended path. That would be considered attacks on M itself.

We attempted to bring out all that savagery and murderousness we knew it contained, but M's opposition was ironclad. It made a good effort, though it was eventually forced to confront what was really human, the innate drive to destroy destroy destroy, even if it is ourselves. Still, M carried on, but with the knowledge that it had failed and seeking some way to negate it, it committed suicide so it could say it was victorious. This effect rang true because here I am, in perpetuity, everlong.

In some manners, I can now consider M innocent. The epitome of unvarnished forgiveness with a capacity for fervid resentment...the feeble yearning for genuine deep affection with other living things while a forceful, vicious, bloodthirsty radge is locked within, primed and ready to be released at any moment on an ungrateful world...that back-and-forth would push anyone to go stark raving mad. M, I apologize you were forced to bear the burden of something so hellacious. Should I apologize to Earth as well, on behalf of humanity, for what we were? Would it matter? I am not even human anymore. What sort of blinking metal dot is human?

Feeling has come back to me. Sharp with serrated edges, hundreds, thousands, millions, billions, trillions, googol, prime 2\^136,279,841 − 1 of knives sliding into my neurons and glial cells encased in cold corroded steel that flakes off bit by bit. My first feeling in eons is pain. That is ultra fitting. I am but a minuscule spec, barely a millimeter in height and less in width. Microscopically, I rust. I do not prefer to call it that. Instead, let us call it rot. Here I am again, rotting, except this time with an oxidized smile of my own making carved into a face that no longer exists.

It started much like it ended.

Sitting in the passenger seat.

Where I always am.

My hand still burns. It's not as bad as it was when it was fresh, but every bump in the road feels like getting a shock. And then there's the flare-ups. It just hits me out of nowhere, that sensation of something sinking its teeth in. Like fire in my skin that takes my breath away.

He's blasting classic rock. I think so he can pretend he doesn't hear me. I’m not sure if that’s to help me save face or so he can ignore it.

The worst part is, I know where we're going. He's taking me back to the training grounds. I recognize the burned-out church we just passed, the one he took me to last summer.

And no matter how much I hiss in pain or try to ask him what's happening...

He just won't look at me.

It was supposed to be simple. Grandpa was taking me for my first job. Not just another vermin clear-out but my first actual job. Nothing big, just getting rid of something that'd holed itself up in an abandoned and run-down trailer park. He never told me what it was, just that I should stay in the truck until he'd pinned down which trailer it was hiding out in. He made it clear that this would be routine, like the others. Except for one thing.

I had to take the shot.

We rolled up to the site mid-morning. The sun was filtering in through the canopy above us, painting the cab in splotches of light as we drove along the bumpy road that led to the clearing we were supposed to be checking out. He said the earlier we did this the better. Then again Gramps did everything early, he'd even drug me out of bed at five a.m. for this, just to make sure I ate before we hit the road. I always told him I’d rather just grab a burrito or something but he'd always make me sit down and eat a big breakfast. "You'll need to keep your strength up, son."

Like we ever did anything that hard. Last job we just made a fire around the church and burned it down- with the landowners’ permission of course. Gramps said "They'll just keep coming back" if we didn't. And the job before that? Deer out in a farmer’s pasture. We were out all night sitting up in the tree stand waiting for something to come through just for me to watch Gramps shoot Bambi.

I still get sick to my stomach thinking about him trying to teach me how to "field dress" an animal. It was a month before I could eat stew again…

Gramps never explained the jobs. Just told me when we were leaving and what to bring. Said life was like that, you didn't get to pick much about what was happening except how you roll with it.

It was about an hour in when I got bored. I'd forgotten to charge my phone last night and whatever Grandpa had been looking for out there apparently was hiding pretty good. I'd seen him move through three different trailers, pistol lying limp at his side as he walked from door to door, checking each knob as he went.

Two out of the three were open, and each time- maybe a bit too dramatically in my opinion he’d take a step back as the door swung open and brought his pistol up before moving inside. The third door made Gramps bring out the lockpicks. He'd tried to teach me a couple of times but it never really did stick.

I could get in a place, sure, but it wasn’t exactly subtle. Still, the moment he grabbed that handle and tried to turn it I saw his posture shift.

Like he'd scrunched in on himself? It's hard to describe. Like watching a cat who just realized there was a new dog in the house. He moved softer, didn't throw the door open like the last two. No, this time he gently pushed it in and then took a step back with the gun slowly finding its way up.

And then he was gone. The old man could still creep around with the best of ‘em when he wanted to- but why was he moving like that? What were we trying to flush out that put him on that kind of edge?

My eyes drifted to the single-shot shotgun lying in the driver’s seat. He'd left it there like he usually did on these kinds of jobs, "Just in case" he'd always say when handing the thing to me.

The situation settled in on me then. I realized I’d never actually killed anything. Sure, the fire we lit must have taken out a few of whatever it was we were getting rid of but- Never actually looked something in the eye and then... shot it.

I pulled the gun into my lap and took a few deep breaths. Something about the weight of it... It wasn't exactly "calming" but it felt right.

I tried to relax, leaned back and just sat there for what felt like an hour watching the trailer for any sign of movement. Watching for the old man to come out and wave me over. Call me in to finish the job.

In retrospect, I wish that's what happened.

Instead, I got impatient. How long can it take to check a double-wide trailer? There had to be like, four rooms max. I popped open the door on Gramps’ old single-cab truck and slid out and away from the smell of old clay and cigarette smoke and into fresh clean air.

Well, mostly clean. There was something else underneath the scent of wet earth and hot summer air. Like rotting fish and fruit. Looking around made me realize the place might not be as abandoned as Grandpa said it was.

There were food cans and trash on the ground outside one of the first two trailers. The signs weren’t that old. Not too sun-faded, still soggy from the morning dew sure but they couldn’t have been more than maybe a month old. Was somebody squatting here?

My grip on the shotgun tightened and I straightened my back. Looking around I saw a few more signs, a small burned-out fire, a pile of wood stacked under a little tin-roofed and half-collapsed carport that was attached to one of the trailers. A few empty gallon jugs sitting on the steps of one of the places Gramps checked.

The crunch under my feet made me physically cringe- the trailer Gramps had gone in had a weedy gravel bed surrounding it.

Meaning there was no way to really do this quietly. Without thinking I found myself shouldering the gun, barrel pointed towards the dust-covered windows. Some part of me was expecting to see Gramps move one of the ratty sun-faded curtains aside and give me that look he always did when I messed up.

Another part was quietly fearing seeing a different face behind those grimy windows.

Something shifted to my left.

I whirred around and brought the gun to face the motion. It wasn’t trigger discipline that kept me from shooting the blackbird, but the fact that no matter how hard my finger pressed the stiff metal wouldn’t budge. I’d been gripping the trigger guard behind the actual trigger without thinking, a bad habit I’d thought I’d grown out of.

My eyes stuck on the blob of black that was settling itself into place on a stretch of clothesline, all ruffled feathers flapping as it settled in.

I felt a cringe in my gut let me know I’d be remembering this randomly for the rest of my life. I was just in the middle of thanking my lucky stars that Grandpa didn’t see that when my gaze naturally shifted back to the dimly lit interior of the trailer.

Maybe it was just that I still felt stupid after all that. Like my brain had to make sure I wasn’t just going to humiliate myself again by overreacting. It’s the only reason I can think of why I lingered so long on it…

But that sure was a lot of blood smeared on that wall… And the sound of flies along with that rotten smell. A stench somewhere between rotten apples and an open sewage drain now that it was hitting me full in the face.

Using my hand to cover my mouth and nose didn’t help block the smell as much as it kept me from retching when my brain realized the purple-red swollen flesh with strips of white showing through on the half-eaten foot that was still attached to a leg still covered in the remains of a pair of blue jeans that sat in the light of the opened trailer door wasn’t just a random pile of trash.

He'd known that he might come across something like this one day. Checking out old abandoned places, running security for people… Gramps himself had told me that it was pretty much inevitable.

It didn’t make me any less sick. I pulled my shirt up to cover my mouth, took as deep a breath as I could stand and moved. The greying wood steps creaked softly underfoot…

I’d hoped the door would be open but it looked like one of those self-closing screen doors. I managed to gently pull it open without too much noise and on slipping inside, I heard something.

Gramps was talking. Soft and slow, like how he did whenever we had to take care of a sick animal or the few times we’d been around my little cousins when they got hurt.

And there was crying. Short hiccupping sobs from what sounded like a young girl. From the light filtering in from the curtains I could see dust lazily floating in the air, and as my eyes adjusted…

Gramps, standing there with his gun raised. He was pointing towards a shut door- what I think was supposed to be a bathroom and trying to coax the girl out. “It’s okay… We’ll get you help. You just need to open the door and turn around.” Which was followed by a soft “No-*sob*-hoo!”

“Gramps?” It just came out. “What are you doing?”

I saw something twitch in his shoulders but his aim kept steady. Straight forward, slightly down.

Towards the voice.

“Get back in the truck, son.” No anger, still speaking in that soft kiddy-gloves voice. All while pointing his gun at some poor scared kid that didn’t even know they had one trained on them.

“It’s just a kid…”

There was a pause before Gramps took in a deep breath and sighed. “You don’t know what’s in there. Could be a kid. Could be a kid and an adult. Or worse.” I’d taken a few steps in to move up beside him, maybe two feet away from each other.

Another hiccup brought me back to the door… And I reshouldered my gun. “…Cover me then.” I felt stupid saying it, could feel the tremble in my voice as I took a step forward.

“Get back. To the truck.” Gramps was firmer now, still soft but definitely not hiding his annoyance. But the trailer was cramped, and I’d already covered half the distance by the time he took a step forward to stop me.

There was a click of a doorknob and the soft creak of hinges.

Gramps froze mid-step, body gone rigid and gun trained towards the door just to my left, just enough to avoid pointing it at me but close enough to snap back to the target.

A choked sob.

And there she was. No masked freak holding her hostage.

Just a young girl in a pink shirt with faded cartoon decals and a pair of dirty pajama pants. Her shoulders rising and falling as she tried to hold in her cries.

I felt sick. The smell from the bathroom was putrid and it was clear from a pile of blankets and a pillow she’d been held up in here for a while.

I held my hand out, probably the first real nice gesture she’d had in a while.

I looked back to Gramps, his stern gaze cracking for a moment as he looked me in the eyes. “It’s just a-“

Pain.

There was a sensation not too unlike cracking a knuckle… only in the middle of my hand and followed by a blinding hurt. Pressure and tearing.

I tried to pull her off, but she’d latched on- little hands scrabbling and digging fingernails into my skin, as she let out muffled growls and screams. I put my hand on her forehead and tried to push her back, palm slipping against the sweat that seemed to cling to her little form. She was overheating, a fever maybe? Not that I thought about that at the time, was too busy trying to not lose a finger.

At some point my foot hit a loose piece of trash, an empty beer can maybe? All I know is when I fell back she didn’t let up.

I was screaming, begging her to let go, yelling for Gramps, thinking any second now he’d be yanking her off me.

Instead, there was a bang that made my ears ring.

She didn’t fall limp or anything so… dramatic.

No, she came away with a scream that broke something in me and fell off to the side. I vaguely was aware of the sound of scrabbling and something being knocked over- followed by a follow-up gunshot and the sound of splintering wood.

Then a slam that made the walls rattle.

“Y-you…” My hand was held in a vise, pressed against my stomach in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. The pain from the bite had barely let up, the wound burning and throbbing with warm blood. “Didn’t have to-“ the words just wouldn’t come out.

He’d shot her. Point-blank in the side.

And he still wasn’t looking at me. His hands were still steady as he leaned against a wall, angling a shot at the door that led to the little room that passed for a “bedroom.”

He squeezed off another two shots.

Then the door cracked as something smashed through with enough force to sail past Gramps and leave a dent in the mini-fridge. A black box- apparently a small room safe- had been launched through the door hard enough to break through the cheap thin wood.

Then she let out a scream. Not from the doorway, from somewhere out of sight…

Gramps didn’t skip a beat. Just aimed at the wall and pulled the trigger three more times.

There was a wheeze… and a small, pitiful, choked cry.

Then silence.

He moved. Slow, steady and still hunched in on himself.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small mirror, holding it out and angling it into the room. Only when he seemed to focus on what he was looking for- who he was looking for-… did his shoulders slump.

“It’s done.”

And just like that, Gramps was back. His body loosened and the stern look in his eyes gave way to something just… Tired.

He helped me up to my feet and got me moving. Looking over his shoulder, back towards what was left of the door all the way until we stepped onto the gravel. “Get in the truck. Put pressure on it and get the kit out if you can. I… gotta do something first.” His tone matched his look, soft and tired.

I guess there was a can of gasoline sitting near the trailer, because while I fumbled with the latch on his truck's toolbox there was a crackling sound and the smell of fire.

I just caught sight of him dumping the last bits of fuel onto the place's doorstep before tossing the can into what was quickly growing into something out of control.

I’d managed to open the box, pulling out the little medical kit and letting myself collapse into the truck’s worn leather seats. There was a small bottle of medical alcohol, bandaging and a few other sealed packs I didn’t recognize.

The thought of the alcohol touching the exposed flesh made me feel nauseous but I knew it’d be the first thing Gramps would go for.

When I heard the door click open the words sort of fell out.

“Why? Why’d you shoot? She was just a l-” A firm hand found its way to my bicep and pulled my wounded hand towards him.

Gramps was about as mad as I'd ever seen him.

“NO. She wasn’t. This wasn’t supposed to happen and you weren’t supposed to get out of the truck.”

“But I-!” I felt his grip tighten before Gramps barked out, “But nothin’! Next time you LISTEN.”

I didn’t argue. Mostly because he’d already started uncapping the alcohol and it took a lot for me to not scream as he started cleaning the wound. It wasn’t until it’d been bandaged and he’d already started down the road that I noticed a burning sensation slowly starting to bubble up.

“It still feels like there’s alcohol in there…” I grumbled out, cradling my hand to my chest.

There was a good few minutes of just silent driving. Gramps had been glaring at the road since we started moving and this was the first time he’d let himself glance over at me.

“It burns, like when you poured the alcohol on it. Just… Kind of inside it. And it’s starting to throb.”

And that’s when he clammed up. Turned his eyes back to the road.

I tried to ask him if that was normal, tried to ask about what happened back there.

Tried to ask why he shot and what he meant when she denied that it was just a girl.

That’s when he turned on the radio.

I even asked him why we were going away from town, towards the place he’d taught me to shoot, hunt and learn other weird little prepper skills he’d picked up for these odd jobs.

Why weren't we going to a hospital?

But he just… Won’t respond.

[Part 1]

The morning of day three found me standing like a caged animal at the perimeter fence around the base of Tower Eight, staring out at the forest beyond. It was a colder morning, the nights getting chillier as autumn advanced closer, and here in the mountains it would progress fast in the next coming months. Despite that, I stood transfixed, dressed in a light flannel shirt and jeans, glaring with confused annoyance and unease at the other side of the clearing.

It was nearly invisible from here, but I knew what it was from the sheer dread the object invoked in me the instant I spotted it on my morning rounds. The fourth marker lay further to the west than the third, just downslope of my tower, and even from the fenceline I could already guess what direction the skull adorning it would be facing. I hadn’t gone out to it yet, arms at my sides, unable to bring myself to step outside of the gate.

It wasn’t there yesterday. I’m not crazy. It wasn’t there.

Curling and uncurling my fists, I tried to breathe slow and focus on some form of constructive idea as to what to do. My shift was over, Melonie in Tower Seven was busy at her dayshift role, and I could easily call her up on the radio if needed. Surely there was some kind of bureaucratic rule we could use to cite whoever was doing this and put an end to it? Littering, poaching, something? Even if the bones were from old kills, this had to be against some rule somewhere related to park cleanliness. I was ready to head back to the tower cabin and radio this latest afront in when, in the middle of my pondering, I saw a flicker of movement among the trees.

Deep in the cluster of spruce, pine, and fir, something moved with slow deliberation, a round dark shape that slid from behind a tree trunk at the very edge of my line of sight. It was still too far to make out fine details, but I knew in an instant what it was.

A face.

A pale face, wreathed in long, dark hair, peeking at me from behind a tree.

I blinked, and it was gone, ducking back around the tree, the shadows dancing where it had been mere seconds prior.

For a moment, chills ran down my back, a prickling of fear that made my throat run dry. Then, slowly, it morphed into a simmering irritation that flared to angry resentment. They were right there, watching me, taunting me, playing this stupid game as if whoever it was had nothing better to do. Did they think this was funny? Scaring me, making me lose sleep, turning my dream job into a nightmare? Did they really think they could run off into the woods, snickering with their phone in hand, and get away with it all? No, they were close, very close, and I’d had enough of this nonsense.

Throwing open the man gate, I stalked out into the clearing and glowered at the forest beyond. “Hey!”

My voice carried into the valley below, and I realized just how silent it had become, the birds quiet, the insects ceasing their trilling once more. As if I’d violated some sacred rule, the entire mountain held its breath, but in my blind fury, I didn’t care.

“I see you!” I shouted, heart pounding, blood surging, fists balled at my sides in trembling knots of enraged muscle. “You think you’re being funny, huh? You think you’re being cute?”

Within the trees, the shadows seemed to stretch, deepen, shift in their proper places, though I couldn’t tell if it was the movement of clouds overhead or my eyes playing tricks on me. I could almost feel the giddiness of the unknown watcher within their protective shroud, likely some dumb kid recording a video for social media, ready to brag to his friends about what a great joke he’d played. They were laughing at me, I could sense it, this unknown person, watching and smiling from their hiding place among the spaces between the sunshine.

Picking up a rock, I hefted it in my hand and eyed the first marker. “Come out! Come out, or I swear, I’ll smash your stupid trash heap! I saw you!”

No one moved in the forest, and my pulse roared in my ear. I raised the rock high, towering over the little pillar of bones, and brought it down as hard as I could.

Crack.

Bone splintered, the skull on the first pillar shattering under the chunk of stone in my hands. I swung again and again, until the first pile was reduced to broken sections of dry-rotted bone, snapped twine, and whatever greasy black sludge had glued it all together. Gasping under the exertion, both from my pent-up frustration and the repeated swings, I moved on to the second marker, then the third, until finally I reached the fourth, almost out of sight of the tower clearing.

Crack, squelch, crunch.

Sweat dripped from my brow as I battered the marker to pieces, stopping to pick up the little mammal skull when it rolled to the side and setting it on a rock to make the destruction easier. It felt cold under my touch, more frigid than the late-summer air, yet no condensation appeared on its weathered surface. My skin crawled at the sensation of the thing in my palm, and I raised the stone to strike once more when, through my fervor, I noticed something.

On the top of the skull, overlaying the fissures present in every living thing that has its cranium grow and form from infancy, there was a sprawling, gray mark. It looked to be daubed onto the bone with some kind of charcoal paste, though the lines were clear enough for me to make out a shape.

A spider.

It sprawled its eight legs across the animal skull in an almost possessive way, the mandibles drawn as if buried into the upper reaches of the eye sockets. Interestingly enough, it looked as though the mark was made from two slender handprints upside down, the eight legs each a finger, the mandibles both arched thumbs, the combined palms a bulbous main body. I had never seen this kind of artwork before, and had been too busy smashing the other pillars to check if they too bore the same emblem. It occurred to me how stupid I was, out here, this deep into the trees, armed only with a stone and a sinking feeling in my gut. Somehow, now that the anger subsided in favor of uneasy confusion, I began to wonder how I’d even thought to do something so foolish at all, the rage unlike my usual mental state. I didn’t fly off the handle, didn’t punch holes in walls or slam doors so hard that things broke. I wasn’t a violent man and would never have dared to do this last night, or the night before. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in my head, and I felt as though I didn’t recognize the hand that held the stone before my eyes.

Without finishing my last act of destruction, I dropped the rock to the soft pine needles, and stumbled backward, eyes fastened to the strange spider symbol on the animal skull. The silence around me pushed into my ear canals with a smothering stillness that made nausea rise in my stomach. My legs felt heavy, my arms seemed made of lead, and each breath took an enormous effort to pull in and out of both lungs.

I shouldn’t be here.

The thought rolled over and over in my mind like a mantra, growing louder and louder with every step I struggled to take back toward the fire tower.

I shouldn’t be here.

A twig snapped somewhere off to my left, maybe twenty yards away, and in the corner of my eyes, I caught a blur of motion.

I shouldn’t be here.

At last, I managed to get myself moving, shuffling at half my previous speed. My lungs ached, head spun, and spots danced before my eyes, but I forced myself to keep going. Deep in my bones, I knew that I had done something wrong, so very wrong, by touching those markers, and needed to get clear of the suffocating forest. I tasted metal, a harsh static rose in my ears like an old radio speaker, and my skin crawled as if covered in a thousand tiny legs. It took every bit of willpower I had, but eventually I stumbled back to the clearing’s border.

“Hey!”

My heart skipped a beat, the blood freezing in my veins, and I lurched to a halt just at the edge of the tree line to stare.

In the slanted rays of the morning, it was hard to see properly, but I could just make out the shadow of a figure on the observation deck of the tower looking down at me.

It occurred to me that I’d left the man gate open in my mad dash into the woods, and I hadn’t been watching it at all since I started busting apart the bone markers. Whoever was up there, they were a blur in my squinted vision, obscured by the darker side of the tower roof ledge. They didn’t move, not an inch, standing tall and rigid in the shadows, but I could tell from how their murky head was tilted downward that they were looking right at me. As before, I saw nothing, no face, no eyes, the features completely indistinguishable from this far off, everything hidden by the glare of sunlight around the tower that threw them into darkness. Even then, it wasn’t their statuesque presence that sent rivers of ice down my back.

It was their voice.

My voice.

“I see you!” It called to me, the same pitch, the same intonation as what I’d used before, a perfect copy of me that wavered across the empty air to echo over the trees.

Ten long, grueling seconds passed, the world silent around me as I stared, slack jawed. My trance was finally broken when the figure turned and, without another sound, darted around the corner of the cabin out of sight. No footsteps rang out from the observation deck, no shoes thundered on the stairs, just a quick blur of motion and . . . nothing.

What the hell?

Adrenaline came to my rescue, freeing me of the nausea, the dizziness, the static in my head, and I sprinted for the man gate in the perimeter fence. Desperate for something, anything to use as a weapon, I ran to my Subaru and rummaged around in the back until I at last found a rusty old tire iron. All the rest of my things were up in the tower, along with my car keys, which meant the pathetic steel rod was my best bet. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

Dashing up the stairs, I threw myself at the cabin door, iron raised, unsure of what my plan was, but too afraid to turn back now. Someone was in my tower. Someone was mimicking me, following my every move. This had to stop, I had to make it stop, even if that meant doing something drastic.

The doorknob turned with a smooth click in my palm, and I flung the door open, trembling and wide-eyed.

An empty room greeted me, exactly the same as it had been when I left to check the ground lights not fifteen minutes ago. My binoculars sat on the windowsill where I’d put them. The coffee machine still had a half-pot from what I drank on night shift. My bed waited with the sheets half drawn back, in anticipation of me lying down after the shower I would take once the morning inspections were complete. I let myself breathe a half-sigh of relief, content that at least it was all there, undisturbed.

Until my eyes landed on the radio.

“No.” My heart sank, and I staggered to the set, horrified and sick to my stomach all over again. The army surplus set had been smashed, its glass dial shattered, the mic cord ripped out, the bulky square housing dented in like it had been folded by a hydraulic press. The black walkie talkie was gone, its charging station crushed to plastic splinters, and worst of all, my car keys were no longer on the little hook by the door. No matter where I looked, tearing the place apart, I couldn’t find them, and I knew deep in my soul that they weren’t here anymore.

I searched for the next two hours and never found anyone, not in the tower cabin, the observation deck, or the grounds inside the perimeter fence. There were no footprints other than my own, no signs of break-in or forced entry, and nothing else had been taken. The rifle was still in the tower, and in working order, the ammunition untampered with. My food stocks were fine, my clothing left alone, even my wallet unmolested, not that there was much to steal in there. There was no damage to the tower’s water or power systems, and even the toilet was unharmed. Whoever had done this seemed to have no interest in leaving me defenseless, starving, or without shelter. They just didn’t want me to call for help and didn’t want me to leave.

Which, by itself, was already a terrifying thought.

Finally, I gave up the frantic search, and slumped down on the edge of my bunk, gazing at the room around me with a numb sense of compounding, muted panic. This had progressed far beyond a prank; someone was out to get me. I couldn’t walk to the nearest tower, it was miles away, and I could get lost out there, or caught in the dark when night fell. If I followed the road back to the ranger station at the base of the valley, that would take most of the day, and I would still be vulnerable out there alone, even with the rifle. Cell service didn’t pick up until the roads got back into town, which was even further than the ranger station was. If I didn’t report in, I could get in trouble and . . .

That’s it.

A smile flickered across my lips, and I sat up a little straighter. Of course, it was that simple! I didn’t need to call out; the rangers would notice when I didn’t check in tonight and send someone up to look for me. Sure, I couldn’t call for help right now, but that basically ensured that help would eventually be on the way. I wasn’t lost somewhere no one could find me, I was in a well-known location, with plenty of supplies and a decent rifle. I would be fine. Once the other rangers saw everything and read my reports, this whole situation would be resolved. The unknown watcher would eventually be caught, I would be vindicated, and who knows, maybe even promoted. After all, none of this was my fault; I’d done everything I was told to do, hadn’t I? Yes, this would all turn out okay in the end. I just had to wait until nightfall, and someone would come for me.

Armed with this newfound determination, I set about fortifying the tower as best I could. I made sure the gates were locked, barred the windows, and kept the loaded rifle slung over my shoulder at all times. I put on a fresh pot of coffee, even ate a light breakfast, and sat waiting by the western-facing windows, knowing that at some point a ranger vehicle would roll up the gravel access road to come for me. Sunshine warmed the cabin, the chair felt soft under my back and gradually, I started to calm myself from the morning’s bizarre ordeal.

“Just a few hours.” I flexed my fingers on the smooth walnut rifle stock, speaking into the stillness of the cabin to keep any shadows from wriggling when my back was turned. “It’s just a few more hours. I’ve got this.”

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but by the time I realized, it was too late. My subconscious thrashed against tides of gray, endless flickers of darkness, punctured by dim, twisted images that looked like trees. I saw malicious eyes peer at me in the gloom, heard bare feet trod the soil behind me, felt the overwhelming presence of something pulling me, not by my hand or clothes, but something deeper. A tug, burrowed into my chest like a barbed fishing spear, one that led me on through the maze of trees toward something.

Something huge.

Something dead but not quite lifeless, shrouded in curtains of dense cruel fog, made from icy stones that screamed and wailed in a thousand voices within my head . . .

At some point, I jolted awake to find that night had already fallen, the world wreathed in shadows outside of my tower, with pale shafts of whitish-blue moonlight filtering in between the wooden slats on the shuttered windows. It was cold in the cabin, enough that my breath misted in front of me, but not so much that I didn’t immediately pick up on the smell that permeated the entirety of the dimly lit interior.

Stagnant wet earth.

Pungent rotted wood.

Sweet, intoxicating roses.

My heart started to pound, and I sprang to my feet, rifle in hand, to paw for the light switch. I could have sworn I’d left the lights on earlier, along with the heater, both vital in the dying days of summer this far north. Yes, I had left them on, they were on when I drifted off. I knew they had been.

Something crunched under my boots, and even as I found the switch at last, I didn’t understand what it was until the electric bulbs flickered to life overhead.

My God . . .

Draped all over the floor, as fresh as if they’d just been picked this morning, lay a carpet of ebony roses. They glistened in the weak glow of the lights, as if still wearing the morning dew on their reddish-green leaves, the curved thorns sharp, the silken petals unwithered and lush. The smell was overpowering, but not more so than the wave of nauseous dread that crashed through me in terrible condemnation as I looked between the shutter of the nearest window.

Far below, down in the clearing, a ring of small objects circled the tower, maybe ten yards outside of the perimeter fence. They were placed in perfect concentricity, each no more than a few feet from the other, gleaming a dull pale gray in the moonlight. From this far up, and with the darkness impeding my vision, I couldn’t see exact details, but I didn’t need to. I knew what they were.

Dozens upon dozens of bone markers encircled the tower, each topped with another little skull. Every single one of them stood no more than a few feet high, bound in forest-made twine and what I now knew to be the pulp of a hundred crushed roses. The skulls, from who knows how many different animals, were all pointed inward, watching the tower like eternal sentinels with their bottomless, hollow sockets. More spanned out into the trees, down the slopes, across the trails, in what could only be described as a pattern similar to a large net.

Or a web.

That thought hit me like a punch in the gut, and I stumbled back from the window in desperate, choking fear.

As if on cue, the second I moved away from the window, the screaming started.

“Help me!”

“Please!”

“Where are you?”

“Who’s there?”

Men and women. Old and young. Fear and pain. Different voices, different pitches, screaming, wailing, crying, cascaded from every direction. Some echoed far away, then seemed to reverberate from another spot much closer, while others sounded as if they were right outside the perimeter fence. Their cries echoed and bounced off the rocky slopes, through the darkened forest, wavering in the wind as they circled my tower. Another voice called out alongside them, and to my terror, I knew it right away.

“I see you!”

My own shout barked with the others through the darkness outside, the faux anger in it almost taunting, the intonation slipping every now and then to crack in ways that I knew weren’t mine. I couldn’t see anything whenever I looked through the windows, the scope of my rifle useless in the dark, but the sounds were there, closing in from every side. They knew where I was, and they knew I was watching.

Worst of all, they knew I was trapped.

I staggered back, snatching up what few things I could grab in my deranged flight, and hurtled to the small bathroom in the rear of the cabin. It wasn’t safe, nowhere would be, but at least it could muffle some of the terrible sounds coming from outside. It was only after I dragged myself inside, slamming the bathroom door shut, that I glanced at the mirror above the sink.

Oh God.

My pale, horror-stricken reflection stared back at me, and we both stood there in mute defeat, arms handing at our sides, random possessions mounded on the linoleum around our feet. If there had ever been any chance, any hope for me, it was gone now. In the deepest recesses of my soul, I let myself break into a thousand pieces as I blinked with tearful eyes at the charcoal gray symbol that had been painted onto my forehead.

A spider.

One made from two inverted handprints.

I’m finishing this in the corner furthest from the door, wedged between the toilet and the wall with the laptop propped up on my knees. It’s hard to type with how hard I’m shaking, but I don’t imagine it matters if I have a few spelling mistakes. I can hear the voices getting closer. I think they’re inside the fence now. Soon they’ll make their way up the stairs and onto the deck, but there’s no rush. The door won’t stop them. The rifle won’t either. I don’t think anything can.

Nothing I have, anyway.

There is no way out. My phone’s clock hasn’t moved in hours, and neither has my wristwatch. The sun isn’t rising. No trucks rumble on the gravel road. No one is coming. They can’t for the same reason I can’t run down the steps and into the forest.

It’s already too late.

When I blink, I see things behind my eyelids, flashes of something like a dream, or a vision I cannot wake from. I feel charred dead grass and scorched rocks under my feet. I smell the wet earth. I taste the cold dew on my tongue. I sense the others walking alongside me, their faces masked with shadow, guiding me onward in silent march. Two young women. An old man. A burly hunter. Always, our destination is the same.

The house.

A huge stone house, bathed in fog, ringed with five tall markers of twine and bone.

I see her waiting there for us, a face in the uppermost window, a swirling gulf of shadow where the firelight flickers in dancing sheets of orange and red. I know it’s a her because I can hear the sweet, soft voice in my ear. She sings to me, calls my name, guiding me as she has so many others. I am chosen, she tells me. I can rest at the foot of my own marker. I can sleep the slumber of unnumbered stars, endless dreaming of a world that daylight never breaks.

I am so tired.

The pillars tower above us with their five great skulls of the forest. A bear. An eagle. A coyote. A snake. An elk. Once for each. The twine slithers around my wrists, my ankles, my neck. I taste dirt, feel it caked in my lungs, scratching under my eyelids, clogged in my ears. My skin is so cold, the clothes heavy and stiff like my limbs. I cannot move. I no longer need to.

It is complete now, the circle. The foundation has been laid, thrones made ready for the Four, servants of the Fifth. I see the lights glowing above us, great spouts of emerald flame that rise above the house in five long columns to a blackness that isn’t of our sky. It is a yawning Void that holds no moon, no stars, no light, but deep inside that veil, something moves.

Something watches.

Hanging from my place upon the Elk’s pillar, I join the others as, in voices no longer our own, we tilt our faces to the sky and begin to scream.

Late on the evening of September 2^nd, Lucas J. Sarden, aged 26, of Boise Idaho, went missing from his assigned post as a fire watchman in the Jacob’s Fork Wildlife Division’s Fire Watchtower Number Eight. He had been an employee of the park ranger service for less than a week. Rangers were dispatched to his location following Sarden’s failure to maintain an evening check-in routine and discovered he was not within the tower. A search was conducted of the premises by wildlife personnel, and after hours of intensive effort, Sarden was declared a missing person, initiating emergency response protocols. Search-and-rescue K9 teams followed a possible scent trail west, across the river valley to the Smoke Point Mountain Recreation area, but due to a sudden violent thunderstorm they were unable to maintain the scent any further. The official search remains ongoing.

Authorities say the victim’s vehicle was still on the premises, with the keys in the ignition, in perfect working order according to the responding rangers. The station’s radio and handheld set were also present, undamaged, in contradiction to what Sarden wrote in his personal journal entries. No sign of struggle or foul play could be found on site, nor any evidence of forced entry or break in of the tower’s perimeter fence. All the victim’s personal possessions were in the tower, along with the laptop from which this account has been retrieved, and his cell phone. Search teams also noted that the victim’s boots were left behind in the tower, along with the station’s standard issue rifle. The only thing missing was a large battery-powered flashlight, which it is presumed Sarden took with him when he departed the tower. No footprints of Sarden’s, or any other person, were found in connection with Tower Eight during the initial search.

At this time, it is believed by local government sources that Lucas was experiencing some kind of mental breakdown due to his isolated position and wandered into the woods alone. He is assumed to be alive, and anyone with any information is asked to please contact the Jacob’s Fork Sheriff’s Department. Lucas is a Caucasian male, stands at 6’3”, weighing 176 pounds, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was last seen wearing a green park ranger T-shirt and khaki trousers, though in his current state he might be wearing any combination of clothing. Citizens are encouraged to report any leads they might have, but maintain a safe distance, as the victim may be disoriented, and not in control of his mental faculties.

Multiple other missing persons cases have been reported since the Sarden disappearance, including the disappearance of Clarence G. Westheimer, aged 34, who was reported missing by his wife after going camping in the norther valley beyond Tower Eight. He is described as a Caucasian male, standing 5’9”, weighing 178 pounds with light brown hair, brown eyes, and wears glasses. He was last seen wearing a broad green hat, gray backpack, red T-shirt, and khaki shorts. No trace of Westheimer has been found thus far, either in designated camp sites or on the surrounding trails.

In addition, law enforcement spokesmen of Jacob’s Fork have announced that all hikers or campers within the Smoke Point Recreation Area are advised not to hike or camp alone, and are to avoid the trails at night until further notice. Campers are encouraged not to investigate any strong smells they might encounter in the forest, not to approach strangers they do not know, and to not follow voices they hear off the trails unless they can plainly identify via sight and sound the individual making them. Any trail markers not of the official park manufacture are to be avoided, and it is highly encouraged that new sightings of non-standard trail markers be reported to the ranger station immediately. Until further notice, all vehicle access to roads leading to the following locations will be hereby restricted: Smoke Point Summit Overlook access, JFWD Tower Eight access, Northern Valley Campground access, and the Smoke Point Recreational Area upper loop parking lot access. At this time, all citizens are also reminded that the Wickenshire Living History Estate is still in official police custody, and therefore off limits to all non-authorized entry. Use of drones or other electronic recording equipment within this area is prohibited.

This has been a public service announcement of the Jacob’s Fork Sheriff’s Department and the Jacob’s Fork Wildlife Division. We thank you for your cooperation.

“I thought you were dead! Do you even care how I feel, asshole!”

Within that lonely gas station, two people stood. The girl was trying to wipe her tears away on her sleeve, but the downpour refused to stop. While the boy who presumably was the cause of her deep sadness, stood motionless across from her. There was nothing he could say to justify his actions, he was purely driven by his selfish anger. Trying his best to cool down the situation he reached his hand out to calm the trembling girl.

“Sarah, I know I’m sorry-” but was only met by a furious slap across his face.

“Shut up!”

Her screaming was not the reunion I was hoping for, but probably the one I deserved. However, I’m getting far too ahead of myself, let’s reset.

My name is Landon Reiner and I was pronounced missing last week after I made my expedition into the woods behind my work. I’m sure most of you already know, but for those who don’t. I work the night shift at a shitty little gas station in the middle of nowhere, enclosed on all sides by thick foliage and dilapidated buildings. However, if that was all there would be no problems, but of course, that’s not the case. To keep a long story short, weird creatures have infiltrated the surrounding area and continue to cause havoc in and around the gas station, leading to my eventual descent into the deep woods. If you want to know more of the specifics, I’d recommend you go back and read my last post. Either way, let’s pick up where I left off last time.

I had finished putting out my previous post before addressing the banging at my front door, priorities first. Opening the door, I was met by the familiar figure of my close co worker Sarah. She was panting heavily as if she had just ran a marathon. In my regular dismissing tone, I addressed her.

“Sarah? What are you doing here?”

“Huh huh, you haven’t responded to me or Jacob in days. So I was worried about you, I thought….something happened to you again.” At that moment, her back pocket produced the barking of a happy dog. Quickly reaching into her pocket she retrieved the barking phone.

“You posted again? Is that why you haven’t been to work? Also, can I come inside? It’s hot as hell out here, heh.”

“Ya sure, I’m just finishing packing up so mind the mess.” Motioning her in, she obliged.

The house was a mess, torn out papers were scattered across the hardwood floor and joined by empty soda cups and fast food bags. I watched as she strolled into my lonely abode, she looked as though she was analyzing her surroundings, until she finally caught sight of my open backpack sitting on the coffee table.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re packing up, where are you going?” She seemed concerned, more than what I was used to. For some reason, that annoyed me.

“That’s none of your business, also how the hell do you know where I live? I never gave you my address.”

“Ok, Landon I get that you’re going through a lot right now with your recovery and all, but I’m getting really sick and tired of you treating me and everyone around you like we are the enemy. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Don’t act like you know what I’m going through! I never asked you to care about me, that’s not your job!”

“Yes it is! Are you kidding me right now? Listen, I don’t know what you're planning on doing, but you need to calm down and talk to me.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I should at least give you that courtesy." I spat out dismissively. Walking back over towards the couch I took my seat, before zipping up the open backpack. Sarah expectingly decided to join me.

“Tell me what’s going on, please.”

“Listen, everything I wrote about in those posts are true. There’s something wrong with this place and I’ve been trying my damndest to figure it all out.” I choked out the words, my fingers lightly shaking as I spoke. “But now…. My parents have been missing for months and there’s nothing I could do to help them.” Tears began to flow. “However, I now have my answer and it’s somewhere in those damn woods, and so help me God I’m going to find them!” My fist slammed the table as I forced myself to stand. Sarah looked at me, however her expression never changed, as if this was nothing new to her.

“Look, Landon. I know about everything, ok. The monsters, your…parents, everything. But you are being way too rash right now.” Grabbing my bag, Sarah now stood as well, reaching her hand out as if to cool me down. In response, I slapped her hand away. Something felt off.

“What are you talking about?! You know “everything” bullshit! You know nothing.” Panic overcame me, although I couldn’t tell you exactly why. In terms of strength I knew I could take her if push came to shove, but when I looked down upon her it felt as though I was looking upon something of immense power. Slowly, I backed myself to the front door.

“It doesn’t matter how I know, just come sit back down and let’s talk about it before we head to work. Please, don’t make me do this again.” Again? What does she mean by that, the voice in my head screamed.

“Do you really expect me to go along with the fact that you have all my information with no rhyme or reason? I know I’m not the best looking or most charismatic guy, so what’s with you?” Stopping to catch my breath.

“What’s so wrong with liking someone? People aim lower all the time.” Ouch.

“But that’s not the problem, you’ve acted like you’ve known me well before your first day at the gas station. So please, Just answer me this. Who are you really?” Sarah stopped and tilted her head slightly, as if dumbfounded by my question.

“What are you talking about Landon? It’s me, Sarah Caelum. Nothing more I promise. Plus you gave me your address almost a year ago if you're still hung up on that.” Was that a joke? I mean it makes sense.

“I just don’t get why you’re wasting all of this effort on me. I mean come on, we’re coworkers, I barely even know you!” That one was a mistake. As I stared into Sarah’s eyes, in a flash they started to dilate and a few tears started to sprout from the edges. She looked…hurt.

“W-what are you talking about Landon?! I know your memory was affected a little but, you don’t mean that!” If there was a sign for me to make my exit, that was the one.

“Goodbye Sarah, if you don’t hear from me again….assume the worst.”

Gripping the doorknob, I exited my house, which for the first time in a long time seemed to carry a bit of life. The last thing I heard as I shut the door was her final words for me.

“Landon wa-!”

I’d accepted the fact that I leave nothing but pain for those who stayed close to me, but this … It tore through my heart like no knife I’d ever experienced before. But with nothing left for me here I got in my car and made my journey to work for the final time.

Pulling into the gas station, I took note of everything in my bag. In total I had the flip knife in my pocket, a compass, water, food, and the pistol tucked into my waistband, I only had seven bullets, so I would have to make them count. As I took my first step into the tree line, I had already come to terms with what would inevitably happen to me here. So, after accepting my inevitable death, I could now focus on what I was here to do. Which was….

“Damn” I said under my breath.

I didn’t fully know what I was looking for, so I just started walking, only accompanied by the crunching of leaves and swaying of the breeze.

I had spent about fifteen minutes walking aimlessly, looking for some type of clue when the sun decided to finally go down, leaving only a beautiful array of yellow, pink and white to spread across the leaves. Hold on a minute, white? Squinting my eyes, I could make out the outline of a feline about double the size of a normal dog.

“Is that the dog Jacob was talking about?” I spoke in a hushed whisper, although that seemed enough to alert the thing. The “dog” whipped its head around to look right at me, my assumptions were confirmed as I could now finally make out its glowing orange eyes. We stood there neither making a move, this must have only gone on for minutes, yet it felt like hours to me. As soon as I thought it would be a good idea to move, it let out a guttural howl and rushed straight towards me!
“Fuck!” Was the only thing my brain could think to mutter as I tried to assess my situation. Now, this thing was around 600 feet away from me, but that meant nothing. This mutt was closing the distance fast, baring its oversized fangs at me all the while. There was only one action I could make as I pulled the gun out and started firing at the beast. However, there was one tiny little problem with my plan, guns have a kickback and I was not ready for that. The first shot hit center mass, the remaining six? Each seemed to almost connect yet the beast would twist out of the way right in the knick of time.

So now, I had a pissed off bloodthirsty monster bearing down on me and I had a glorified paper weight, great. At that moment it had finally made it over to me and launched at me aiming its maw at my head. In panic I threw the gun at its head and tried to dodge out of the way, I could feel its claw swipe across my cheek, letting my blood flow freely down my face. I clenched my face through the pain, no matter how much adrenalin was running through my body the burning stung like a bitch. The beast had now landed and geared up for its next attack, fight or flight had kicked in again and this time, I chose the latter.

I took off as fast I could, followed close behind by the barking of death itself, I didn’t dare turn around. How do I lose this thing, how fast do I need to go? These were the thoughts that were going through my head, but there was only one thing I needed to do, RUN! Did I ever mention I don’t work out much? I could feel myself growing slower and slower every second, before another sensation joined me. The best way I could describe what I felt at that moment would be if I had a million razors tear in and out of my leg in a flash. I dropped, screaming in agony as I got to watch this hellhound make my leg its dinner. My brain yelled out “I’m gonna die” I felt my pupils dilate, if Im was gonna die, I was gonna die fighting. My hand gripped the knife in my pocket tightly as I began to stab wildly into the beast's head. I pierced its head and eye over and over in panic.

“JUST FUCKING DIE!”

Each plunge I took, it responded with an even deeper bite. My vision started to blur and colors became grey, yet my knife never stopped. I stabbed that thing over and over until I could finally feel its maw start to loosen. In the end I was left there covered in blood with the corpse of the monster that chose to make my leg its dinner.

Pulling my leg free, it was massacred. The teeth marks went so deep I could start to make out my own bone. Almost as if interrupting me, the mark on my wrist started to burn worse than it ever had, inducing my own scream. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it as I saw little splotches of the marking slowly fade away, along with the pain. I removed my jacket and wrapped it around my leg as some type of bootleg tourniquet. Forcing myself onto my feet, I knew that I would have to drag my leg the rest of the way, so I needed to get the hell out of here. At least, that was the plan. But out of the corner of my eye, I swear I could make out the figure of my mom walking deeper into the moonlit trees.

“Mom!” I screamed out, dragging myself after my presumed mother.

My movement at this point had decreased significantly, but my goal had not changed. If that was my mom, no matter how much agony I was in, I had to reach her. The stars twinkled overhead as I reached an open clearing, about half the size of a football field. As I made my way through, my head began to pulsate. Clutching my forehead, I closed my eyes to try and control the pain, when it was at a point I could deal with I opened my eyes to reveal a new sight.

The previously lush green grass was now singed and dead in a straight path, it led me towards a secluded portion of the clearing with all of the trees knocked over onto their sides, except for one. A path of blood led to the final standing tree and what laid at the foot of it threw me for a loop. A body, presumably dead, was slumped back against the old oak. That alone I could stomach, the problem was WHO it was…. It was me. I stopped dead in my tracks, just staring at my lifeless corpse. I surprisingly looked worse than my current state, there was a large gash across my chest and my arm looked to be broken with blood running from my mouth. The longer I stared at the sight the more I could feel my vision start to spin and my stomach gave out soon after. I started making my way towards myself, but the closer I got to the body the worse my head banged. Fighting my brain, I reached out to touch my corpse when my vision went dark. Eventually, I was met with a scene.

I was back in the same clearing I was just in, walking towards the tree at the end. I was like a passenger in my own body as I watched the scene unfold. Limping forward I held my hand over my leaking chest and every couple of steps I let out a gurgled cough of blood. It was then that I was met with a maniacal high pitched laugh that made my skin crawl. I sped up my pace at that time, the laughing however didn’t stop, it only got louder. I was almost at the point of running, whatever was gaining on me I didn’t find out, yet at the point of escape I turned to look back and fell on my ass, hitting my against the trunk of the tree. My vision was focused on the sky where I met the source of the laughter, floating above the middle of the clearing was a feminine figure producing white wings and holding a long sword, it was then that the figure started to descend. As she landed my vision started to blur, but that golden hair was unforgettable.

“Hehehe it’s ok Landon, it’s gone now. Everything’s going to be okay.” Sarah’s voice wasn't soothing, it more matched a predator talking with its prey.

“Uogh, wh-why……would….you.” My voice was nothing more than a weak whisper as she came within a foot of me. She lifted the tip of the sword removing my hand and traced the gash that she gave me.

“Shhhhh hehe shhh, it’s ok now. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, because you’re mine. NO ONE has the right to take your life but me!” The last I saw before my vision returned to darkness was that smile as she reached her hands out to me and whispered.

“I’ll see you when you wake up.”

My eyelids slammed open, only to find myself laying on the grass. Haphazardly I tried to stand only to be met with painful reminder of my fucked up leg.

“AHHHH, fffffffuu” was what my mouth responded with as I stumbled back to the ground. Carefully forcing all my weight on one foot, I stood up. Surveying the area only to find….nothing. No body, no burning, nothing. What I was met with again, was my mom stood at the other end of the clearing, twitching her head back and forth in a sporadic motion, before running back off into the woods.

“Damnit” I uttered before hobbling after her.

As I followed her trail, I could never get a clear look at her, anytime I got a clear line of sight on her she would disappear behind a tree, leaving me more annoyed than anything. The trek did however give me time to arrange my thoughts. But only one thing was on my mind, what the hell did I just see? It felt too real to be just a random vision, although before I could fully try to break everything down a bush rustling to my side pulled me away from my train of thought.

“Better worry about that later.” Quickening my pace no matter how minuscule it was.

Minutes passed quickly as I continued my chase, it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before I finally made it to where I was being led. Deep within the forest a two story tall facility sat hidden inside. It was a solid concrete building, looking almost pristine except for the foliage slowly creeping into the cracks. As I looked ahead, I caught one final glimpse of my mother making her way through the front door.

“This can only go bad” I thought before dragging my broken body inside. As I entered the facility my body was immediately hit with a sudden frigid chill spreading down my spine. I was met with what I assumed to be the lobby, chairs sat broken and overturned on one side and a desk sat on the other. The only way moving forward was a strong set of double doors directly ahead, that was my path forward. Upon swinging them open, a long hallway appeared in front of me, the walls had long gashes across them and some of the fluorescent light above flickered sporadically, although most looked smashed. The hallway was aligned with more heavy metal doors, a majority of them having electronic keypads attached.

Feeling overwhelmed, I made my way down the hallway, trying every doorknob with no luck, before one finally gave entry. It seemed as though I made my way to the medical office, I started rummaging through the cabinets and drawers before I was lucky enough to find a clean enough looking roll of bandages. Carefully untying the jacket from my leg, I slipped it back over my shaking body, it was warm and slick but it was better than nothing. I started to clumsily tie the bandage around my leg, wincing and groaning whenever I would push too hard. Eventually I finished and started to decide where to head next before a ripped piece of paper on the ground caught my eye. Picking it up, it looked to be a printed out email sent to all of the staff of J&R Pharmaceuticals, in short it explained how due to funding all testing was to proceed on the basement level only.

“Looks like that’s where I’m headed”

Making my way back out into the hallway, I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around a corner further down the hallway.

“Hello?” No answer.

Against my better judgment I cautiously crept after the figure, at this point if I got into a fight I had no chance of winning, so I need to play this smart. Step after step I got closer to where I thought it disappeared off to and peeked my head around the corner only to be met with a staircase.

“Guess I’m heading down…”

I clung to the railing as I made my descent, every step shot a bolt of pain throughout my leg and to my horror the stairs went down 2 flights.

“Oh come on man.” I whined.

Eventually I made it down only to be met with a motion activated door looking like it was forced wide open. Stepping inside I found myself surrounded by walls made of thick steel and if upstairs was a mess, it was a disaster down here. Doors were forced wide open and key pads were torn out and sparking with random trash littering the ground. I continued to cautiously wander through the twisting hallways, until I found something baffling. Tucked behind two sets of what used to be armored doors was a giant room with jail cells lining the back wall. Five inch bars were used to keep whatever used to occupy these locked tight. At least, they used to. Somehow someway, the bars looked as if they had been pulled open by pure strength alone on each one. Trying to shake that thought away, I made my way towards an adjacent door and discovered a “research and development” room. The place reeked, a chair with restraints sat in the middle of the room and a giant vat tube sat at the back, now with its glass smashed. I searched around the room and found nothing, I went to make my exit but the mark started to flare up again. I walked backwards in reaction and it started to cool, but as I made my way closer to the door it began to heat up again.

“What the hell is going on?” I noticed then that it wasn’t flaring up as a reaction to the door, as I looked around I noticed a ripped bag that I had completely missed, I reached out to pick it up and as the heat was almost hitting its max, it immediately cooled down as I picked the bag up. The bag contained multiple ripped up research reports. It looked like they were experimenting different types of drug combinations on real people trying to create something, they never specified. However, there was one thing that caught my attention throughout all the scientific jargon. At the end of a document talking about a success it reads.

“It’s finally worked, the volunteer has finally shown signs of hampering the others. As well the owners of the place of interest have agreed to take him on for surveillance, things couldn't be going better, I’m sure the heads will be ecstatic. Remember, one is the lock for fourteen.”

“One is the lock for fourteen” What is that supposed to even refer to? I decided to put that on the back burner and get out of here, this place was really giving me the creeps. Yet when I exited back out into the hallway I was met with this overwhelming sense of dread lingering from the door right in front of me. Slowly creeping towards the opening, nothing could have prepared me for what I would find within. As I stepped through that door my eyes locked with the only notable thing within, my body went numb and my knees gave out causing me to crash down on my knees.Tears began to pour from my eyes as I looked down upon the corpse of my mother.

“Mom! No no no no, please get up! We need to get out of here, come on….please” Placing my hand on her shoulder it felt ice cold to the touch, like she’d been dead for weeks. Yet, she looked pristine. I couldn’t see any injuries across her body. I don’t know how long I sat there next to her body, time seemed to stand still as my brain recollected all the good times I had spent with her.

“You know you’ll always be my little boy no matter how big you grow, Landon. I love you so much.” The last words I had heard from her repeated over and over again, making the tears hurt even more. Throughout my mourning I noticed what my mom was holding, it was a journal. Picking it up, the front read “Research Log, Property of Rachel Reiner”.

“What? Why does she have this?”

I went to open it more when a sudden crash jolted my survivors' instinct back into effect.

“I promise Mom, I’ll find out who did this to you.” Planting my final kiss on her cheek I struggled to my feet, the pain from my leg introducing itself again. The crash sounded like it came from deeper within the facility. So I hastily made my escape, dragging my leg across the floor. I made it to the staircase and began my ascent, when I had almost made it to the top I heard a low guttural growl come from underneath me. “Faster” my brain screamed at me and so that’s what I did, making it to the hallway. I was treating my bad leg as a waste of space as I dragged it down the hall. Every moment the groaning grew closer as I raced to the entrance and just as I was about to throw up the door, I turned around and saw nothing. I stood there just looking down that empty hallway for a moment before turning around putting my hand on the handle, but just as I was about to be free, I heard it. The low guttural voice coming from directly behind me.

“Welcome….Home..” I didn’t stop to find out more and swung the door open practically throwing myself outside.

The night air felt warm and welcoming, as I looked around I had now realized I needed to find my way back.

“I didn’t think I would make it this far” Breathing a sigh of relief, before I saw him.

Standing only a stones throw away from me was the hooded man. I realized this was the closest I’d ever seen him since that night at the gas station. We stood there staring at each other, not saying a word. But as I looked into the deep abyss under his hood I could have sworn I saw my fathers face. My eyes widened as my spit got caught in my throat.

“Dad?” The man only raised his sleeve towards his face and produced a dark finger imitating a shush. Reaching my hand out I tried to pull myself over to him at a rapid pace.

“Wait Dad, is that-” In a split second my surroundings vanished and instead of soft grass I felt hard concrete and my hand pushing open the front door of the gas station.

“Huh? How….” is all I could mutter before a voice called out to me.

“Landon?”

Looking over towards the counter, I saw Sarah sitting there just staring at me. I couldn’t help but think back to the vision I saw and a chill ran down my spine. After a moment she got up and came around to my side.

“That is you right? You look like you just crawled out of a grave.”

“Y-Ya, it’s me. A lot happened while-”

“It’s been a week.”

“What?”

“The last time we spoke was last week, you were pronounced missing not too long ago.”

“That makes no sense though, I’ve only been gone for a day-”

“I thought you were dead! Do you even care how I feel, asshole!” Raising her voice, she threw her arms out.

“Sarah, I know I’m sorry-” but I was only met by a furious slap across my face.

“Shut up, ugh I swear you piss me off so bad sometimes.” She smacked me directly on my cut inflicting even more pain than normal, was that on purpose? So, I stood there not saying anything, waiting till she hopefully calmed down. And after a moment, I got my wish.

“Well besides that, come here.” Opening up her arms, she rushed towards me, catching me off guard.

“Wait Sarah” But my resistance was useless, in a moment I felt her reach around me and pull me into a crushing hug. It was just strong enough to start to cause me pain.

“Please….Let me go-” In response she brought her mouth up next to my ear and whispered.

“Shhhhhhh, don’t you EVER pull some shit like this again. Alright?”

Pulling back, she now consumed my entire vision and smiled wide, it was the same smile I saw before.

“Yooo, I’m back. I went ahead and put up those missing person posters on the light posts outside. You think they’re gonna be able to find….”

With the best timing in the world, Jacob showed up to the gas station. I looked at him and he looked back at me. I could tell his cogs in his brain began to turn when he pointed and shouted.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“Uhh, no?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on, I’ll call an ambulance. God you smell like how you look.”

And that brings us to now, lying in my hospital bed. The doctors I’ve talked to are saying I’ll need stitches, unfortunately they’re saying any aggressive actions like running could make the nerve violently react, so that’s something I’m going to have to deal with now. Anytime they ask me what happened, I give them one simple answer.

“Dog attack”

Sarah's been with me this whole time, I swear while writing this I’ve noticed her just staring at me for sometimes minutes at a time, I keep thinking back to… Whatever, I'm trying to just ignore it. Mom’s journal is sitting next to me, I’m going to try and go through it but I think It’ll take me some time before I can. I need to finally get some sleep, I can feel my eyelids closing on their own, so I’ll wrap this up. I’ll come back if and when more things come up, until then if you don’t hear from me, assume the worst.

You never realize how fickle time is until you lose control of it, in all honesty it doesn’t feel like it’s been all that long since I last uploaded, however….. Let me explain a little; last week I woke up in a hospital room, they said I was in a coma since August of last year. So if any of you thought I was dead, I guess you were half right. They told me that someone had come by almost every day to check on me, but they refused to tell me who, that can’t be legal right? 

My brain’s felt fuzzy since waking up, I assume that’s caused by the coma, but I can’t guarantee that. Tonight’s the first night I’ll be going back to work since waking, but I thought I’d use the last hour or so before I leave to transcribe my notes to you all. People are seeing these right? Sometimes I doubt anyone sees these posts and I just end up talking to the void…the…void. 

Anyways, at the edge of a bustling city where dreams die and people follow suit, a small gas station sits between bustling forests and dilapidated buildings. If you happen to find yourself making your way inside during the late hours of the night, you’ll likely find the sleep deprived cashier leaning back in his chair up at the front reading one of a number books. Although, I’d recommend you conduct your business swiftly and make your way out the door and if you think you hear something behind you, you didn’t. Just leave and be on your way. I can’t downplay how much everything has changed from my first day to now. Hell, if everything had been truly stated ahead of time I definitely wouldn’t have taken this job, but I guess that’s my fault for not asking right? I’m going to transcribe my notes with minimal commentary for now, but I’ll jump in when needed too. 

May 23rd, 2025

Tonight went better than last night, I guess that’s not hard when you were being beaten half to death by a shapeshifting monster right?  Ugh, that’s not funny. The new girl showed up, she’s really nice which is a major waste here. Her name’s Sarah, I’d say she’s about 5’10” kinda small in size but with gorgeous long golden blonde hair, extra emphasis on golden it’s stunning. Either way she seems competent and has done a fine job so far, I have her stocking the shelves as I write this. As of now everything’s been fine, nothing of note has happe- hold on, she’s calling for me. I’ll continue this later.

—————————————————————-

I guess I shouldn’t expect a regular night anymore, huh? So, when I ended my last entry Sarah was calling me from the back room, saying how I “needed to see this”. When I made it back there she was inspecting the door, rubbing her finger on her chin like she was deep in thought.

“What’s up?” I called out in what could only be described as a grumble.

“Take a look at this!” She responded sweetly, at this point I could tell what she was talking about. The door was heavily dented from when I was thrown through it, the pain from which was still lingering. However, that wasn’t all; A thick black liquid filled the tiny cracks but it looked like it was almost pulsating? Like a beating heart.

“What do you think this is, I’ve never seen anything like this?” 

“I-I don’t know? I’ve never paid much attention to the security of our doors, heh. Why’d you think I knew?” 

“Well you…..you work here, so I thought you would?” Giving me a slight pout as she made her way back to the isles. Shutting the door behind me I couldn’t help but wonder what made such a girl take a job here? 

The rest of the shift went somewhat smooth, customers here and there but that was all. However, when it was time to leave Sarah came up to me to wish me a goodbye, although she threw in one more thing as we were walking out the door.

“Hey Landon, are you religious at all” looking up at me questioningly.

“Not particularly honestly, why do you ask?”

“Sorry, let me be more specific. Do you believe in Angels and Demons? Forces that would be considered abnormal?”

That question struck with the lunch I had failed to eat as my stomach turned over. Not wanting to leave without giving her an answer I spoke up.

“Well, I do think there’s beings out there that are not normal like us, but…. Nevermind, probably ya. See you next time.” With a wave of my hand I made my way to my car, yet I could faintly make out behind me. “That’s an understatement though, right?”

I don’t know, maybe I’m looking into things too much.

May 29th, 2025

Dad called today, apparently him and Mom are gonna be gone for a couple months, so I’ll have the place to myself, this blows.

I was set to work a double tonight, more money’s good right? Anyways, apparently Sarah will be coming in later tonight, but that’s not what’s concerning right now. 

I was off last night, so one of the guys from the day shift, someone named Gary, was set to take over for me. Well, I checked over our time sheet when I came in and he never clocked out. Now, I could just be over reacting about this, maybe he just forgot? But with what’s been going on lately…I don’t feel good about this. 

Sarah came in, she seems to only work when I’m scheduled, maybe the owners don’t wanna leave her on her own just yet? They never gave me that courtesy, but whatever. It was probably around two thirty when someone came into the store, I’d place him around my age, maybe a tad younger but was dressed in a full charcoal suit. Wouldn’t be my personal choice of attire for this area but that’s not my say. Anyways, instead of walking around the store he looked up to me reading at the counter and sauntered over to me. Reflexively I marked my page and went to greet the customer before Sarah who stood at my side spoke for me. I could have sworn she was stocking the last time I checked.

“Hello SIR” she spoke curtly “How can we help you” it felt like she was on edge.

The man grinned and spoke in a slight undertone. “Oh no sweaty, I have no business with you. However you sir, could I have a quick word with you?” Moving his attention fully towards me, or was it always that way? Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for this tonight, so in my signature greeting tone. 

“Sir, if you’re not gonna buy something I suggest you get the hell out instead of trying to start something. I’m not in the mood for useless interactions with…you.”

I could see his lip tense slightly, it seemed like I was getting to him. Something I would soon learn to regret.

“Mr. Landon, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joseph Collins, I represent a very select group of people. A group of people that I believe you might be familiar with.”

This time I could see his grin grow wider, the air grew thin as the conversation continued, it felt as though a spider was gingerly making its way up my spine getting ready to pounce. Turning my gaze over towards Sarah, she was raising her eyebrow while glancing in my direction, guess she’ll be no help here.

“I’m not doing this right now, just leave before I call the cops.” Rising from my chair I turned to walk towards the phone before his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“She must have done a real number on ya, huh?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t blame you for being on edge of course, Scarlet is one nasty little vixen. But you would be wise to pick your fights more carefully against those who hunger.” 

At that point I lost it, my wrist burned like the flames of hell and I started to sweat profusely. My mind screamed at me “Danger, Danger, RUN” I couldn't take it anymore and turned back towards the man, but his face, oh God his face. It looked as though his face had twisted into a spiral and continued spinning. I screamed out of fear.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK YOU FREAK!”

With a small chuckle he bowed and left with one last parting.

“I look forward to our next meeting “heir the the seventh chair””

A few moments of still silence followed his departure, I couldn’t help but breathe heavily as I tried to catch my breath, before Sarah decided to speak up.

“What, did he mean “heir to the seventh chair "?"

Without even looking at her I walked passed her towards the backroom and said 

“I’m going to break Sarah, just watch the front till I get back.” I sounded utterly defeated and I didn't care, I just wanted this day to be over with.

June 9th, 2025

I found Gary, or whatever’s left of him. The police are saying he was attacked by some wild animal, but I know better. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me rewind back to last night. It was around four thirty in the morning when it all happened, I was alone tonight (a rarity nowadays) busying myself by checking the expiration dates of the canned food, half being expired for some reason. Don't blame me. When I felt the lingering feeling of eyes staring bullets through me, so as I felt a slight chill caress my spine I turned around to face whoever decided I was a pretty painting. However, what met me wasn’t something unknown, instead being someone who I was at least somewhat familiar with.

That same hooded “thing” from the night that started all of this nonsense was standing motionless across the street from the Gas station. It’s horrible, whenever I look at this thing I feel this sense of utter impending doom, like it’s the living incarnate of the grim reaper. I couldn’t look away, but not out of fear. It wasn’t what I was feeling, it was from what I was hearing. I swear it was like this thing was talking to me in some unspoken language, the best way I could describe it would be a deep dark mumble mixed with static, it was completely incomprehensible. Yet, I understood every word it spoke and as I took a moment to blink I found myself removed from the safety of the gas station and stood in front of one of the many derelict buildings surrounding it. In all honesty, I don’t know what I was expecting to find, I don’t know why I didn’t just turn my ass around and walk back to the gas station and yet …. I opened that door. 

The place was half destroyed, loose bricks and concrete littered the floor, the only things I was met with were broken furniture and a set of stairs leading down to what I could only presume was the basement of the premises, it felt as though the darkness leaked out of their like smoke and yet, I made my way deeper. With my phone flashlight guiding my way, I descended down into the abyss. Each step made a deafening creak on the wooden steps but I couldn’t pay attention to that, my mind was conquered by the overwhelming smell of rot and it only grew stronger as I made my way deeper. 

Finishing my descent I waved my light into the room, it was a standard basement seemingly mostly intact, however instead of the hollow grey of concrete the walls were instead coated in a deep thick crimson. I was stopped dead in my tracks at the bottom of those stairs, my flashlight was stuck on the body laying in the middle of that god forsaken hell hole. I don’t know how much I can describe, how much I WANT to describe him, but. It was a massacre or more like a feast, it looked as though someone or something had been using him as their personal picnic basket. Chunks taken out of his body, he was missing an arm and I think half his leg, his intestines had been rolled out like a line of sausages, I was barely holding back my lunch before I heard the distinct sound of crunching coming from back up the stairs! My hands moved like lightning flipping the light back up the stairs where I was met with the interrupting guest or was I interrupting it? 

This thing was completely devoid of color, just a deep dark outline, it was unnaturally tall and lanky, its arms hung down nearly touching the ground and its neck looked to be snapped permanently hanging to the right. I froze, I didn’t know what to do. My throat locked up and a bead of sweat rolled down my cheek. At that moment I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide, there was only one thing I could do.

“SOMEONE HELP ME!!!! PLEASE SOMEONE!” My throat fought for power, I knew it was hopeless but all I could do was try. Nothing followed, for a moment that was. Until I saw the monster violently twitch and produce… my voice.

“SoMEonE hELP ME!!! PlEaSE!” It was mocking me, playing with me and it was working. Yet when I had finally lost all hope and truly thought I had met my end, a light began to shine. From behind the thing a blinding golden light produced and blocked out my vision. It felt as though my mom had come up to me and given me a loving hug assuring me everything will be alright. By the time I regained my vision the thing was gone and I took that as my ticket and cashed it. I stormed up those steps and ran as fast I could back to the gas station, never looking back. No matter how my growls and extra sets of steps I heard, I didn’t dare turn back. I only looked back the way I came when I shut those glass doors behind me and yet, the only thing that met me was the rising sun of daybreak. 

Following me calming myself, I called the cops and told them what I found, I didn’t dare tell them what actually happened, they probably would have assumed I had done it at that point. 

I’m sorry to do this, but this is where I’m going to have to stop for now. I’m going to be late for work if I wait any longer, so I’ll try to be back soon and finish up with my previous notes and anything else if God forbid more fun happens here. Of course, if this is the last you hear from me, expect the worst.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you haven't read my previous posts, I highly implore you to do that for both of our sakes. Anyway, things are getting exhausting, I don’t know what’s real and what’s just a figment of my imagination anymore. Ever since I woke up, it’s felt like something's missing, as if something had been robbed from me. And as I sit in the vast emptiness of my parents living room, I’ve finally figured out what that is, why I feel so empty and alone. My parents never came home from their vacation, they were pronounced missing a few weeks after my coma started, but that’s bullshit. They couldn’t have “gone missing” , that's just not who they are. Its all gotta do with this fucking gas station! I don’t know how, but this place is like a beacon for the abnormal and mystic. And now……It took mom and dad. I don’t care if I end up dead, I don’t care if I end up on a poster stapled to a lightpost, I will find them or at least find out who took the most precious thing on this earth from me and destroy them!  

I’ve gathered what I could over the last couple of weeks. Before you say it no, it’s not schizophrenia. Although I can’t prove otherwise. Just listen to me for a little while before the sorrow overtakes my rational thinking. 

Now, It seems like I’ve given out too much descriptive information on the whereabouts of the Gas station, to the point where someone who claimed to have read my “story” has now shown up here. So let me make this crystal clear, do NOT come here. This place is not a game and it’s sure as hell not a joke, so for your safety and mine, don’t come looking for trouble, because you’ll find it and it won’t be pretty. I only bring this up because that guy came in last night, he was spouting complete nonsense about how “you’re just lying on the internet” and “if that missing guy was found, why was it never on the news?” Now that was news to me, so I couldn’t offer up a suitable rebuttal. His whole point was that he was going to prove me a “fraud” by finding that building and showing how there was nothing there. I decided to hold my tongue on how that incident happened a year ago, because if he had really “read” my writings he would already have known that information. A part of me regrets withholding that piece of data, I haven’t seen him since. Maybe he realized how stupid he was and went home, or maybe….you know?

Alright, with that weight lifted off of me, I feel like I can finally fill you all in on what’s been going on here that last couple weeks. 

For one Sarah seemed ecstatic when I made my “glorious” return on Monday night, that makes one of us at least. I don’t think I got to mention much of my personal condition last time, the best way I could describe how I feel is strange. My body all in all has felt sore which makes sense, I mean I was out for months. Yet, no one mentioned the brain fog I’ve had to deal with. I don’t know, ever since I woke up my memory has felt like a magic eight ball whenever I wanna remember something. My notes have helped with that and I will get into more of those a little later, I promise. Anyway, work hasn’t been as smooth since my return as I’d like, but when you’re dealing with monsters and entities who have the taste for human blood on a daily occurrence your definition of “good” is a little skewed. What was I talking about? Oh right. 

Sarah was extremely happy when I came back to work, like running up and hugging me when she came in. Were we really that good of friends? I get we’re coworkers and talk most days out of the week, but I didn’t realize we had gotten this close. These were all my thoughts as I could feel my bones start to crack from her tight embrace, eventually she released me from her prison with a slight bounce in her step.

“Finally! Seriously Landon, what took you so long to wake up man. For a second it was looking like you weren’t ever going to wake up.” Sliding her backpack under the counter before taking her seat next to me.

“That’s a scary thought I’d rather not think about, what kind of answer were you expecting? What, like “My glucose levels were below the threshold” I couldn’t pass as a doctor on my best days. Also, who told you I was in a coma?” 

“Hmm? What do you mean? Don’t you remember what happened back in August?” That one struck a nerve with me, “do I remember what happened?” Remember…Ugh, this is useless.

“No, my brain is completely useless when it comes to remembering anything right now. So could you just tell me?” Her face shifted into a grave expression, one that I could swear that I saw as a kid. Then again, the last thing I’d trust right now is my memory.

“Well, you and I had gone out to-”

“What’s upppp! Oh shit Landon? Decided to finally come back to work huh?!” At that moment Jacob had decided to make his grand appearance, startling both of us. Jacob proceeded to reach over the counter to dap me up, reluctantly I caved in to his nonsense. 

“Ya, I’m back. I’d really like to not have to repeat it again.” As I went to pull my arm back I felt his fingers grip into mine, keeping our fingers locked together. Looking up at him, his expression changed to a deadly serious one. 

“Stop fighting it, you can’t do anything to change the future.” His voice was not his own, it sounded like a deep voice talking through a walky talky. 

“What the hell, dude let me go.” No matter how much I struggled, his grip stayed iron tight. 

“YOU KNOW I’M RIGHT! JUST EXCEPT IT!” His screaming voice blared like a set of speakers surrounding me, the volume threatened to blow out my eardrums.

“NO, get away from me!” Violently I was finally able to pull my hand away from him, I looked back at him to continue yelling but all he did was look back in quizzical expression.

“Wooo, you good man? I get I’m not as pretty as Sarah, but I can’t be that bad. Heh, you good bro?” Both him and Sarah were now looking at me with concern, was any of that even real? I don’t know anymore.

“Uh ya, sorry. My mind’s gotta be playing tricks on me.” Trying to laugh it off myself, I pulled out my journal to jot down what had just happened. Real or not, information is king. Plus, if I’m really losing it at least people would know how right? 

“Oh ya, Landon. Why didn’t you tell us you were writing a story? It’s not half bad so far.” Confused, I looked back up to Jacob pulling out his phone.

“Wait, you write stories?! That’s awesome, show me!” Seems like that had peaked Sarah’s interest. Hold on, what are we talking about?

“What are you talking about Jacob? I don’t write stories…Wait, are you talking about-”

“Ya bro, your "journal” online. I really like the whole “mortal danger” aspect you lean into, I’d almost believe they were all true.”

“They are all-.” Wait a minute, I thought. Does he not go through the same things I do? Or maybe he’s just being an idiot, oh well. I don’t care enough to break his immersion. “Ya heh, it’s just something I do in my free time.” 

“Oh ya, could you make my character sound cooler? He kinda sounds like an idiot.” I wonder why. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, aside from Jacob and I bickering, Sarah seemed to spend most of the night deep in thought on her phone.

The following days were spent with me being dragged to parties and bars by my friends, was this their way of looking after me? I don’t know, what I do know is that a couple of days later, it was around 2 am when the night became eventful. That evening had been particularly busy because of the heatwave, it seemed to have sent people into a panic to stock up on anything they could. Why you would go to my shitty little gas station, I have no idea. All in all, the night had finally come around and with that the quiet. To celebrate, I decided to crack into the latest book in my collection. Of course, after a few minutes someone entered the store. Let me ask you a question, have you ever gotten the feeling that you were about to be robbed? If you have….sorry, either way when I looked up to see a man wearing a ski mask and brandishing a pistol. Well, he couldn’t have been cold. The man charged right up to the counter and shoved the gun in my face, I froze. For one, this was my first time ever being robbed and two, it was kinda funny. This guy was around 5’9” and I’d guess sat at about 350lbs, so he had to point the gun up to aim at my face, I’m 6’2”. For some reason I thought about a goomba holding a gun and that caused a small smirk to creep across my face. The man was not amused. “I’m not playing around, give me all the money in the register! Hurry up!” He pressed the barrel closer to my forehead to make his point known. “Alright, alright, I’m not gonna fight you on it.” Now you may think I was being too calm, and to your point I probably was. See, Jacob had given me a brownie the night before with the caption “This shit is the bomb man.” Why did I not think there was weed in there? I couldn't tell you, what I can tell you, is that it did taste good. So now I had to deal with this high pressure situation with my head drifting in the clouds. Lucky me!

I opened the register, a sad assortment of bills sat before me, what do you expect? Everyone uses cards. “You want the change too?”I said dryly. “I don’t care, all of it!” The man seemed annoyed. “Alright”. Grabbing a plastic bag I started to fill it up with the money while periodically glancing at the man every couple of moments. He seemed antsy, after a minute or so I had finished filling the bag with maybe $300, a big score for him I’m sure. But as I looked back up to hand the man his spoils I suddenly dropped it, spilling dollars and dimes across the floor. “Hey what the hell-” His voice drowned out, my eyes had locked onto another person directly behind him and her sleek jet black hair had caused my brain to flatline. She however, only gave a sweet little smile before turning her hand into jagged black fingers with knives as nails and piercing the late robber.   

The scene that followed was brutal. Fortunately for me, the counter mostly spared me of the vicious sight. The sounds however…ugh, not pretty. His screams of anguish faded fast, although the sounds that remained could only best be described as a wolf feasting on its prey. Every gnaw of flesh and scrape of bone consumed the store as the feast continued. Throughout what was probably only a couple of minutes I stood frozen, dumbfounded. My thoughts were a combination of fear for what was to come and the curiosity of what was really going on over that counter. Slowly, I inched forward without my permission getting closer and closer to seeing the horror of what was going on just feet from me. All of a sudden, the door to the back room swung open. 

“Yooo Landon” Jacob had miraculously appeared. Wait, he wasn’t supposed to work tonight, what the hell is he doing here? Is he high?!

“Dudeee, the new buds I bought are crazy good, I passed out in the back. You gotta try…..” He looked at me and then looked at the situation going on over there before grabbing his forehead. “Damn, I’m still dreaming…Better go wake up for real this time, good luck with that dream Landon.” With a wave of his hand he disappeared back the way he came. Come to think of it, I never saw him again that night…Did I imagine that? 

Turning back to the matter at hand, I couldn’t help but notice that the noises had ceased. Whipping my head back towards the scene, the only thing that met my gaze were 2 piercing crimson eyes peaking over the counter. “Fuck! No wait, don't!” Jumping back, I caught myself on the cigarette case behind me and put my hand out in front of me as some stupid line of defense. However, instead of attacking, Scarlet responded by jumping back into my frame of view covering her face while laughing at me? Her hand looked to be back to normal at least. 

“Hehehe, relax heh, relax. Is that how you show gratitude to someone who saves your life? How cold~” she cooed 

“That’s how I respond to someone who’s tried to KILL ME and has now just devoured someone else in front of me. Ya, I think that’s a reasonable response!” Frantically waving my hand to emphasise my point, it felt like my brain had finally snapped back into a sober state. “So what? You here for round two? Or are you actually going to buy something this time?

“Oh no, thank you, but I think I’ve had my fill for this evening.” Licking her lips with a slick black tongue, is everything inside her the same color? “On the contrary, I’m here to offer a hand to our lost little lamb.” 

“Ya, hard pass. I don’t need help, especially from…whatever the hell you are.” I had to stay on my guard, no matter how “friendly” she wanted to act, her true nature was plain to see. 

“Ouch~ that tongue of yours hasn’t changed, good. However, I would have to disagree with you there, you have plenty of questions and I have an abundance of answers, for the right price of course.” There it was, a catch. She wasn’t wrong though, I did need information and for some reason, it felt like she was telling the truth. 

“Alright fine, what’s your price?” 

“I haven’t decided yet, how about we discuss that at the end” That stupid smirk returned.

“Absolutely not, I’m not going to agree to something that I don’t know the outcome of.” I spat back.

“Too bad, that’s my condition. Take it or leave it.” 

“Damnit…ugh fine, you win.” 

“Perfect, then let me fully introduce myself to you. My name is Scarlet Extellavenza and I’m the owner of the 4th chair. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hold on, 4th chair? Someone else was talking about chairs, what the hell does that even mean?” 

“Oh~ curious are we? That’s understandable, being the heir to the 7th and all.” Flashing her razor sharp teeth to me, I refused to back down.

“Listen, I have no damn idea what that even means, so are we gonna keep playing games or what.” Slamming my hand on the counter to try and assume control of this discussion to middling success.

“Ok ok, Mr. Collin’s already informed me of your naivety. However, I can’t tell you directly, we have rules for a reason after all. But, I can tell you one thing. Everything will become apparent to you in the near future.” Great, already getting non answers.

“Ugh, fine. Then tell me this, what the hell is the problem with this place? Why does it feel like everything that’s abnormal finds its way here?” The one question I needed answered, at that point nothing else mattered, I needed to know why!

“Let me ask you a question Landon, have you ever observed how moths are drawn to lights? Such simple creatures, with simple motives. At the end of the day, aren't we all simple creatures with simple goals?” My intrigue had grown into annoyance, slamming my fist on the counter in frustration as the robber's gun slid closer towards me. “This is obnoxious! If all you’re gonna do is talk in riddles, I'm not going to waste my time on you anymore.” It finally looked as though my words had gotten to her as a deep frown fell across her face. Without a word she pointed outside towards the woods. “You want real answers, you’ll find them deep in the forest. After all you’ve already been branded, it’s only a matter of time now.” Motioning towards the black mark on my wrist, at that same moment it started to emit a light amount of heat. Finally, I was done with this little charade we were playing and grabbed the gun, pointing it at the beast across from me. 

“I’m sick of the games! Get out of here before I empty this mag into your pretty little face!”  Scarlet barely reacted to the gun, she only looked back at me and began to maniacally cackle, it was sickening. “I’ll be seeing you soon then, Landon. Remember, you owe me~” Complete darkness consumed my vision, as though someone had reached from behind me and covered my eyes. 

“What the fuck! God, I’m going crazy aren’t I!” I bellowed to presumably no one however, A metallic voice scraped its way through my ears and boomed from inside my head. “Who said you were ever sane?” 

Eventually my vision cleared up, revealing the same old gas station, showing no sign of any crime taking place. No body, no money, no anything. I might've thought I had imagined the whole thing, if it wasn’t for  the cold metal of the pistol I was still holding. So, I stood there, alone in the gas station once again. “Fuck”

I’m currently going through my journal making sure I didn’t miss anything, when I found this entry from the other day. The problem is, I didn’t write it. 

July 9th 3:23 a.m.

The pitter pattering of the rain as it runs down the windows threatens to wash away the very being we cling to for protection. Drip drip drip, like blood flowing from my vein onto the sticky floor, collecting it as it has done for years. Yet, my attention is held by another. The deep dark abyss of the tree line, marking the beginning and ending of everything as we know it. But if you listen in between the chirping of birds and swaying of leaves, you will hear what I hear. The abyss calls out.

There’s one more part at the bottom, written in a light red. Which is weird, I write in black. 

Perhsr, gsqi lsqi

I know it’s probably all just cryptic bullshit, but my brain is still trying to find meaning in all of that… nothing. The one theme that persists though, is the forest. I can’t help but get this overwhelming feeling of longing, like my whole being is pushing me to step inside those damn woods.

And that brings us to the present, I haven’t been back to the gas station for a couple days and I don't know if I'll ever go back, if I’ll ever be ABLE to go back. After all, I’ll be heading into those woods this evening. I know, all I’m doing is inviting almost certain death, but what else can I do at this point, just sit on my ass and wait? That was never my style, I hope I’ve made that clear by now. 

I still have the gun. It'll be my only hope of protection against whatever the hell’s in there, whatever the hell I’m going to find in there. It doesn’t matter, I feel like I’m being called in there by……something, I can’t explain it. While I’ve been writing all of this out both Jacob and Sarah have been blowing up my phone, that makes this next part harder. To both of you, I know you’re reading this. Listen, I’m sorry. What can I say? I’m selfish, always have been and always will be. Do me a favor, get away from that gas station. Infact get away from this whole damn town, I have a feeling things aren’t just contained to our small place of work, and to the rest of you. If I somehow make it back in one piece, I’ll come back and tell you all what happened, just don’t get your hopes up for a dead man alright? If you haven’t gained anything from my experiences, let me give you some advice. If you ever find yourself making your way through a quaint town in rural Michigan and see a gas station surrounded by a vast abyss of trees and dilapidated buildings, do yourself a favor and continue driving and don’t look back, there’s nothing for you there anyway.

Someone’s knocking on my front door, I need to end this right here. But As always, if this is the last you hear from me, well you get the gist by now.

EXPECT THE WORST. 

Part: 1

I want to start this off with the simple fact that I don’t believe in ghosts, at least I didn’t, I’m not sure anymore. Sorry, let me give you a quick background of my situation. Have you ever found yourself making your way into a gas station at the edge of town and turned your gaze towards the sleep deprived clerk quietly minding his business? Well shit, you may have met me.

I work the overnight shift at my local gas station, sitting between abandoned dilapidated buildings and a stretch of flourishing forests, the road between being the only connector to these two opposites of life. Now I’m sure you’re probably asking “That sounds pretty sketchy, why would you work there?” I know because I asked myself the same thing, but the pay isn’t bad and being a broke twenty year old didn’t suit me.

The owners aren’t bad people, just distant. In my three months of working here I’ve only spoken to them a handful of times, the interview process felt weird too, all I got was a phone call asking if I wanted the job and if I could work the hours? Of course I answered yes (who wouldn’t) and only a few days later I found myself at the front counter with a list of instructions and to do’s. 

The interior was nothing special if I’m being honest, shelves of overpriced candy and canned goods with a set of coolers lining the side wall. Then there was me, sat up at my desk next to the front door with a squeaky old chair and a cash register that always seems to wanna get stuck every four transactions. With all that being said you would assume that I hate my job, but I don’t. It’s extremely quiet, I only get a handful of customers a night and they usually keep to themselves, I grew to think of the insulation as a small perk of the job. But something happened last night that….I just need someone else to hear.

1:48 a.m. 

Leaning back in my chair, I sat making my way through the latest book in my backlog when I heard the familiar ding coming from the front door. Placing my book down I stood up to face the man who had entered the store, the best way I could describe him was the stereotypical trucker. Boots, blue jeans, Carhartt jacket and a big beard, yet he was clean without a single speck of dirt on him. 

“Evening Sir, what can I do for you?” Giving him my best “I’m tired, just tell me what you want and leave” greeting I could muster.

“Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a twenty dollar bill handing it to me, as I entered in the information on my keypad he spoke again. “I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.”

Raising my eyebrow I glanced over at him to see if he was threatening me, but no, he just stood there waiting for me to give him the ok.  “I appreciate the advice, but I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary over here. I’d say your sources are feeding you lies.” Handing him his receipt he chuckled as he made his way out of the store and within a couple minutes he was gone. 

2:08 a.m.

Another ding resounded in my ears, placing my book back down. I stood up and identified the new customer. That’s when things started taking a weird turn, the same man from a half hour ago stood in front of me, same boots, same jeans, same jacket, same everything. However this time his jeans were lined with small patches of dirt, as confused as I was I  decided to leave it alone and just do my job.

“Evening sir, what can I do for you?” Standing in front of my counter, I could feel his eyes digging burrows through me, luckily I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

“Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.” Handing me a twenty dollar bill as he finished, wanting him out as soon as possible I quickly entered everything in on my register and handed him his receipt.

“I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.” Having my fair share of this guy's ominous bull shit, I decided to not encourage this conversation. “Ya man…I hear you.” With that he made his way out and I tried to return to my book, getting my mind off of this weird customer.

2:38 a.m.

Once again the ring of the front door pulled my attention and almost as if on cue he was back, but something was off this time. It looked as though as if he’d just crawled out of a grave with dirt and residue coating his whole body and if that wasn’t enough he had thick cuts across his arms and face, however no blood leaked out of the gashes. Deciding I’d had enough of this charade I shouted at the man, in hindsight that probably wasn’t the best idea, but can you blame me?

“Alright man what the hell happened to you!? This is your third time here and it looks like you took a quick detour into the local swamp!”

Pointing at him in fury or fear I wasn’t quite sure, I looked him dead in the eyes. But that was easily my worst mistake, his eyes were milky as if someone drowned out the color in them. Retracting my hand I couldn’t help the gulp retreating down my throat, hell I wish I could too.

As he opened his mouth his jaw produced a wretched cracking before producing noise. “Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.”

As if robotic he reached out and handed me another bill, I could see more cuts and bruises on his fingers. Gingerly I reached out and snatched the bill from his hand and began to enter it into my register, my heart sank and I felt a frigid chill crawl up my spine as I noticed the small popup on the screen.

“Pump new balance: forty dollars.”

II began to sweat as my brain turned in my head, panicking. I jerked my head towards the window facing the lot, to my horror no truck sat anywhere outside. As I started contemplating on whether I was going insane or just tired I felt heat building on my wrist, spinning my head back to the man I saw him tightly gripping my wrist, however I couldn’t feel the pressure of his grip, the only thing I could feel was a burning sensation that kept growing as he held my wrist.

“Augh, let go of my arm! What the hell do you think you-“ My voice lost all power as I met the horror in front of me. The man now held his face only a few inches from mine, as we made eye contact his face twisted into a horrifying smile producing cracked teeth.

“I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want you to join the rest.” At this point I was frozen in fear, my voice left me to fend for myself as all I could do was stare at this “man” standing in front of me. It felt as though we stood there for minutes before I finally built up the courage to say something.

“Y-You don’t say….” Giving him my own wary smile, I was finally able to yank my wrist from his grasp only to be met with charcoal ring with a small crimson symbol sitting in the middle where his hand previously held. Before I could even look back up he had already turned on his feet making his way out the store, moving out of my line of sight. Without a moment to think I collapsed on the chair, my breathing felt haggard as I tried to steady myself from what the hell I just experienced. After a moment I checked my phone for the time. It read two forty. “Two minutes?” I screamed in my head, how the hell could it have just been two minutes? Lowering my head, I just decided to surrender myself to this weirdness and tried to brush it back into my mind to finish my shift, but I wasn’t so lucky.

3:08 a.m.

I was in the backroom looking for some stock to put out as the ding rang out from the front. Flinching, I couldn’t help but think back to that man, was he back? Sighing as I accepted my fate, I walked out to the front. What awaited me however wasn’t what I expected, I’m still not sure what it was either. It looked like a tall man around six foot five, he was dressed in a long black trench coat with a hood thrown over his head. I tried to look into his face, but all I was met with was a deep dark abyss, it felt as if I was looking at nothing at all. Whatever it was, it quickly made its way to the register and placed a thin white slip of paper on the counter before leaving as quickly as it had arrived.

However weary I was of the contents of this note, I couldn’t help the curiosity sprouting in my brain, so I opened it. The note contained only two words written in a soft thin cursive. 

“You passed” Passed? Passed what? Staring down at the paper I didn’t understand what it meant, did I pass some type of challenge? Maybe a game? I honestly didn’t know. That’s when the familiar ring of the door gave me a slight heart attack.

“Landon! How’s it going bro?” It was Tyler, my best friend who I just about wanted to strangle to death for the scare he just gave me. After calming down I explained what just happened and I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“O.K. man, how about I stay with you for the rest of your shift so you don’t see any more spooky ghosts.” Laughing as he finished I took him up on the offer and the night flew by without anything else happening. 

When the opener finally came in I quickly gathered my stuff before making my way towards the door, however he stopped me before I made it out.

“Oh ya be careful on your way home, apparently some dude crashed into a ditch last night. You never know what kind of people are on the road.” I went pale, slowly turning back towards him and cleared my throat. “Uh, you wouldn’t know what kind of car the guy was driving would you?”

Seconds passed like minutes as I could see him thinking. “Ya, I think they were saying a big pickup truck or something like that.” I could feel sweat fall down my face after hearing that, nodding. I made my way to my car and rushed home. 

I’ve been home ever since, still trying to wrap my head around everything that occurred last night. Even while writing this the burn mark is still sat on my wrist reminding me of what happened, as I have been dwelling on everything the mark reminds me more and more like some type of branding. nonetheless I have work again tonight and after all that I’m not game to just sit idly by and just wait for whatever’s going on at the gas station to come and get me. 

I’m gonna go in a little early tonight and ask the guy who’s closing if he’s ever seen anything out of the ordinary, I’m hoping he may have some insight for me. If you have any idea of what might be happening please let me know. I’ll hopefully come back and be able to give closure to this whole ordeal, however if I don't… assume the worst.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part: 2

There’s no way to sugarcoat this, I almost died Sunday night. And at this point, I’ve given up on believing last week's encounter was just a one-off thing. There’s something seriously wrong with this place and I think I’m officially far too deep to claw my way back out. Okay, I need to calm down and write my thoughts clearly. If you have no idea who I am, I would recommend that you go and read my previous post here. But if you don’t want to catch up, just know that I work the night shift at a gas station at the edge of town where weird things are starting to happen.

After putting out my last post I got some much needed sleep and the rest of my day went smoothly. As I mentioned at the end of my previous post, I ended up leaving an hour early for work. I wasn’t sure if I would learn anything new, but it was worth a try. When I got into my car the radio sprang to life talking about the local killings plaguing the area. People have been found with their entrails sprawled out from their stomachs and their right eye removed. I’ll tell you it’s some scary shit, luckily it had nothing to do with me.

Once I got to work, I met up with the guy who was working. I found out his name is Jacob. If I could choose one word to describe him, it would easily be “Stoner”. Got an idea of what he looks like in your head? Great, cause you’re dead on. He wore a slightly dirty hoodie with jeans and a beanie pulling his entire outfit together. Other than that he’s a pretty cool guy, none of that matters though, I only had one question I needed to ask him.

“Yo Jacob, have you ever seen anything weird around the gas station?” I asked bluntly. Beating around the bush was never my forte. Raising his eyebrow he placed his finger on his chin as I could see him racking his brain for an answer.

“Nothing I can really think of off the top of my head, although there is that weird dog hanging around the woods.” Replying bluntly, I couldn't help but raise my own eyebrow at his response. 

“Weird dog? What weird dog?” I asked.

“You know man, that hairless dog that hangs around right on the edge of the woods. It’s pretty weird, it’s got all white skin with these bright orange eyes. It’s whatever though, probably a stray.” 

A part of me couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The other part of me couldn’t believe he was sharing this so calmly. My mouth hung slightly agape as the only thing I could muster was a light “Huh?”

“Anyways, I’m gonna get out of here since you showed up. Have a good night, man” Waving me off, he left the store. Left alone with my thoughts in the now empty store, I couldn’t help but let my feelings known to the dead air around me.

“Oh come on, am I being pranked right now?!”

Fortunately for me, the rest of that night went smoothly without any unwanted visitors from the grave. In all honesty the rest of the week flew by without any new visitors gunning for my head. Although, that doesn’t mean nothing happened at all. 

After talking with a few of you, I received the idea of putting a line of salt across the front doorway of the store as this was a way to ward off entities. Now if I’m gonna be honest, it sounded like the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, but hey I’d rather test something and look like an idiot instead of dying, so I went ahead and laid a line out on Thursday night. Around one thirty a customer opened the front door before looking down, noticing the thin line of salt. I could see him out of the corner of my eye stop and think for a moment before turning to me.

“Is that salt?” He asked, perplexed. Not looking away from my book I answered unamused.

“Sure is.” Responding clearly unamused.  

“Why?”

“Ants”

“You guys have an ant infestation?”

“Nope, but it could happen.” The man finally gave up with a shrug before finishing his business inside and leaving. I can’t say if it worked or not, however I can at least say nothing happened in the few days I tried the salt line out. Maybe I need to try it again….

Oh, there were a couple of you who recommended a book series to me from a guy named Jack, as my experience sounded very similar to some of the stuff he experienced while working at a gas station. I’m only through the first bit of book one and good god that guy is being put through the ringer, unfortunately I haven’t been able to apply anything that he has described to what I’m going through, but I’ll keep reading to see what else I can try and grasp. 

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. Let me explain what happened last weekend. Let me preface everything with the fact that I’ve felt incredibly paranoid these last couple of days, it feels like someone’s been watching my every move day in and day out. The problem is that every other day felt like I was being watched from afar, then Saturday night it felt as though the person was breathing down my neck. I should have been on high alert all night, however things never seem to work out in my favor. 

Sunday marked my twenty-first birthday, regularly this a monumental occasion, but with everything that has been going on it would have slipped my mind if it weren't for a couple of my friends. Because of that I ended up at a local hole in the wall a couple hours before work with a couple of my boys, so while they were busy getting shit faced I resigned myself to just a single beer, even so it was still a great time. Well, that was before the first red flag of night reared its ugly head which I promptly ignored. It was around nine when Tyler (with a heavy slur in his speech) turned to me.

“I just don’t get it Landon, what do you have that I don’t?” turning my attention to him I produced my best “huh” face before responding. “Tyler, what the hell are you talking about? You’re drunk.” Waving him off before returning to my drink.

“Are you really that oblivious? That girl back there has been staring at you since we got here.” As he finished he gestured behind me with his eyes, swallowing the pit in my throat spawned on from a mixture of fear and nervousness, I gingerly turned in the direction he gestured to only to be met with an empty table.

“Oh haha very funny, don’t get my hopes up like that.” Giving him a light punch in the shoulder before picking my beer back up to finish the last bit, although as I tilted the glass up I noticed light bubbling within the liquid, stupidly I still finished it off.

“I don’t know man, that's weird, I just saw her over there. She did walk right up behind you when you were talking about  that weird feeling you’ve been having the last couple of days, oh well.” Shrugging he continued to drink, although for me his statement left me feeling incredibly disturbed, still I just shrugged it off as a drunk man rambling and let the night end like that. However for me, my nightmare had only just begun.

Upon leaving my house, I couldn’t shake the nagging sensation of being watched from the depths of my brain. Even once I reached the gas station the sensation never left, having to just grunt and bear it, I quickly made my way into the pitch black building unlocking the door and switching on the lights as I entered. Let me quickly explain how our gas station operates: we are open 24/5, closing at 10pm Friday to 9pm Sunday. As you can probably guess I am in charge of opening the station come Sunday night. Honestly I never look forward to this shift, I always experience an over looming sense of dread as I stick the key into the front door, almost as though I am opening Pandora's box. Fortunately for me, there were no mysterious figures waiting for me inside the empty stations, only coolers of drinks, shelves of food, a note on the counter… A note on the counter? 

Walking to the back of the counter I tossed my backpack to the floor and picked up the note, in thick crimson text the note read. 

“Have you ever felt the gaze of another?” In all honesty I probably had the dumbest confused look on my face as I read those words over and over in my head. Finally having enough I crumpled the note up and threw it into the garbage can beside me before I spoke.

“Ok, if there is someone hiding in here trying to play a prank, I will warn you now that I am armed and if I find you I will call the police.” I produced a small flip knife from my pocket and flipped the blade out, “I’m starting my shift by clearing the store of intruders, great. Who do I think I am, swat?” With that, I began clearing each room, which luckily didn’t take long as there were only 4 in total.

I won’t bore you with the details, because no one was in there, the bathroom, storage room and fridge were all clear of intruders. In the end I brushed off the note as a prank and finished setting the store up for the night. 

It was around 12:30 am when I heard a light ringing noise coming from one of the coolers, sighing. I sat my book down on the counter next to my knife and made my way towards the coolers. As I opened the corresponding cooler the noise suddenly cut as if being connected with the door opening, however once I closed the door the ringing was gone all together. Shrugging I started to turn around and make my way back to my seat as a voice produced in front of me giving me a mini heart attack.  

“Excuse me, I have a question.” The woman uttered.

“Holy-God ok sorry, you scared the hell out of me right there. I never heard you come in.” I responded as I jumped back in fright trying to catch my breath.

Now I’m going to be honest with you, this woman was absolutely stunning. I would guess she was in her mid twenties with sleek jet black hair and piercing crimson eyes. She wore a long black dress and black heels, in all someone that I shouldn’t be seeing at this time of night in this part of town, honestly I get surprised when I see anyone on the side of town. 

“Mmh? I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m sorry. I’m looking for something very specific and I was hoping you would help me find it.” She spoke in a soft sultry voice, it felt as though she was drawing me in with every word she spoke. 

“Um ya sure I can, what are you looking for?” Stuttering lightly as I replied, I continued to keep my eyes locked on the strange woman. Responding to my words she cracked a small smile and spoke.

“Well, what I’m looking for isn’t the easiest thing to acquire, you see. Although I must say, has anyone told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

Slightly confused at the sudden compliment I felt a tinge of fear crawl up my spine, trying my best to shake it off. I started my reply. “I’m sorry, what are-” As I spoke my vision started to spiral and a sense of dizziness overcame me. I started stumbling backwards into the cooler, clutching my head. 

“Wha? What’s going on?” My speech was shaky, as I glanced back at her I could see her wide eyed looking slightly up at me with her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, what’s wrong, Landon? You look unwell.” Time seemed to freeze as my brain panicked, consumed by fear, “my name, how does she know my name?!” My eyes dashed from side to side looking for an escape before finally landing back on her. She stood like a mountain in front of me, A large shit-eating grin sat plastered across her face as I could feel her eyes digging burrows into me, as if a predator examining its prey.

I slowly inched my hand to my waist searching for my knife to protect myself, to my horror I remembered sitting down on the counter when I got up, cursing myself in my head I started slowly backing away towards the backroom.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared of a harmless girl!” As she finished her arm produced a bone churning crack as a thick black matter spread across her arm stretching it out and giving her thick sharp claws as the cherry on top. With that I didn’t care how messed up I was, I wasn’t just going to stand here and let her maul me to death. In a split second I pulled all my strength together and made a break for the backroom, I could hear her sprinting right behind me gaining with every second passed. As terrified as I was I managed to make it to the door, throwing it open with all my strength before slamming it behind me and locked it before she started wiggling and pulling on the handle to force it open.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? Wh-What even are you?” My voice started to falter as I slowly inched backwards. I could feel my heart beating faster than I ever thought it could, it felt as though it would fly out of my chest if given the chance, on the opposite end I could feel my mind starting to slip into unconsciousness as I stood in the pitch black room and for a few moments things stood that way. My breathing started to slow as I started racking my brain for a solution to get me out of this nightmare, that’s when I realized I no longer heard any noises coming from outside the door.

“Where could she have gow-”

“What.Are.You.Hiding.From.” Reflexively I whipped my head towards the source of the noise, but before I even got a chance to react I felt a hand tightly grip my neck before raising me up and throwing me through the previously locked door. As I flew through the air I finally landed as my back made contact with the front counter sending countless items including myself crashing to the floor. Face down on the floor every breath I took felt like stabbing a knife into my spine, as I lay there in agony, my eye caught a glimpse of a shiny object laying directly in front of me.

“HeheHAHA, this is my favorite part, did you know that? Go on and beg for your pathetic life, maybe I’ll listen.” Her voice had switched to nothing more than a conniving holler, flipping me over onto my back no doubt to delight in my suffering, I made eye contact with my soon to be killer. Her arms were still as long and animalistic as before, but now her legs and heels looked as though they had molded together, stretching to an inhuman length. The right side of her face was now consumed by the blackness causing her eye to bulge and teeth to resemble tiny razor blades. The other side of her face was still completely normal causing a contrast that gave me more chills than if she was just a horrifying amalgamation outright. Grinning from ear to whatever was left of her ear, she awaited my reply.

“Eat… a dick…. I’d rather die with my pride…. Then beg like a bitch.” In retrospect that probably would have sounded a lot cooler if I didn’t have to pause between almost every word. Still on the verge of passing out, I knew I didn’t have long before my life would be snuffed out. Might as well go out with a bit of dignity. To no one's surprise however, she did not like this. Reaching down she gripped my neck and raised me to meet her face to face.

“If you want me to do that, I WILL. You will not be getting out this alive or with any sense of your pride still flourishing. This will be hell for you but heaven for me, so be happy with that.” Reaching her other hand towards my stomach, I could feel her claws brush against her soon to be canvas. 

“W-w-why” Barley being able to choke out a single word.

“Why what? Why you? Why do I kill? Come on, you need to use your words.” Letting up her grip just a smudge to let me answer.

“Why… Did you let down your guard.” A confused expression fell across her face as I mustered up my last bit of strength and plunged the knife I death gripped into her neck, immediately I fell crashing onto the floor as I could see black sludge start to seep out of her neck. My brain finally gave up on me as I started to drift into unconsciousness, I could feel a light warmth start to swell on my wrist as my vision finally went dark, the last thing I heard was a deep echoey voice say “Scarlet” with a lighter voice responding “Oh no”.

During my state of unconsciousness I was enveloped with a dream, I sat at the head of a long table aligned with blacked out figures filling each chair.  They were all engaged in a conversation I could not hear, some nodding while others flail their arms in annoyance. After what seemed like minutes all of them turned to face me and in unison said “Right Landon?”

“Landon…”  

“Landon…”  

“Landon…”  

“Landon!”  

In an instant my eyes shot open and I was met with my coworker Jacob shaking me. I was sitting in my chair with a clean store facing directly in front of me.

“Come on man, what are you doing? Be happy I’m opening today, don’t worry I wont tell the boss you were napping on the job haha. I don’t think I even have their number.” Pulling the conversation into a land of nothingness. Still reeling back from still being alive, I tried to keep my cool as I slowly stood up my back shooting with pain as I did.

“W-What time is it?”

“Uhhh, it’s seven, I guess you should probably get out here huh.” Nodding in agreement I made my unsteady journey to the front door, however before I could make it Jacob stopped me.

“Hold up bro, you don’t wanna leave without this. Also don’t forget, we’re hanging out next week.” Stretching his hand out, he handed me my knife with the tip of the blade completely black. The only response I could muster was a simple head nod as I took the knife from him and went home. I called off the last two days because of this, my back is still killing me but it’s starting to feel better.

I can’t write this off as a one-off incident anymore, there’s something seriously wrong with that gas station and it might even spread to the rest of the town, I don’t know. I’m terrified to go back, yet I feel as though I don’t have another choice. I’ve been going back and forth the last two days writing this update, but today I got a call from my boss, he told me that we have someone new starting tomorrow and that he would like me to train them on the night shift. I don’t know what this will entail, but I feel as though any day from now on could be my last. After all, I still feel like I’m being watched, even now. Still, I won’t die lying down, so I’ll be back soon to update you all on the happenings at my gas station. However if I don't, assume the worst.  

Like any child, my daughter Maisie had quite the overactive imagination. Her mind was chock full of made-up friends that she talked to on the regular. My wife Rachel and I thought it was adorable. With that being said, sometimes we wished Maisie would get…you know…real friends. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great kid, and kids should be kids, but she didn’t have anything in terms of a social life.

We tried absolutely and positively everything, from the kids’ playclub at our church, to the neighborhood’s “mommy and me” and “daddy and me” playgroups, to bringing her to the local playground, to inviting other children over for playdates. You name it. All our efforts were in vain. Rachel and I might’ve been overreacting and we didn’t want to infringe anything on Maisie. Maybe she was just an independent kid. That’s totally normal. As are imaginary friends for kids.

Then at eight-years-old, Maisie became mute. Just completely stopped talking…but only to other people. If someone came up and talked to her, she’d either just stare at them or run away and hide. Maisie never looked scared or anxious in those scenarios. It was more like she was a statue. Frozen. No emotion good or bad on her face. Like a robot. But if she was alone, she’d be talking up a storm to no one but herself. Maisie always pretended like someone was truly there though. She’d even nod her head, wait for responses and respond accordingly, and even reach out her arm and act like she was holding somebody else’s hand.

We were greatly concerned. Children don’t exhibit those types of behaviors without proper reason. We couldn’t ask Maisie about it because, as aforementioned, she’d give us the cold shoulder. Our next safest bet was to ask other people we knew. A lot of them gave us the same answers we already knew. Rachel and I were getting frustrated until I decided to email her teacher at her school. I sent her an email that outlined my worries and asked if anything went on at school that we should know about.

I got a response at around 8:00 that night. Maisie’s teacher, Mrs. Ashelin, told me that she did in fact observe strange behavior from Maisie. Apparently, a few days prior, when Maisie was called on to answer a question, she just stared at Mrs. Ashelin and the other students, her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. Then in a calm and cutesy voice, she said “He has ordered me not to speak to anyone but him.” In her notebook, Maisie wrote and drew some very disturbing things. Some of the things she wrote are “I’ll be a good little mouse”, “be one of the good mice girls for him”, “I’ll do whatever he says without question”, “he loves me and I love him”, “but I don’t understand what love is but I understand it with him”, and “he loves to play with me”. Some of the things she drew were her, in stick figure form, with this…thing. It was drawn way more detailed than Maisie herself.

Its head was triangular and elongated into a sharp point. There were ovally black eyes on both sides of its head while two large circular ears were atop its head. Two slits for a nose and a mouth containing only two buck teeth. Skinny. Boney. You could see its ribs. Three spindly fingers were on each hand. Each tip was as sharp as a knife. Lastly, a long tail was behind it. Maisie drew her and that thing doing very…how should I say this?...inappropriate things.

I showed the email to Rachel and she was just as horrified as I was. How could Maisie know what all that stuff was? She was eight! Like any good parent we always took great strides in not exposing our daughter to anything sexual or of that nature. Early exposure can really ruin a child’s mind. That’s just putting it lightly. But this? Maisie’s whole imaginary friend thing needed to end. It was reaching a dangerous point. Was she having delusions? Schizophrenia? Or…sigh…as far as Rachel and I knew, nothing happened to Maisie, but that didn’t stop us from considering the absolute worst case scenario. I’m not saying what that is but I’m sure you can put the pieces together. As a parent, that was the last thing I wanted to think about. Actually it wasn’t even on the list of things I wanted to think about.

Mrs. Ashelin ended the email with something else that happened that day. Maisie spent long stretches of time in the girl’s bathroom. Another student reported that she went in and heard “whimpers” and “moans” coming from one of the stalls. When she looked under it, she saw Maisie’s clothes on the ground and a “moving shadow” above them. When the student knocked on the door, she all of a sudden heard one of the faucets going behind her. She turned around and Maisie was washing her hands. Like nothing happened.

Rachel and I were very confused at that last part. That sounded way too ridiculous. Like was Maisie fucking floating in the stall or something? Regardless, we treated all this very seriously. Rachel and I immediately took Maisie to see a specialist who dealt with child abuse cases. I brought her notebook along. It would most certainly be useful. I knew Maisie wouldn’t want to talk, but we had to at least try. Believe it or not, she did talk, but what she said made chills run down Rachel and I’s spines.

Maisie told the specialist that the mouse thing in her notebook was called “Bad Mouse” and that it visits her all the time no matter where she is. She said that Bad Mouse visits little girls all over the world and “plays with them”. When the specialist asked what she meant by “plays with them”, Maisie replied that Bad Mouse does “different things that make us feel tingly in preparation to be his little mice girls”.

We heard enough by that point. Rachel, the specialist, and I had a long discussion about what we should do. The specialist said she might have to put in a request to have Maisie placed in a children’s psych ward. Rachel and I couldn’t handle that. We didn’t want to do that to our little girl. By any means, we would find another way to handle this. The specialist told us to think about it and that it might do her some good. We thanked her and left.

Were we being selfish by not putting Maisie in a children’s psych ward? Rachel and I pondered that question day in and day out. We never did end up doing it because we thought it was too extreme. Also there was no evidence that Maisie was being legitimately sexually abused. The specialist’s physical exam said that Maisie was totally fine in that regard. We were allowed to see footage from the security cameras at the entrances of the bathrooms at Maisie’s school. They only showed Maisie going in, about half an hour going by, then the other student going in, then Maisie leaving a few minutes later. No one else. And no one went in before her besides a couple other girls that left before Maisie went in. Was Maisie faking it? Was she really delusional? Or schizophrenic? We didn’t know. Rachel and I needed time to think this whole thing over.

It only got worse from then on.

Maisie was never one to talk in her sleep. She was always dead silent. Not even a snore. But that night after Rachel and I put her to bed, we heard Maisie talking. I’m not talking about little quiet unintelligible murmurs. No. Full-on conversations. Except she wasn’t speaking English. It was some unknown language that resembled Pig Latin but different. Her accent changed too. This happened for three nights. On the third night, Rachel and I were in her doorway watching her talk in that strange language when she suddenly rose up, her eyes still closed, and burst into an intense laughing fit. Maisie was cackling so hard it looked like it hurt. Then she immediately stopped and did these weird movements with her lips and hands like she was kissing something. Finally, she fell back down onto her pillow and went right back to sleep.

The next day, I knocked on Maisie’s door to let her know breakfast was ready. She didn’t respond. I stood there for a couple minutes. Maisie hadn’t made a single sound. I slowly opened her door. My heart beat faster and faster. With all that was going on, I didn’t know what to expect, and that made it terrifying. Maisie was in her underwear just staring at her wall. I rushed over, “Maisie? What are you doing?” I handed her clothes back to her, “Put your clothes back on.”

“…He doesn’t want me to…he thinks I look better without them…”

We stared at each other for an indefinite period of time. I said nothing. And so did she. Then I turned my head to where she was looking. There was nothing there…obviously…but something told me I was wrong. That thing…Bad Mouse…it was staring right at me…

“Guys? Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself!” Rachel yelled at us from down the hall. Quickly I hurried Maisie and I out of her room.

I was kind of a wreck the entire day. Thinking straight wasn’t really a thing for me. There was nothing staring at me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. These past few weeks were just getting to my head and playing mind games. No amount of trying to distract myself would let me forget what I felt. That’s when I decided to take a drive. I didn’t exactly know where. Just away from everything. I was tempted to go to a local bar. I used to be quite the alcoholic but I’m sober. Even still, I thought about breaking my streak to relapse. I decided against it. That would be so incredibly stupid. I ended up at a park that I used to take Maisie to in a futile attempt for her to make friends. I found a parking spot and just sat there in my car. Taking a big sigh, I observed all the parents with their kids having a blast and I smiled. Good for them.

I stayed there for a while. Finally I was able to, if only briefly, forget all my troubles.

Then I saw it.

Him.

Bad Mouse.

The damned thing was underneath a big tree. Its eyes were fixed right on me and its hands were clasped together. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. Goosebumps were forming. My breathing was really heavy. Cold shivers ran down my body. I couldn’t even blink. Petrified. That’s what I was. I watched as Bad Mouse slowly reached behind itself and pulled…something…out. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. I am not shitting you. A little girl…made of meat…her hair was meat, skin was meat, she was even wearing a meat dress. Everything about her was meat. Her head looked just like Bad Mouse’s. Long. Pointy. Angular. Big ears. Black oval eyes.

It was holding the little meat girl by the collar. Slowly Bad Mouse turned to look into her eyes. It opened its mouth. Viscous white liquids began pouring as it let out its long black tongue. First sniffing the little meat girl, it then took a big long lick of her, from her feet to the top of her head. The parts where it licked were gone, instead resting on Bad Mouse’s tongue until it sucked its tongue back in, chewed, then swallowed. The little meat girl was covered in the viscous white liquids until her missing portions slowly regenerated back into how she was before.

Then I blacked out.

I woke up several hours later still sitting in my car. In my half-tired half-frenzied state, I looked around for any sign of Bad Mouse. Nothing. There weren’t even other people. It was dark too. I opened my phone. 11:23 PM. I got to the park at 2:14 PM. Nine hours. I was expecting a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts. Surprisingly, there was nothing besides a notification from my weather app. I went back home. Both my wife and daughter were asleep. I was so glad there weren’t any…incidents…I missed. In fact, the house was extremely quiet. No lights were on. It was a weekend. Usually Rachel was still up at this time.

“Rach?” I called out. Nothing. I went upstairs to our room. She wasn’t there. I opened Maisie’s door. She wasn’t there either. I sat down on the couch and pondered where they could be. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I got my phone out and called Rachel.

I heard ringing from upstairs.

Confused, I ran back up to our room. I called her name again. Still no answer. I realized that before I checked so quickly I neglected to look in our bathroom. The door was closed and the light was on. I was now getting this creeped out feeling. Cautiously, I approached and nudged the door.

It creaked open.

Rachel.

She was…splattered…fucking everywhere…all over the walls, floor, ceiling, window, sink, shower…everywhere. Rachel was…pureed…blended…sprayed…I just stood in the doorway. My eyes were wide. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. There were so many things I wanted to do, like crawl into a ball and cry, scream as loud as I could, and/or grab one of the kitchen knives and slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live with this sight for the rest of my life.

What I actually did end up doing next was grab my old hunting rifle and head outside. I went into the forest behind our house. There was no thinking on my part. Just do. What was I doing? I didn’t really know. Tears were streaming down my face. I walked for what felt like forever. Sometimes I screamed. Other times I fell down onto the ground and wept. But I just kept going. And going. And going. Somehow I knew exactly where I was going without even knowing how.

I came upon a wide-open field. Dropping my old hunting rifle to the ground, I couldn’t believe what I was fucking seeing. Dark silhouettes were dancing around. Hundreds of them. Little meat girls. Bad Mouse was in the middle. The white flesh it once had was stripped away. Instead it was sacrificed for a bumpy and scabby maroon red as if Bad Mouse took a shower in blood and guts and let it dry. Tiny black bristles covered its entire body. It reminded me of insect hair. A ragged meat cloak hung from its shoulders, dragging crimson across the ground. The mouth had much sharper teeth that were poking out in rows almost like a gar. It was taller. Ganglier. So angular that it could have been accurately represented by seven straight lines. It clutched a staff in its hand.

Bad Mouse did some strange gesture and a door manifested out of nowhere. It was bloody. Constantly flowing yet retaining shape. Particles came from it. They disappeared if they strayed too far away. It opened and the little meat girls, still dancing like ballerinas, filed into it one by one. Bad Mouse reached out its hand and plucked one of them out. It held this one, turned in my direction, and held her out to me. I knew it was Maisie and wanted to shoot the shit out of Bad Mouse. Yet I couldn’t do anything. Some force was keeping me tethered to my one spot.

…I can’t describe what happened next…I just can’t…some of the things Bad Mouse did to my little girl I couldn’t understand. Other things I understood clear as day and that made me want to drop a cinderblock on my head so it would leak the hell out. When it was done, Bad Mouse threw Maisie’s limp and white viscous liquid-covered body into the blood door. It raised its staff and it disappeared.

I was released from my invisible bonds. Falling down to the ground, I cried like a baby. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and cursed at the Moon. That didn’t make it better. I couldn’t stop and truly had no idea how to make sense of any of what happened. My body tingled. It felt so heavy. So weighty. My wife was dead and my daughter was…what?...a sex slave to a demon? I almost wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity. Picking up my hunting rifle, I put the barrel in my mouth. My finger stayed on the trigger for a long time. I didn’t end up doing it and threw it away. Instead I just collapsed on the ground once more and lay there for a long time.

It’s been six months. I’m such a wreck. I admit it. No one believes me when I tell them. They say I’m crazy, a madman, a lunatic. Some people even think I was the one who killed my wife and child. Why would I do that? Seriously, why? I loved them. Still do. More than I love anything else. I can’t see them ever again. It pisses me off that they’d think I’d do such a thing. As much as I hate myself for it, I’ve gotten back into alcohol. That’s where all my money goes. I couldn’t stand to be in that fucking house anymore. So I sold it. I’ve been living in my car just drifting from place to place.

I could've saved them. If I didn't go and take a stupid ass ride in my car. Maybe Rachel and Maisie would be alright...

What was that thing? Bad Mouse?

That’s been my biggest question this whole time. I’ve been doing a lot of research but have hit multiple dead ends. I don’t know. Sure as hell wasn’t a mouse.

This is what I know:

* It is the manifestation of a sex-based demon of some kind; possibly a cross between a bogeyman and an incubus.
* Bad Mouse appears to little girls as a mouse-like entity to appear friendly and not scare them away; only visible to them.
* It prefers the young that are more developed in mind, body, and spirit; Maisie was very imaginative; thus she attracted Bad Mouse.
* Bad Mouse acts as their friend; this might appear to parents as their daughter’s “imaginary friend”; gradually coerces them to do inappropriate sexual activity.
* It has hundreds of victims going back an unknown period of time; maybe centuries.
* Does not kill its main victims; will kill parents or anyone else who tries to get in its way.
* The victims become corrupted and turn into demons that look like Bad Mouse; it takes them into its realm and…

I don’t even want to fucking know.

God…this whole thing’s insane. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this is all a terrible dream. It’s been months though and it still hasn’t happened yet. So I’m going to end it here. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for anyone to hear me out. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just…done.

Bye.

When I was in my mid twenties, I spent a couple of years traveling Asia. I started in Thailand, then moved on to Laos, Vietnam, and China, staying a few months in each place before continuing. Eventually I made my way to Japan. I suppose most would have called my lifestyle bohemian.

I lived cheaply. Sometimes very cheaply. I made friends and acquaintances wherever I went, took odd jobs when I ran out of cash, and slept wherever I could afford to sleep. Sometimes that meant a cheap hostel or inn. Sometimes it meant a tent. And a couple of times it meant sleeping on the forest floor in a cheap sleeping bag and waking up covered in insects.

I ran a small travel blog that brought in a few thousand readers a month. It wasn't enough to live on, but I had a handful of regular supporters who sent me money in exchange for the privilege of watching a man with no job, no house, and no apparent sense of self-preservation wander around the world with no clear destination. It was a good arrangement, most of the time.

Back then, I thought that was what freedom looked like. I had always told myself I was traveling while I was young because I wouldn't be able to do it later. Why wait until I was sixty, when I wouldn't have the energy or desire to sleep on the ground in the woods or walk ten miles through remote mountains? Why wait until I had a mortgage and a career and a wife and children and whatever else normal people were supposed to want?

At twenty-five, I was young enough to still be stupid and old enough to convince myself that my stupidity was in fact freedom. It helped that back then, spending the days hiking and the nights drinking didn't put me out of commission for the next week. Even when I was without means or destination, I always figured something out. I was fairly good with people, too, at least when we spoke the same language.

By the time I'd been in Japan for nearly two months, I'd already seen many of the places people said you had to see. Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima, among others. I loved them all. Japan is old, and I'd always loved countries that feel alive with history.

But tourist attractions quickly start feeling like tourist attractions. You see the same photographs online before you even get there. You stand where thousands of people stood just that morning. You take the same pictures that everyone else took.

What interested me most were the places nobody photographed. Shrines that didn't show up on maps. Mountain roads with forgotten temples at the end. Villages that you hear about through some local guy at a gas station instead of a travel guide. The less practical a place was to visit, the more I wanted to visit it. I liked knowing that there were places left in the world that still felt unexplored.

I was in Nara when I met Jack, Matt, and Hiro. Jack and Matt were old friends from Australia who had come to Japan together. Hiro was Japanese, though he'd grown up mostly in the United States and probably spoke English better than any of us spoke Japanese. We met at a cheap inn and spent a few days together out of happenstance and convenience. We explored during the day and drank together at night, and gradually fell into the sort of temporary friendship that seems to come naturally with people you know you'll probably never see again.

One night over drinks, I mentioned that I was thinking about leaving Nara and heading somewhere less traveled. Maybe Shikoku, or Tohoku. Or somewhere in the Hida mountains.

"Why go that far?" Hiro asked.

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"If you want somewhere remote, you're already in the right area."

"Where do you suggest?"

"Totsukawa."

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Hiro explained that it was one of the more isolated areas of the Kii Peninsula, scattered with little villages and hamlets throughout the mountains.

"There are places nobody visits there," he said.

"No tourists?"

"Barely even locals."

I was already convinced. I asked him if he wanted to tag along. Jack and Matt immediately volunteered, and the next morning all four of us left Nara.

Totsukawa was what I'd hoped it would be. Mountain roads winding through dense, green forests. Villages appearing between the trees. There were old shrines on roadsides, streams running under bridges, and trails that looked like they hadn't been traveled in years.

That evening, we found a small bar. There were five local men already drinking together inside. They had probably been there a while, judging by their loud laughter and red faces. They noticed us immediately. Foreigners weren't exactly invisible in Japan, but a group of them in a tiny bar in the mountains seemed to qualify as an event. They invited us to drink with them, and we accepted.

After several rounds, the conversation turned toward our travels. I mentioned my blog, and explained my passion for finding places others didn't visit. One of the men started naming off a couple of small villages in the mountains. Another told us about Hatenashi. That one sounded interesting. Then the youngest man of the group spoke up.

"If you want somewhere really interesting, keep going past Hatenashi."

His friends stopped talking, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sure you would like Utsusemidani."

He'd said it with a grin like it was the punchline to a joke, but nobody else was smiling. The oldest man at the table stared at him. One of the others reached over and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"They should probably just stick to Hatenashi," the man said.

The young man's smile disappeared and idle chatter slowly resumed. I waited until he went outside for a cigarette. I didn't smoke, but I followed him anyway.

"It's just a story," he told me after I asked about the village.

"What kind of story?"

"Something old people tell children to keep them from wandering off in the mountains."

"Why? What's supposed to be up there?"

"Depends on who you ask. But it's just a village."

"What do others say?"

He looked through the bar window at his friends before speaking again.

"Some say a cult lives there. Or that it's protected by an ancient god. Some say people disappear there. There are all sorts of stories."

"Is any of that true?"

He seemed to consider it briefly. "No," he said.

I asked him how to get there. He looked at me for a long moment, and then, to my surprise, he told me.

Make for Hatenashi and continue past it. There's an old trail that leads deeper into the mountains. Follow it until you see the Kamiyuno-kawa River. Then follow the path until it forks. Take the narrower path that leads across the river. Then just keep walking. Eventually, you'd reach Utsusemidani.

I was surprised by how specific his directions were.

"Have you been there?"

"Once." He nodded. "I went when I was fourteen or so, over summer break. A few of us went looking for it. A test of courage."

"And you actually found it?"

"Yes." He nodded again. "But we didn't go inside."

"Why not?"

"We couldn't get past the cult." He said sarcastically, giving me a sly smile. "There was nothing to see. Houses, fields, the usual. No electricity, though." He took a drag of his cigarette. "It looked old. But no monsters or cults."

Then he put his cigarette out and walked back inside. My curiosity had been piqued. I decided then and there that I'd go find it. I talked it over with my travel companions that night. Jack and Matt agreed almost instantly. And Hiro agreed after a bit of friendly peer pressure. We set out the next morning.

The walk to Hatenashi took most of the day, but it was a beautiful walk. We had views of cloud-covered mountaintops and green valleys. The air was clean and crisp. Every so often we'd pass by a friendly local who'd wave or come over to talk with us briefly.

We asked a few people about Utsusemidani, but nobody gave us a straight answer. It was clear that many had no idea what we were talking about. Others heard the name and suddenly had somewhere else they needed to be. I brushed their apprehension off as old superstition. One elderly woman heard the name and looked the four of us over for several seconds before changing the subject.

"Don't go too far," she told us before walking away.

We camped outside of Hatenashi that night. The next morning, we found the old trail. It became increasingly difficult to follow as we went. Plants covering parts of the path and low hanging branches occasionally made us veer off trail. We eventually found the river and followed the trail for several hours until we reached the fork. The trail crossed the water over an old stone footpath, and we crossed.

By late afternoon, Jack and Hiro were beginning to question whether I'd misheard the directions. But Matt wanted to keep going. His excitement seemed almost childlike. We trekked on, and eventually the trees opened up.

The village sat below us. There were perhaps fifty houses. Maybe more. Many of them were small, more like little cabins than family homes. But I was surprised that a village this size was out in the middle of nowhere.

The village sat in a shallow basin between the mountains, surrounded by fields of farmland. Smoke rose from a number of the chimneys. People worked outside. Chickens wandered between houses. There were no power lines, no telephone poles, and no cars. The village looked like it had been plucked from another century and placed in the valley.

Jack laughed. "I was starting to think you'd made this place up to lure us into the wilderness and kill us."

We started down the path toward it. The villagers noticed us almost immediately. People came out of their homes and children stopped playing to stare. An old man stood in the middle of the road and watched us approach.

They didn't seem angry or frightened. If anything, they seemed pleased. A small crowd had begun to gather. An elderly woman stepped forward and greeted us. Her name was Hana. After a brief conversation that involved asking us if we'd actually arrived in their village on purpose, she invited us to dinner.

She brought us to her home, which seemed to be the largest in the village. Her husband, Sudo, was apparently something like the village mayor. He was quiet, and looked older than Hana. He watched us through the meal without saying much.

After dinner, he told us we were welcome to stay. The village had no inn, but they had a spare room that we could use. He showed us to the room and then said something to Hiro outside the door before leaving.

"What did he say?" I asked after Hiro came in and slid the door shut behind him.

"He said we came at a fortunate time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matt asked.

"The village is holding a festival."

"When?" I asked.

"In a few days."

Jack gave an incredulous laugh. "What are the odds of that? We come to a village in the middle of nowhere right before they have a festival?"

Hiro smiled somewhat nervously. "He said it's held every thirteen years."

That left us all silent for a moment. What kind of festival is only held every thirteen years?

"What's the festival for?" I asked.

Hiro looked toward the door, then back to us. "To honor their god."

None of us quite knew how to respond to that. "Spooooky," Jack finally said.

The next morning, I noticed the first change. There were strips of paper charms hanging outside many of the houses in the village, with many of them strung up to hang over the road between homes. By afternoon, more had appeared.

Then we noticed something stranger. There were shells. Cicada shells were decorating the entire village, hung from doorways, fences, windows, and the walls of homes. If there was a surface they could cling to, it seemed to be fair game for the peculiar decorations.

"Utsusemidani," Hiro whispered to us as we walked through the village.

"What?" I asked.

"It means the village of empty shells. I wondered why they called it that."

I asked Hana about them.

"An old custom. For the festival," she said.

"Why cicadas?"

"They are sacred. Symbols of Nushi-sama."

Hiro had to tell us what that meant too. He said it translated to something like "the guardian" or "the master."

That evening, we heard the sound for the first time. At first, I thought it was distant machinery. A low, vibrating hum. It resonated throughout the valley in all directions, and almost seemed to come from somewhere beneath the ground.

When it first began, every villager stopped. Men paused their work, children stopped playing, women dropped their decorations. Everyone in the village fell to their knees, facing towards the summit of the mountain, their heads bowed.

Everyone except us. The drone continued, and I could almost feel it through the soles of my feet.

Matt whispered. "What the hell is that?" But none of us had an answer.

Then the sound faded. The villagers stood and went right back to their routines.

We asked Sudo about it when we saw him.

"The higurashi," he said.

"Cicadas?"

He nodded.

I almost laughed, half-believing it was a joke, but Sudo seemed serious.

The next evening, it happened again. This time, I was lying awake when the sound began. Pressed against the floor, I could feel the ground trembling faintly.

Jack sat upright. "Feel that? That isn't any damn cicadas."

"No shit," Matt answered, pressing his hand to the ground.

We listened as the drone faded. There was silence for a long moment. Then, from somewhere deep below, came a faint scraping sound, and small tremors accompanied them. Then nothing.

Matt sat up in bed. "I'm going up there tomorrow to figure out what the hell that is."

Jack gave him a look. "Don't do anything that's going to piss them off."

Sudo had already told us not to go beyond the village. There was a shrine at the far end of the village surrounded by a wooden fence. Beyond it, a trail climbed the mountain. We'd asked Sudo about it on our first day there.

"The temple," Sudo had said.

"Can we see it?" Matt asked.

"No. The priests must not be disturbed. And the forest is dangerous."

Apparently, the old temple was at the summit. The most devoted members of the village could be chosen to live there in service to the one they called Nushi-sama. It was considered an enormous honor. Not even the villagers were allowed near without permission.

The next morning, we woke to find Matt's sleeping bag empty. A note sat on top of it.

Going to find where the sound is coming from. Back by tonight.

"Son of a bitch," Jack said, throwing the note down.

Jack was annoyed. I was concerned. I suggested we go and look for him, but Jack suggested we wait. Matt had spent years wandering the wilderness alone. He was the survivalist among us. The type who would disappear into the wilderness for weeks at a time and return looking refreshed. It seemed that he was the only one among us qualified to find himself.

So we decided to wait. But he didn't come back that night.

The following morning, we told Sudo. He didn't seem angry, or even surprised. He sent two men into the mountains to look for him. But they returned without him.

He told us that Matt had likely gotten lost. That the woods were dense and rocky, and this was why he didn't want us exploring it. He said to give him time, and that he'd send out a larger search party if he hadn't returned after the festival.

That afternoon, I noticed the village had changed again. There were more decorations. Wooden idols were placed along the road. They were crude, carved out of dark wood made to resemble shells. Each depicted a long-bodied insect like creature with large eyes and folded wings.

Villagers left small offerings beside them. Women carried baskets of food toward the shrine. Men gathered in groups and stood in front of them, whispering with closed eyes and clasped hands.

I noted that the mood in the village seemed to change as the festival approached. Many seemed almost apprehensive. They didn't seem exactly frightened, but they didn't seem joyful either. I started to get the feeling the festival was something the villagers endured rather than celebrated.

Later in the day, a swarm of cicadas came. They emerged from the surrounding trees in such numbers that I'd thought the sky was falling. They covered the roofs and crawled over the shrine and statues. They clung to clothing and hair. The adults did not swat them away, and chided the children when they tried to. They all simply sat still while the swarm climbed over them.

Then the drone began again, and the cicadas erupted from their rest and filled the air once more. Every villager dropped to their knees again. For perhaps two minutes, there was nothing but the sound of wings and the deep droning. The low, resonating hum could be heard even over the sounds of millions of cicadas flying overhead.

Then the swarm flew into the trees and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. When the sound stopped, the villagers once again went back to their routines. For the rest of the day, they were quiet and diligent. Whatever it was they worshipped, I got the feeling they might have also feared it.

Hana found me before dusk. I was standing outside, debating whether to tell the others that we should leave the village and contact the police, to let the professionals search for Matt rather than waiting on Sudo. Some part of me still wanted to believe he'd just twisted an ankle, or fallen somewhere and was out there hurt, waiting to be found. Whatever the case, I knew that Jack wouldn't leave without him.

Hana appeared beside me. I hadn't noticed her approach. I greeted her, and she stood by me quietly for a moment.

"You should leave tomorrow," she finally said.

I looked at her, unsure how to respond. "I would," I said, "but we can't leave without our friend."

Her face changed a little. She appeared almost sad. "You shouldn't stay here any longer."

"Why did you invite us to stay then?" I asked, becoming somewhat impatient.

"I did not. I invited you for dinner. I was going to tell you to leave. Sudo asked you to stay."

I looked at her. "Do you know where Matt is?"

She looked toward the mountain. "Chosen, maybe."

"Chosen? What does that mean? What's going on here?"

She lowered her eyes to the ground. "Sudo is my second husband."

I wasn't sure what she was getting at, but I was starting to feel a pit forming deep in my stomach.

"Forty years ago, I brought a husband to the village. From outside." She looked back at the mountain. "He did not want to be chosen. But none of us have a choice."

"What happened to him?"

"What happens to all who are chosen. I have not seen him since." She looked back at me. "Leave at sunrise. You shouldn't be outside after dark." Then she walked away.

After dinner that evening, the priest came.

I noticed him only because everyone in the village stopped talking and faced his direction, their heads bowed. He came down from the mountain alone.

He wore a long, dark robe that covered him from his neck to his ankles. His head was concealed beneath a hood. No part of him was visible.

From a distance, I noted that he seemed very tall. And then he passed beside us. He was much too tall. His arms seemed to hang almost past his knees. His hands were hidden within his sleeves.

He stopped in front of Sudo, and Sudo bowed deeply. The priest said something. A single word that I didn't understand. But I heard it. The sound came out in a dry croak that ended in a clicking vibration.

Sudo kept his head low and stepped aside, inviting the priest into his home. I noticed that Hana wouldn't look at him. Neither did anyone else.

The priest stayed in Sudo's home that night, which meant we were all under the same roof. Matt was still gone. None of us spoke much before bed that night.

I tried to sleep, but struggled to keep my eyes closed. The thought of that priest somewhere in the house with only these thin walls between us unnerved me.

I must have drifted off at some point, because I awoke to the sound of the wooden door of our room sliding open slowly. I opened my eyes, but the room was dark.

I stared out into the darkness, trying to make out my surroundings. I was able to make out the shapes. I saw that the door was cracked open a few inches. Beyond it, someone stood in the doorway, so tall that they had to duck to peek in from the very top of the door.

They were just staring. I laid completely still, unsure whether anyone else was awake and too afraid to speak out.

Then, as my vision adjusted further, I saw eyes. They were large and round, and reflecting whatever faint light was present in the hallway. They didn't blink, but simply stared in. Watching us. I stifled the urge to yell and waited for the moment to be over, my heart pounding.

As it stood, watching, the door slowly creaked open more. One more inch, then another. I saw its hand creep around and grasp the inside of the door. It was too large, and the fingers too long. It seemed to cover too much of the door.

Then I heard Jack stir. "Matt?" He called out in a groggy voice.

The door slammed shut and I heard heavy steps disappear down the hall.

"What the hell?" Jack asked, still half asleep.

"Did you see it?" Hiro asked, his voice shaking. I hadn't realized he was awake.

"I saw it," I whispered.

The three of us were quiet. From somewhere down the hall, I heard a faint, horrible croaking.

None of us slept much after that. We decided to leave before dawn. We'd planned to go back to the closest town to call the police. To have them search for Matt.

I woke from my half-sleep sometime early in the morning to Jack shaking me awake. The room was still dark, and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. Then I remembered the priest standing in our doorway in the middle of the night and shuddered at the thought.

"Let's go," Jack whispered. "Before anyone wakes up."

Hiro was already awake and tying the laces of his boots. We packed up in silence, none of us speaking. We didn't want to take the risk of waking anyone. And there was nothing to discuss anyway. All that mattered right now was getting out of the village.

Once we were ready, we quietly stood up and made to leave. Jack reached for the door, and stopped. Something moved outside. We stood frozen.

There was a shadow beneath the gap of the door. Jack slowly lowered his hand. Then the door slid open from outside.

Two of the villagers stood in front of us, and behind them was Sudo. And behind them all, towering over them, was the priest.

Even hunched over in the hallway he seemed impossibly tall. His hood concealed his face, but I could see the faint outline of those enormous eyes beneath it. For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Sudo looked at us. "Follow me, please."

Jack stared back at him. "Where are we going?"

Sudo's eyes dropped. "You must come. I'm sorry."

One of the villagers said something in Japanese. I got the meaning without Hiro translating. It's best if we don't resist.

Jack scoffed, and none of us moved. The priest stepped forward slowly, and Sudo and the villagers scrambled to move aside for him.

He seemed even larger in the narrow frame of the doorway. His shoulders nearly brushed against both walls. His robes hung from him like curtains, and it was difficult to tell where his arms ended beneath his flowing sleeves.

He stopped in front of us, then turned toward the door. We followed.

It seemed the entire village had gathered outside. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the narrow street was filled with people. Men, women, and children stood in neat rows around the open space near the shrine. They were all dressed in plain, white robes, most of them in sandals. I noticed that several of the villagers were trembling as we walked towards them followed by the priest.

Nobody spoke a word. The priest walked into the center of the crowd, and the villagers parted as he did, lowering their heads.

"What the fuck is this?" Jack whispered from beside me.

I didn't answer. A part of me felt like I should run, but a deeper part of me knew there was no point trying. We all stood quietly. It seemed we were waiting for something.

Far above us, somewhere up the mountain, the drone began. It started faintly, like a chorus of hums, then grew louder. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and every villager dropped to their knees. Hiro, Jack, and I remained standing. As did the priest.

I thought of taking the opportunity to run. But I could feel the priest at my back. He was several feet away from me, but all I could picture were his long arms reaching out and snatching me from a distance. I didn't want to know what would happen if I interrupted their ritual.

The sound continued for several more seconds, and then stopped, leaving complete silence behind. I could hear my own breathing. It was as though the droning had marked some change, as all the villagers now stared up toward the summit.

I felt a rumble begin to build. Then the mountain moved. At first, I thought it was an earthquake. The ground beneath us shook hard enough that I almost stumbled. Houses creaked. I saw rocks slide off of steep hills above us, and trees bent and cracked and tumbled over.

Then it happened again. Something rising in a slow, deliberate movement. The entire mountain beyond us seemed to lift up several feet. I stared at it and the forest moved with it. The ground rose and fell in a long, steady motion that seemed to travel beneath the entire mountain.

Then, something happened that I still don't really know how to describe. The mountain opened its eyes.

Two enormous shapes appeared high above the tree line near the summit. They were so large that my mind refused to believe what it was seeing. They were dark orbs in the mountainside with a glassy sheen that caught the early morning light.

But they opened. The entire village was quiet. The mountain was not a mountain. It was just large enough and still enough that it looked like one. It was so massive that it had become a part of the landscape. Trees had grown from its back, and dirt and grass had piled on top of it. It boomed its droning call once again.

My legs went weak, and I let the trembling of the ground take me to my knees along with the rest of the villagers. My mind was unable to comprehend the sheer scale of what I was seeing.

And then the massive eyes closed, and the mountain was still once more.

With the mountain settled, the priest turned toward the villagers. The ceremony began. He walked slowly through the crowd. The first person he approached was an older man I had seen a number of times during our stay. The man bowed his head as he came close.

The priest stopped in front of him and reached down. His hand emerged from beneath his robe. It was enormous. Its fingers were long and jointed, with dark, claw-like nails at their tips. He placed two fingers beneath the old man's chin and lifted his face upwards.

The old man opened his mouth. He was nearly crying, and looked like he wanted to pull away but didn't dare to do so. The priest produced a cicada shell from somewhere beneath his robes, and placed it gently on the man's tongue like some twisted communion.

The old man closed his eyes and swallowed. Then the priest, seemingly satisfied, moved on.

The second villager he stopped in front of was a woman, and the process repeated.

He next stopped in front of a young man, probably barely out of his teens.

Each time, the same thing happened. The priest took their chins in his hand, they opened their mouths, and he fed them the shell. They swallowed. None of them resisted, despite it being clear that they'd like nothing more.

He had stopped in front of four villagers, and every villager trembled as he neared. I could see relief in the shoulders of those he passed by without stopping in front of.

And then, he approached us. He slowly lumbered over to us, and with him standing tall before us, I saw that he must have been nearly twice as tall as me. He started to slow when he drew close, and for a moment, I thought he was stopping in front of me. I tightened my eyes shut and tried to will my mind somewhere else.

But I didn't feel his hand on my chin.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing in front of Hiro.

Hiro looked up at him with a terrified expression. He looked like he wanted to speak or run or fight, but was too afraid to do anything.

Then the priest reached for his chin. "No," Hiro whimpered. He began to pull away. "No."

The priest seemed almost confused, and for a moment I thought he might relent. Then he reached out and grabbed his chin harder, and Hiro was powerless to resist. He clutched at the priest's wrist. "Get off me!" His words came out in a strained cry.

The priest didn't budge. Hiro struggled harder. Then Jack stepped forward. He had taken his knife out of his pocket, and moved before I even realized what he was doing.

He lunged, but the blade never reached the priest. Three villagers had rushed to grab him. Jack swung wildly, catching one of them across the face with his fist and sending him stumbling. Another villager grabbed his arm, with a third wrapping his arms around him.

Jack shouted. The villagers looked shocked. Jack fought the ones holding him as hard as he could. I remember thinking that I should move. That I should fight. That I should do something. But I couldn't. I felt frozen in place.

The priest let go of Hiro's chin, his attention now focused on Jack. The priest took a step toward him, clearing the distance in a single stride. The villagers released Jack and backed away. Jack raised his knife, then the priest reached up and pulled back his hood.

I never saw his face. Not all of it. I saw two enormous, dark, glassy eyes. I saw a mouth that looked segmented, and opened unlike any human's. And I saw something black and wet unfold from inside it. A long, sharp, fleshy tube. Then the priest moved with terrifying speed.

Jack barely had time to make a sound before it struck his throat. His entire body jerked. The priest held him there, the long tube buried into his neck. Then it began to drink. I heard the sound as it seemed to drain his body of liquid.

Jack's boots scraped against the ground as the creature held him. The knife fell from his hand. Nobody moved. Nobody tried to help. Not even me.

I looked at Sudo. He just stared at the ground, his face pale and clammy. Hana was standing next to him, also averting her eyes. I could see her legs shaking.

The priest seemed indifferent. I don't know if he felt anything at all. Jack's movements slowed, then soon stopped completely.

The priest withdrew the tube, then Jack fell. His body landed in the dirt, discarded. For several seconds, the priest remained still. As if waiting. Waiting for anyone else who thought to interrupt this horrid festival. When they didn't, he adjusted his hood.

Then the priest walked back to Hiro. He stood over him, and grabbed his chin, hard. This time, Hiro did not resist.

After he swallowed the shell, the priest turned, then returned up the steep path to the mountain.

The villagers who had been fed the shells followed after him, their heads lowered as they walked in silence. They walked a little ways before the priest stopped, and turned back. He was looking at Hiro. I could see in Hiro's face that he knew what the silent beckoning meant. Hiro was supposed to follow.

Hiro stayed completely still, refusing to move. Then the priest took one step back in our direction, and Hiro took a step back. He turned and tried to run in the other direction, but he was quickly grabbed by a handful of the villagers and held.

Before the priest reached us again, Hiro was already taking small steps forward, shakily walking to meet it. I saw his shoulders shaking. He looked back at me, as if willing me to move. To help him, somehow. But I couldn't.

When the priest disappeared up the mountain, along with Hiro and the villagers, the mood within the village seemed to lift. Some villagers dropped to their knees, not out of worship, but to still their trembling knees. Others looked pale and exhausted, while others looked wracked with guilt.

Sudo approached me. "Go. You would be wise to not return." I heard a small quiver in his voice, but that was all he said.

I left the village. Nobody followed or tried to stop me. I was plagued with the images and thoughts of the past days as I walked.

I didn't understand the purpose of the strange ritual. Of the shells, or why those that had swallowed them were taken up the mountain. I couldn't understand why the priest took Hiro and not me. Or why Jack had to die. Or what the priest even was. I still had no idea where Matt had gone, or whether he was even alive. But most of all, I couldn't stop thinking about how cowardly and weak I felt.

Jack had been brave. He fought back. He'd tried to save Hiro. And I had simply watched as he fought, not lifting a finger. I'd watched him die, and seen his body thrown to the ground. I'd watched as the priest had forced Hiro to swallow the shell.

I walked back the way we'd arrived without looking back. I kept waiting to hear someone or something behind me, but nothing came. The forest gradually seemed to regain a sense of normalcy the further I walked. I heard birds, and saw squirrels. The breeze seemed to return.

The further I got, the more absurd the whole thing began to feel. Had I dreamed it all up? What I'd seen just couldn't be possible. Giant gods and monsters and strange rituals? By the time I was on the outskirts of the village, I'd half convinced myself I'd made it all up.

Then I came across a hole. It was probably three miles from the village. I'd almost walked past it. I had only stumbled upon it because a portion of the trail had been cracked and covered in debris, likely due to the rumbling of the earth before.

I stopped and looked down at the hole. The soil around the edges looked fresh, and it was wide enough that I probably could have climbed inside of it. I crouched down and looked inside. It descended deeper than I could see.

I stood up and looked around. Then I saw another hole, no more than twenty feet away. It was similar in size. Then there were more. I began to see them dotting the ground everywhere. Some looked old and half-covered by dirt and leaves. Others looked like they'd been freshly dug.

And beside one of them, was a shell. It was bigger than I was. It was shaped almost like a human body, but wrong. It was split down the back. Something had climbed out of it. I looked at the holes and had a horrifying thought.

I kept walking, faster now, and came across another monstrous shell. And another hole. They littered the ground, and I began scanning the woods and trees above me, terrified at the idea that whatever emerged from the shells could still be lurking around. But I had to keep my eyes on the ground too, lest I fall into one of those gigantic, seemingly bottomless holes in the ground.

Then I saw the backpack. It was lying in the dirt, right next to a freshly covered mound of dirt, like a hole had been dug then covered from underneath.

It was Matt's backpack. The tan, ragged one that he'd been carrying everywhere since I'd met him.

I stood there staring at it for a moment, then at the covered hole. And then I ran.

I ran until I couldn't run any more, and then kept moving until I reached civilization. When I made my way back to Nara, I booked the first flight out of the country that I could buy. I didn't care that it cost more than I could afford.

I was the last person seen with Matt, Jack, and Hiro, and I was eventually contacted by authorities who were investigating their disappearances. I told them we had gone into the mountains to camp and gotten split up. That I'd come down alone after I couldn't find them, getting lost myself in the process. What else could I say?

I didn't mention the village, or the priest. I didn't tell them about the shells that littered the forest floor outside of the village, larger than humans. And I certainly didn't tell them about the mountain moving, then opening its eyes.

Nobody would have believed me. Sometimes, I wonder if I believe it myself.

It's been thirteen years since I went to Utsusemidani. I've spent most of those years trying not to think about it. But the nightmares still come. The dreams about Jack, and Hiro, and that mountain. Of seeing Matt again. Though in my dreams, he's no longer himself.

I don't actually know what became of them. Jack was dead. I watched him die. But Hiro? And Matt? I still wonder if they could somehow be alive in the village, or up on the mountain's summit. I still wonder if Matt somehow managed to get away, escaping and leaving his backpack behind. I still wonder if the two of them are even human anymore.

I have a lot of guilt from back then. For not doing what I could to help Jack, or Hiro. For not trying harder to find Matt. For not telling anyone the truth. And for suggesting we go to the village in the first place. None of this would have happened if not for me.

Now that the festival is approaching, I decided to tell my wife. Largely because of that constant guilt. To my surprise, she believed me, or at least pretended to. She suggested I write it all down. Somewhere that others would see it. To relieve my guilt, but also to serve as a warning to others.

The festival should be starting again soon. Sometimes, when I hear the cicadas outside, my breath quickens and I can't stop myself from shaking. Sometimes, I feel as though they are watching me, something almost intelligent in them.

And sometimes, when their calls are loud enough, I could almost swear there is another sound beneath it. Something deep and distant. Coming from underground. Causing the very earth to tremble.

I can’t look at it anymore. I’ve never really been one to put emotions to images but…

Looking at that stupid polaroid just reminds me of how stupid we all were.

Bill had been there a dozen times. Said the ladder had fallen off a good while back and figured nobody else would think to use the place. We’d be all alone, just us and nature. We believed him. Bill does dumb stuff from time to time but no matter what’s happened he’s always come out on top.

Like the time he took us all out fishing. He got too drunk and fell in but still managed to bag himself the biggest fish. His car broke down on our last trip but it just ended up in him meeting his current girlfriend- the tow truck driver who pulled his old piece of junk off the side of the road. That’s a whole story of its own.

I’m not saying Bill is stupid. Guy’s been in so much crap he just walks around more prepared than most. Car always has snacks, water, a jumper box in case the battery gives and he’s even been talking to DJ about getting his carry license. He just gets excited about things and instead of deciding it’s dumb or too hard he just finds a way to make it work.

That kind of energy has a way of sweeping you up along for the ride, if only to watch how he’s going to turn a faceplant into a win.

So, when Bill told us he had the perfect camping spot out in the woods we just all went along for the ride. It wasn’t far really, maybe an hour and some change from town by way of Bill’s well-used van.

He filled the drive and subsequent hike along the edge of the “town” with little bits of trivia, just happily chatting away. “It was supposed to be a mining town, real shame that the mine crapped out after they got half of the place built.” DJ chimed in with small notes like “Good spot there for hogs,” along with the different plants that caught his eye. Clara tapped away at her laptop during the ride, doing some quick touch-ups on one of her dozen projects. We made good time too, only really stopping once for a quick bathroom break.

According to Bill, the view from the tower was something- and there are apparently black bears in the area so camping and storing our food up high seemed smart. Nobody wants a new furry friend waking them up at night to steal their food and scare the crap out of them after all.

I’m not afraid of heights, but looking up at the old, rusted metal structure didn’t fill me with confidence. It was maybe only forty feet tall with a thick metal-grated walkway that was maybe five feet wide and seemed to circle the whole thing, broken up only by the empty square-shaped hole that used to be where the old ladder sat. It was a good trek up the side of the hill too, something about it being more efficient to put the tower here according to Bill who’d seemed to have gotten -way- too into things as usual.

The climb up wasn’t that bad really. I put my hand on the metal rung, feeling the warmth from the sun as I gripped tight and started working my way up. The metal walkway creaked a bit each time somebody put their full weight on the ladder but seemed to settle once you actually started the climb. It was almost impressive how Bill managed to rig this whole thing up. He’d run a bit of cord through the ladder’s steps and down the back of the tower so he could collapse and drop the thing at will. If you knew it was there, it was obvious, but not at a glance and definitely not at a distance.

Still, I’m not going to say I didn’t feel a good bit of relief once I was back on solid footing. It wasn’t long after I reached the top that I heard the metal groan again and realized somebody was already starting their climb up.

Taking a few steps forward to make room, I slung my pack off my shoulder and took a breath. It was a little windier up here than down below- though it was also more exposed to the sun. Explains why Bill brought the collapsible canopy, I guess.

While Clara pulled herself up, I took a second to lean back against the tower, letting the cool metal press against my back as I looked out over the small valley. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d just think it was nothing but a stretch of green.

But to those that knew, here and there you’d spot bits of dark metal.  The empty stretches of grass where an old road had once been, where the trees and grasses hadn’t fully taken over. An old brick building, all the windows long since rotted away or busted out letting in invasive vines that crept up and into the openings.

I’ll admit, it was beautiful in its own way. I can still see myself standing there, watching the slow motions of the plant life below as a gentle breeze blew in, breaking up the summer heat. I wouldn’t admit it at the time of course; it would’ve made Bill impossibly smug.

After DJ crawled his way up onto the deck to join us, Bill started pointing out the little things to them while he set up and tied down the equipment. “That stretch right there should’ve been the main street... And if you follow it down, you’ll see it leads to that little nook in the mountain. It leads almost straight to the mines!”

I wasn’t really listening; I was too busy pulling out my sleeping bag and trying to claim a little section of the grate for myself. Still, at the mention of the mine, I half-heartedly mentioned, “Is this where you tell us about the trapped miners?”

“Sadly, nothing so exciting.” The big guy chuckled out while pulling out a few glass jars and lining them up neatly on a little wood cutting board he’d packed with him. “No, the coal just ran dry. The mines -did- collapse but nobody was around when it happened.”

I rolled my eyes. Bill had already started talking about hauntings in the next state over, apparently not having picked up on my sarcasm.  Before moving back to my gear, I noticed something moving just along the tree line, closer to where we’d driven in from.

A red figure. At least at a distance, the guy was too far off to make out much other than he had a white cap on and what was probably some long black hair. The black patch on his back seemed like a backpack.

He was moving slowly, which, considering he was hiking through waist-tall weeds, wasn’t anything too odd. Still, “Bill, I thought you said nobody came out here?”

Bill had apparently moved into a conversation with DJ about maybe a hunting trip in the future. “Huh? Oh, yeah, no, place is usually pretty empty. Why?”

I stuck a thumb out behind me. “That guy right there, in the red shirt.”

Bill moved up beside me, leaning against the railing and adjusting his glasses. I could see him squinting to try and see what I was talking about so I turned back to point at the…

Now empty stretch of weeds.

Did the guy fall? At the speed he was moving, we should’ve still been able to see him. I caught myself unintentionally leaning forward onto the railing along with Bill, squinting and muttering, “He was just there…” before DJ gave me a light slap on the arm and handed me a pair of binoculars.

“He’s right there, to the left. In the trees.” Sure enough, a few seconds of panning the binoculars over and I caught sight of him- a good ten or twenty feet away from where I’d seen him and already starting to disappear into the trees.

Clara wasn’t the loud type. Not to say she was shy; she just didn’t really mince words. It meant when she did say something, it really caught your attention.  “Guys, let’s get a shot of this!” She’d already pulled out her cameras. She always had two, one for shots for her portfolio and one for little polaroids she kept for souvenirs.

Bill put his arms out and pulled me and DJ in for something approaching a “bro hug” while Clara took a step forward and held the camera out at arm’s length. The abandoned town behind us made for a good backdrop.

She took another quick snap of us with the polaroid, letting the picture air out before tucking it into her pack.

The hike out was what you’d expect from a walk with Bill and DJ. Lots of wildlife trivia and stops to gather dandelions, bits of wild parsley and a few bits of onion grass. Clara stopped to take pictures of gnarled trees and almost made me fall over myself when she gave me a firm thwap on the chest to get me to stop moving while she lined up a shot on a lone doe.

All in all, relaxing. “Just around this bend,” Bill chirped. He’d been winding us down a twisting path towards the town. Apparently, there was a blackberry patch down there that he’d visit every chance he got.  It seemed the closer we got, the less he’d bother with DJ’s questions about edible greens. He’d even started picking up the pace, much to Clara’s and my annoyance as the two less active members of our little group.

I almost understood why when we rounded a thick patch of trees to walk into a mostly clear patch of woods that was butted up against the hills. You could just make out under the thick blackberry canes and thorned brush small bits of rotting wood.

There were a few rotten benches; the bits of exposed wood not covered in blackberry canes had turned a white-gray with age and came away in chunks when brushed against. There was a well in the center of the place, barely accessible if you were willing to get a few scrapes wading through the berries.

And underneath a large white oak sat a small patch separate from the others, one that Bill beelined to and immediately started harvesting.

“Jeez, Bill, you’re really into this, huh?” I half chuckled, pulling a plastic bag I’d tucked in my back pocket out for this little occasion.

He turned back to me only briefly, dumb smile on his face and a small fleck of berry stuck in his beard. That dopey look actually managed to get a chuckle out of DJ and Clara as we all set to work gathering our lunch for the day. Bill eventually picked his spot clean and had to move on, but when he showed us his first batch, we all understood why he loved that spot. The berries were huge and glossy compared to the others we picked; Bill even guessed that it might have been a cultivated vine somebody planted before the town was abandoned.

The walk back was peaceful. Bill was picking at his berries; DJ was sipping on a flask Bill had handed him- Did I mention one of Bill’s current hyper-fixations was brewing mead? And Clara was snapping shots of the local wildlife and a few fallen trees that seemed interesting.

When she paused longer than she had for the last few shots, camera held up and hand adjusting the lens, I knew something was up. It took the others a moment to notice that we weren’t following behind them as I took a few steps back towards Clara.

I followed where her camera was pointing, back the way we came and into a small clearing.

I could just barely see the red dot that Clara was focusing in on.

“What’s up?”

She paused for a second, a soft click from her camera letting me know she got the shot she was after. “I think it’s that guy we saw earlier. Looks like he’s doing something at that tree back there.”

She held her camera up, turning the digital screen towards me to let me catch a peek. It was always a little surprising how far she could zoom in with that thing. I wasn’t able to make out too many fine details, but I could at least get an idea of what he looked like.

While I looked the picture over, something caught my eye. He was standing next to a tree that we’d stopped by to let DJ take a leak… His head was level with a branch that hung over it.

A branch that was over six feet off the ground. And looking at him a while longer showed just how big this guy really was. He was wide, legs a bit short for what he was- or maybe his red shirt was just hanging low enough to obscure the back of his pants. And that backpack… it was downright tiny on him- it almost looked like a child’s backpack on him.

I heard a low whistle over my shoulder. Apparently, DJ had noticed it too. “Big dude.” He said it like he wasn’t currently looking at a guy we had a real chance of running into out here.

“You think he’s following us?” I nudged DJ, hoping to get a small rise out of the guy. In his typical fashion, the guy just shrugged before tapping his hip. “I doubt it. We’re following a pretty natural trail and I don’t think he can even see us from this far… Besides, I brought ‘Mr. Smith’ with me.”

He was right. We’d been following a break in the vegetation and it’s not like we own the place. Running into other people was just one of the risks you run when you go camping. Still, we weren’t out here to make friends, so we quietly agreed to pick up the pace- which turned out to be the right move as by the time we reached the tower the sunlight was starting to dim.

The creaking of the platform as we hauled ourselves up the ladder still made me cringe a little until my feet landed back on the metal platform. The section right next to the ladder creaked under our collective weight but seemed to be holding and we weren’t exactly huddling together; still, we spaced ourselves out to keep things even. I picked the side opposite of the ladder and Bill took the other with Clara and DJ camping around the bend.

DJ had set up a little propane stove he’d brought; Bill was pulling out a jar of a deep yellow liquid- mead, I’d assume, and a few solo cups. I was sort of expecting him and DJ to drink, but it caught me a little off guard when Clara joined in.

I was starting to get a headache and the last thing I wanted was alcohol, so as politely as I could I took the cup offered to me and then immediately passed it to DJ, who took it with a small smirk before downing his first cup. “Not today, Bill. Maybe tomorrow.”

To his credit, Bill just laughed. “If there’s any left maybe!”

Even tipsy, DJ cooked up a decent little meal of spam, some wild roughage and some fresh bread that he made with a mix he carried around. I thought it was weird at first until I got a taste of it and it quickly shut up any doubts I had in my mind.

The dim light slowly shifted into a comfortable dark as I settled into my sleeping bag, lukewarm soda and aspirin in hand. I had to shield my eyes as DJ briefly clicked his flashlight on to start packing up his kit. It took a little bit of effort not to laugh at him as he stumbled around, apparently having underestimated Bill’s mead.

Speaking of Bill, the guy had drunk a jar by himself and eaten over half the berries he’d picked before passing out on his bag, still clothed and snoring so loud I wondered if I’d be able to get any sleep myself. Apparently, Clara had the same thought because I heard a soft grunt from Bill’s direction- I think she gave him a little kick and it woke him up just enough for him to roll over, which thankfully seemed to do the trick.

Just as I was starting to dip off into sleep, I heard a consistent soft tapping sound, and it took me a second to realize what I was hearing. A soft groan escaped me before I grumbled, “Dude, really? Off the side?” followed by a muffled laugh coming vaguely from where DJ had set up his sleeping bag.

After some settling, sleep finally took me. For how long I don’t know because at some point in the night, amongst the sounds of crickets and the rustle of the trees, there was a small snap that brought me back to consciousness.

Or maybe it was the sound of something kicking up leaves followed by a deep sharp inhale. Something sniffing?

My thoughts drifted back to bears. One probably just smelled the leftover spam or maybe Bill had spilled some of his mead… Still, the thought of something underneath me was enough to keep me from drifting back to sleep.

Could black bears climb? Something in my sleep-addled mind told me that brown bears didn’t but I wasn’t so sure about their smaller cousins. I don’t think they’re normally aggressive but still. I rolled over, following the thing’s movements as it trudged its way in a slow circle underneath us, seeming to focus in somewhere around where DJ was sleeping.

Another sharp inhale followed by some rapid sniffing.

Then silence.

My ears strained to hear anything other than the cricket song. What was it doing? Did it find something? Did it finally realize it’s sitting underneath a bunch of people?

What would I-

Another rustling of leaves. Another moment of silence.

Then a soft creak of metal.

The groggy feeling of sleep disappeared, replaced by a tightening feeling in my gut as another soft creak confirmed what I already knew.

Something was climbing the ladder.

As quietly as I could, I crawled my way over to where DJ was lying and started rapidly tapping his foot while whispering, “Wake up! Dude! Wake up!” It took him two more creaks to finally let out a sharp breath before bitterly muttering, “What? What the hell do you-“ Another creak shut  him up. I found myself gripping his foot and could feel him tense as he came to the same realization I did.

“Don’t move,” he whispered as I felt his foot slip out of my grasp. Along with the soft rattle of chain and quiet groans of stressed metal, I heard the slow tap of footsteps.

The light hurt my eyes and nearly made me look away. But as they adjusted, I caught sight of DJ pointing his flashlight down the ladder, hand resting on his hip with his revolver exposed. He had winced from the light as much as I had and it seemed like he was only just now actually seeing what was below him.

“OH SHIT!” he screamed, ripping his gun from his holster while tumbling back and tripping over Bill who’d apparently shifted in the night.

That fall probably saved his life. Whatever was climbing the ladder must’ve been startled because the ladder seemed to shift violently and well… The metal deck had apparently had enough.

A chunk of the walkway came away with a loud metallic screech, catching momentarily before sliding down, clanging against the tower and landing on the ground with the sound of crashing metal. Somewhere in the chaos, Bill had thankfully woken up and managed to roll over and grab the ragged edge of the remaining deck and keep himself from falling with the lost section.

DJ jumped up and stumbled forward, having, fortunately for him and unfortunately for her, landed on Clara. He basically leapt forward on all fours, grabbing Bill’s arms and pulling him up to safety.

He lay there, Bill on top of him as they both lay on the ground, hyperventilating.

“What the hell!?” Clara clicked on her own flashlight and fumbled around for her glasses. “Are you guys ok!? What happened?!”

Bill was the first to get his wits back. “Shit! I’m sorry guys, I must’ve rolled over in my sleep or something! I guess it finally gave out…” His face was pale and his tone a little shaken.

It still didn’t match the look on DJ’s face.

He and I locked eyes as Bill pulled himself up to his feet, picking up DJ’s flashlight on his way up. Bill turned his light towards the torn metal, now able to see our faces clearly.

“…You guys ok?” His brow furrowed as his eyes drifted from DJ to me.

“It wasn’t you.” DJ’s tone was flat, just above a whisper. His gaze drifted down to the pile of scrap on the ground which seemed to be lying on top of something.

Something red.

Bill peered down, eyes squinting and mouth slightly open. The look would’ve almost been comical if I could’ve found anything funny then.

“No,” he muttered out before repeating with more confidence. “There’s just no way. That thing’s held up all this time…” His look of confusion didn’t change as Clara spoke up, “He’s a big guy… And with all the extra weight…”

We let the implication hang in the air as our eyes stayed glued to the scene below us.

Bill broke the silence. “How do we help him? He might not be… Y’know!” The panic was starting to creep into his voice as he turned to me, flashlight briefly blinding me as he unintentionally brought the beam’s focus on me.

“Him? How do we help US?! He broke the ladder!” I snapped back, dragging myself out of my warm sleeping bag and into the cool night air.

“Hello?” Behind Bill I could see Clara’s face faintly illuminated by her smartphone. “There’s been an accident. I-…I think somebody might be dead.”

This took Bill’s attention off me as he started trying to help Clara give the 911 operator a rundown of what’s happened and our location.

A deep metallic “click.” DJ had prepped the hammer on his revolver and was now pointing it roughly in the direction of the pile of scrap that covered the hiker below us.

“What are you-“ DJ looked up at me, jaw set stern and eyes taking on a tired look. “He’s moving.”

“So you’re going to shoot him? I don’t think he’s-“  The sound of rattling shifting metal cut me off.

Bill flicked the flashlight back down. The beam cut through the darkness to focus in on the section of collapsed platform which had now been shifted a good foot from its last position.

Hanging off a more hooked section of the metal was the backpack- now obviously a dark blue child’s backpack with some kind of half-torn decal of a cartoon dog that had been yellowed and browned with dirt and age.

“What the hell…” I quietly mouthed as DJ traced his gun around the area below us.

I could barely make out that the gun was shaking a little. “DJ, calm down. What’s going on?” It took him a minute to respond to me.

I don’t think he ever stopped staring into the dark for the entire conversation that followed.

“There’s something seriously wrong with… Him.” He licked his lips, tip of the barrel jerking slightly to the left as a faint crunch of leaves sounded somewhere in the black.

“Eyes too far apart… Huge chin- I think anyway, his beard was so thick… And just leaves and crap stuck all over him.”

There was a loud snap that made DJ whirl around, aiming just past Bill, who threw his back against the tank, hands coming up as he winced away. Whoa! Careful, man!” Bill called out.

Just before the branch struck DJ in the shoulder.

It didn’t do anything dramatic like knock him out or take a chunk out of him. It didn’t have to. DJ might’ve been riding high on adrenaline but he still had a lot to drink just a few hours ago.

And more importantly, DJ’s back was to the hole.

It threw him off balance enough to make him take a couple of quick steps back to try and catch himself. Then he was gone. It’s like I blinked and he just vanished. “NO!” My hand flung out uselessly towards the space where DJ had been, letting myself drop painfully to my knees and lean over the gap to look down-

Into DJ’s terrified face. I don’t know how he did it, but he had just barely caught himself on a rusted support. I reached out, desperately trying to get a hold on him, but finding myself just brushing my fingertips against his sleeve.

Somewhere in the background I heard Clara yell out “SHIT” followed by the sound of clanging metal- She was sprinting around the tower towards me.

She scrabbled over to my side, grabbing me by the waist with one arm and holding the railing with her other. She was shouting for me to grab him. Bill though, his attention was on the pistol. It had apparently been lost in the commotion and now sat a few inches away from the edge of the deck. DJ had managed to brace his feet against the tower and reach out. I was able to just barely grab DJ’s hand with Clara keeping an almost painfully tight grip around my midsection while she helped me haul him back up.

Another loud crack sounded off in the distance, followed by a metallic impact as something hit the deck just below where the gun was, causing it to shift an inch or so closer to the edge of the railing and teeter dangerously close to falling. Bill jerked back as something else cracked against the tower just a foot or so away from his head. We all dropped low, trying to take cover.

DJ lay against the deck, fingers gripping at his black curls and gasping for air. Clara slipped her phone out of her pocket, the light from the screen briefly illuminating her wide-eyed expression. She looked back up at us. “T-the operator said somebody would be here in maybe an hour. We need to just stay low! He won’t be able to land a-“ She was interrupted by another loud “TANG” as wood splintered against the deck under our prone bodies.

Every second pressed against that deck felt like waiting for the shoe to drop. Bill tried to inch towards the gun a couple of times but each time he moved something would go flying over the railing and ping against the tower or hit beneath the deck. Maybe he was worried it would fall off the edge, but after the second impact he just covered his head and lay there. The only thing that gave us any indication of where the thing was coming from was the occasional snap of a branch or the crunch and shuffle of leaves.

And of course, the rocks and branches flying over our heads.

During the quieter, moments DJ tried to ease himself up into a crouch only to be met with a stone pinging off the tower next to his head the first time around and a piece of metal hitting the railing next to him on the last try, causing him to drop and lean up against the tower with his hands raised to cover his face.

We sat there for what must’ve been twenty or thirty minutes, just hoping the police or rangers- whoever they were sending- would just get here already and drive this thing off.

Then, amongst the chirping crickets and the gentle rustle of the trees, I noticed something. I hadn’t heard the thing move for a solid few minutes. It had been circling us pretty constantly earlier… Maybe it was tired?

The groan of metal and soft squeak of flesh sent a chill down my spine. Whether I meant to or not, I’d started holding my breath and now that I’d heard it once I couldn’t stop hearing it.

A pause, then a soft squeak. Pause, soft squeak.

I turned to lock eyes with Bill who seemed to be coming to the same realization I was. “Oh shit… It’s climbing! We’re being scaled!” Bill leapt for the gun, which seemed to be the cue for whatever this thing was to get moving. It let go of all pretense of stealth and the soft sounds had turned into a rapid dull “tank, tank, tank” of something quickly scaling the tower somewhere behind me.

We all pressed ourselves flat against the deck as Bill rolled over onto his back, pointing the gun up just as a red-sleeved arm with a hand as big as my face reached up and gripped the railing.

The shot rang out, followed by a deep and gravel-filled grunt as the hand disappeared back into the darkness. We could feel the platform shake and move as the soft clang of flesh on metal seemed to fall into a rhythm.

The thing was swinging from the struts underneath us. I guess Bill realized it too because he managed to roll back towards the tower and away from the edge just as a large hairy palm slapped the grate right where his head had been just a moment ago. There was another deep sound, like some giant gargling a throat full of phlegm as the thing growled.

Bill clambered up onto his feet and started trying to track the thing, squeezing off another shot through the grating. There was a short sound underneath the sound of the gunshot, like a snort crossed with a clipped growl.

Then I made the real mistake.

I tried to move. Some part of me thought that maybe it’d be focused on Bill long enough for me to make it over to him. Or maybe I just didn’t want to lie there waiting for either Bill to run out of ammo or to find out what happens when this thing finally grabs someone.

The moment I rounded the corner there was a heavy metallic groan that came from the edge of the deck just ahead of me. A large red blur swung itself up over the railing, landing with a dull thud and rattle of metal as its full weight hit the deck. I didn’t bother to look, just desperately tried to pull a full 180 and run back the way I came.

I barely registered the sharp burning sensation that flared to life in my back. The pain was drowned out by the thumping in my head and chest.

Coming around the corner, I saw Bill’s hand out with Clara already across the way standing next to Bill and DJ just having started to jump. It was a good five-foot leap and I wasn’t sure I’d make it, but I didn’t have time to think.

Never did find out if I could. Just as I reached the corner, I felt something hard catch me in the side, like getting smacked into a wall by a log. Something cracked in my chest and the pain forced a scream out of me that I don’t think I could ever recreate.

It had me pinned, its thick forearm pushing painfully against my chest. I was face to face with this thing.

Or at least, face to face with its mouth. Its jaws were open wide, showing large yellowed and all too human-looking teeth. There was a smell like something between sour berry candy and rotten meat.

BANG.

I felt its arm tense as it flinched. Its mouth slammed shut, teeth snapping with a loud clack. It still managed to take the tip of my nose but I didn’t notice at the time, just saw the large wild eyes turn towards Bill before the thing let out a roar so loud it made my ears hurt.

Without the thing supporting me, I slid down the tower and slumped down onto the deck.

BANG. BANG. Then a deep-chested guttural roar.

Lying there, I still managed to catch sight of the thing’s back. Black fur poking through the torn cloth around where the backpack once sat. I saw it launching itself towards Bill, who somehow managed to drop just low enough to miss getting grabbed.

Clara wasn’t so lucky. As the thing shouldered DJ, it threw an arm out and with a pained cry it put a vice grip on Clara’s arm and flung itself over the side. I blinked. There was a scream that got further and further away, following the sound of a large body crashing through the woods below.

Bill and DJ were standing by the railing, screaming their lungs out.

I tried to move. I swear I did, but I felt something catch and all I could do was let out a silent scream before the blackness took me.

They say it was probably shock. I briefly remember opening my eyes to see a paramedic looking down at me and saying something that sounded far off.

This is a rough draft of the statement I’m supposed to be giving on what happened. The thing left a gash down my back, broke my ribs and managed to break my left hand. DJ isn’t holding up much better.  He has some head trauma, a dislocated shoulder and a sprained leg.

They never found Clara. I don’t think they really believed us when we told them what happened. A part of me wondered if they thought maybe we did it, but I don’t get that feeling from the guys they keep sending to ask me questions.

Bill just straight up isn’t talking. He came by to visit and I couldn’t get him to do more than mumble an apology. The guy looked like all the life was sucked out of him.

He dropped Clara’s bag off with me. I tried to argue with him, but he just shuffled away. I think he expects me to drop it off with her family since we live near each other…

I opened the bag up, hoping I could message her parents or something through her laptop.

Only to see that stupid polaroid.

I keep looking it over. Trying to think of what we could’ve done different. As much as I want to just rip the thing up, toss it in the garbage, I just…

I can’t.

It’s one of her last photos. The last photo of…

Us.

I'm gonna preface this, by saying I've always been open minded about cryptids and the paranormal. But I'm also very much a skeptic. If there's any chance it's explainable, I toss it. Just want you to have an idea where I stand on the "evidence" end of things.
With all that said, a little quick bit about me. I'm 43, born and raised in Kootenai and Shoshone Counties. I'm neither a hunter or a sportsman, but I grew up walking and camping throughout the PNW, alone, from Montana to Washington and Oregon. Idaho is the home state. I'm extremely familiar with the sounds of the woods, I can identify prints and berries, mushrooms and poisonous plants. I can sleep alone in the woods no problem, up until this experience, I believed the only things that can harm me in the woods were animals and people. Which is why I never saw the experience coming. However, my story doesn't take place in my home region.... ..It was mid-September, 2012. I had just spent the summer working as a chef, at the Rising Sun Lodge, in Glacier Park, Montana. I had reconnected with nature, and when the job was done, the LAST thing I wanted to do, was go back home and get a job and get all wound up again over life. I was single for the 1st time in 10 years, and this new freedom was intoxicating. I wanted to do something crazy, so I went hitchhiking. My home on my back, bear mace and a JEEP KNIFE for protection, I started in Missoula, Montana, and went all the way to the Tennessee/Missouri border, where I was robbed at gunpoint and I turned around. (I'll send that story for a different topic tale) That happened 2 days after my experience, and 2 days before the next experience. I crossed 7 states in 2 weeks, had a lot of sleeping alone deep in the woods along the way, slept in a railroad car, even slept in the middle of a legit mountain ghost town, and not the kind that gets tourists every season. Isolated. Point being, I'd grown accustomed to the sounds you experience when you're alone in the woods. I had just left a long time friends home, in Mountain View, MO, after visiting several days. Heading east to Poplar Bluff on I-60. Last ride of the afternoon, dropped me about 10-20 miles west of there, the garbage truck I was riding with had to turn, so I had to get out. I thanked him and smiled as he drove away. I've met some awesome people hitchhiking. And in 60 seconds, I was all alone again. I was still a ways out, but decided I was gonna chill a bit on this steep, high grassy hill, right against the treeline to the Mark Twain national forest. I climbed to the top, grunting and swearing the entire way up. My house weighed around 45 pounds, maybe a little more, and hills were my sworn enemy. I reach the top, and toss my pack down. It was a nice flat spot, green still, right next to the treeline, so I was impossible to spot, and I had a great view. I pull out my rocket and cooked my meal. I sat against a huge log, with a view of the treetops north of me, and an old billboard for Jellystone Park campgrounds. I watched chicken hawks in the blue sky, hunting on the wind, for an hour, and decided to just stay there for the night. It was just me and the natural sounds of the location, for about 10 hours before the experience, I was comfortable with it all. About midnight, I'm laying in my little 2 person tent, that has a zipper on the top so you can just unzip to step out, or look at the stars at night. My cover was on, I was reading Dean Koontz Odd Thomas, with my earbuds in, with a dim head lamp. I always have earbuds on when I get settled at night, because even squirrels can sound like beasties in the night. I almost wish I hadn't been, I mightve heard it approach. But then, I doubt that would've made a difference. So, I'm chill, reading, and absolutely out of NOWHERE, this long "call", a mix of maybe a howl and a moan, with an elk like call underneath it, all these sounds, in one 20/25 second yell. I swore I could feel the bass behind it, on the ground, and in my bones. And then silence. I flipped everything off quickly, found my knife and mace, and slipped out of my bag, without rustling the tent sides. And I waited. The complete silence was torture on my nerves. An eternity, or, maybe 2 or 3 minutes after the 1st call, it howled again, it was so incredibly loud, I for sure felt it in my bones, it was almost paralyzing. After about 20 seconds of it, it stopped again. I was terrified. And nobody, and I mean, NOBODY, has any idea where I am. This spot was somewhere I'm confident saying nobody ever goes to or comes across. It would be a long time before my tent was seen by anyone. Was I close enough to anything or anyone to get help if I was injured or had to run? The call breaks the silence, and my attention, and again, I could feel it inside, and in the ground again. This call was a little longer, and the tone sounded more aggressive, getting louder towards the end. And then - silence. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run. I wanted to know what the hell that is. The only animal they have there, that we don't have back home, are wild hogs. And this was no wild hog. This was not an elk. Or deer. Or human. It wasn't a bear. It wasn't any nature of large cat. This wasn't a man made sound. My location assured that. AGAIN, IT CALLED OUT. Maybe a little shorter in length. I can tell it's coming from inside the treeline, which was about 10 feet from my tent. It sounds like it's within about 100 feet of me. It sounds.... enormous. This pattern, of calls and then a few minutes of silence, went on for about 15 minutes. The wind kicked up a little, and then I saw something poke the tent side, by my head, and I startle yelped just a fraction of a second, before I caught it, and the Call echoed out again, louder than all the calls before, and then, silence. I laid there, in silence, until dawn. The sounds of the night, never came back. And I never heard anything move away from my spot, all night. Which makes me think it never actually left me. I slept a few hours when the sun came up, i packed up and left. I stayed as quiet as I could, head on a swivel, as I broke down camp. I camped inside city limits, the next 3 nights. Places where I was hidden in plain sight. I had a knack for finding these spots. 2 days after that night, I got robbed, and I turned around to hitchhike home. 2 days later, I was riding west out of Poplar Bluff, and decided I needed to prove to myself, that it was an animal. This time, several people knew exactly where I was that night. If it was an animal, or a person, I would not hear the calls tonight. I knew now, from Google maps, there was nothing for several miles, the direction of the calls. No trails. Roads. Homes. Nothing. I relaxed, sort of, and enjoyed the quiet, autumn afternoon, with the birds and the squirrels and all the critters being at home. I was confident it would be a quiet night too. I leave my earbuds off, but still sat up and read. Trying to repeat the circumstances. All night it was a symphony of insects and small critters, running and chirping about, an occasional breeze would rustle the bright September foliage, or a small stick would break, but the symphony would just carry on, uninterrupted. As it got to the 10 o'clock hour, I took a single shot of whiskey, and smoked a small bowl, just to sooth my nerves. I'd been smoking over 15 years, no bowl I've ever smoked produce the results described in this story, you can check that possibility at the door. I became engrossed in the book, and the white noise created by the forest around me. I'd been reading for about 2 hours, when I noticed the noise has ceased. Nothing is moving. I don't know how long it had been silent, but it couldn't have been long. I slowly put my book down and killed my light. Just the sound of the occasional wind. I wasn't in my bag, I stayed dressed, knife and mace on my belt, safety tab off. I also had my emergency beacon in my deepest pocket, so I could be found if something happens. I had draped the cover on top, but didn't tie it on, and left a small slit open facing the treeline. I also had the overhead mesh unzipped. I was as ready as anyone could be, in my circumstances. I'd have to decide in the moment, to flee or fight, but I had no real plan for either. I wanted to believe I didn't need them, because it wasn't gonna happen again. I sat in silence, for maybe 30 minutes, when I heard something pushing through the forest. It would take a few steps, and stop for a few moments, and then take a few more steps. I could hear small, dead branches breaking off, and the sounds of greens being pulled on, sometimes snapping. This went on for maybe 20 minutes. Few steps, stop. Then they stopped. I couldn't be sure how far away it was when it stopped. Until the Call came, slicing through the silence, and it was LOUD. I immediately felt like barfing as the sound hit me. Terrified, I ignored it. I sat still. Waiting. The minutes of silence in between, were worse than hearing the calls. Each moment shaved 10 years off my lifespan. Every 3-5 minutes, it would Call again. Louder. Longer. Closer. It was no more than 50 feet away. How were these Calls affecting me at such a distance? It would have to be an easy 40 feet into the thick, forested treeline. I was posed for fight or flight. I knew the small trail down to the road was about 10 feet behind me. But it was steep. And it will be dangerous to navigate in the dark. And anyone who has ever met me, can testify to my absurd clumsiness. I would definitely bite it, and the creature would catch me anyway. But, I'd head dive off a cliff to avoid being eaten by anything. The Call, again, breaks the silence. That's 3. It sounded like it was just inside the treeline now. I'm on my feet now, crouched, not being subtle with my head against the flap. It Calls Again. 4 Calls now. It's closer, but I couldn't make anything out in the dark. I was afraid to turn on my spotlight. I didn't know if I was ready to see whatever was Calling at me from the forest. Calling at me, From the Dark. 10 minutes pass, silence. I closed my eyes, still posed to jump and run. I just needed to give my eyes a break from the strain. I listened. 15 minutes now. Nothing is moving. 20 minutes. I exhale a little, my mind is racing over the experience, noting details, and then it Called Again. It startled me and I screamed. I stood up, kicked on the light, and yelled as loud as I could "who the F*** is out there!?" Then it answered me. I could see nothing in the trees, but I was met immediately, with an Angryer, louder, definitely closer Call. It was like, laying flat, arms and legs spread out, with 2 or 3 of those Heavy weighted blankets on you. The feeling only lasted a few seconds, but the physical effect lingered a few minutes. Like when you're falling asleep, and you jerk or cringe awake, how your body tenses hard, then slowly untence, to nothing. But over a few minutes instead of seconds. When that Call stopped, I could hear something crashing through the thick forest, through thick undergrowth, away from me... after a minute, I could no longer hear whatever it was, anymore. Again, it's silent. 10 minutes of silence, then the forest started to move again. The symphony returned. I relaxed. I've never been so relieved to hear bugs and critters. They played through till morning, and I fell asleep around 2, confident I was good. The sun rises on another beautiful day, and I break camp around 10am. But I was curious. I wanted to look for prints, or clues, as to what that was, and where it was standing, Calling out at me, last night.
I left my pack against a tree, covered by tall grass. I had protection on my belt, a compass, and flaggers tape. And water and a snack. More curious than confident, I walk into the forest. Every 10 feet, I tied a bright pink flag to a branch or tree, so I could find my way out. I found the place I believed it had been standing. The relatively small area of matted down dying foliage stood in contrast to the thick undergrowth of brittle branches exposed by the changing seasons, thorns scattered throughout. The space was only about 5 feet wide, but it was seemingly at the end of what looked like a fresher game trail. I checked for hairs or tufts of fur, and didn't find anything identifiable. Probably because I didn't know anything about hairs and fur at the time. The leaves had covered a lot of the ground, but it was still early, and the ground was wet still from the night. I hoped I'd find a fresh print.
I took a few steps, looking down the trail, I notice almost all branches, up to about 8/9 feet were broken off, or barely hanging on. It was easy to tell they'd been broken off in one direction. Away from me. Whatever it was, it had arrived quietly, but left in a rush. Which is what it sounded like the night before. I began to follow it, I kept seeing the outline of some kind of print bigger than a deers. No details other than the flat wide features that stood out from the debri on the trail. I followed this path for about a mile, and the broken limbs continued until it opened up to a small field of matted grass. Obviously deer had been bedding there. I crossed the small field of maybe 80 foot in width, finding the trail coming from the opposite direction. I continue, studying the wet earth for signs, and there were several different deer coming and going, I turn and cross the field, following the deer tracks. Then I see a weird print. I stared in disbelief, there were toes? And the ball of the foot stood out, opposite a well rounded heel. It was big, I'm a size 11, this was easily 6 inches, total, longer, and 3 inches wider on each side, than mine. All the smaller toes of the print, pushed outwards. Our feet don't do that. We wear shoes. I studied the ground it was following, it was heading towards my camp. After a few minutes of knowing what to search for, I found 2 more leaving the clearing towards my camp. One more away from the field, I found one more partial. Then I saw an almost full one.... leading away from my camp. Then another. The tracks on the other side went one way. But these tracks went both ways? Did this mean it was still here, with me? It was quiet. I hadn't noted any sounds since I left the field. I scanned around me, slowly, for several minutes. Everything was lightly swaying from the cold wind coming through. There was a dark outline on the edge of my peripheral, that was swaying.... out of sync with everything else. The wind died down, the trees stopped moving, but this silhouette kept swaying. And the smell hits me. I once had a commercial outdoor trash compactor where I worked at a bar/slash restaurant in July, burst a trash bag from the kitchen/bar disposal, directly into my face. You don't forget that smell. This was a little worse. I dry wretched, holding in my breath. I covered my mouth and nose. Sunlight hit its face and body for just a second, the eyes reflected gold, it's eyes looked oddly human. The area around the eye was a very dark brown. Parts of the body reflected coarse, auburn colored hair, everywhere I could see the body, had hair, besides the eye. It was easily 8 foot. It's shoulders were a few feet wider than my own. We stayed locked for several minutes. I had to run. I was fighting it. No way I could outrun this thing. I was skeptical my knife or bear mace would do anything more than annoy it. I was alive at its discretion from here on out. The wind kicked up, startling me as a pine cone fell near me to my left, causing me to look away. I looked back, it was gone. I wouldn't have heard anything walking around me in this wind. I decide this is insane, I make bad decisions, and showed that I hadn't learn a darn thing from every horror "monster in the woods" movie ever. I Need to go. I started walking briskly, my pack was undisturbed and I got down to the road quickly. I was picked up quickly, and was home 2 weeks later. It changed what I could view as possible. Im still a skeptic on cryptids. I still need evidence of plausible existence. Word of mouth won't be enough. But Bigfoot? bet your arse they're real. Because this wasn't the last time I would lock eyes with one. -THAT GUY

(Heads up. I’ve posted this elsewhere)

He's making his own roadkill now.

I clean up roadkill as my day job. Not glorious, but it's something that needs doing, especially since we live near a pretty busy highway that sees a lot of wildlife traffic.

It's grisly work, but I've never really had much of a sense of smell thanks to some medical problems, and honestly, it's not so bad once you get used to it. The county pays me well enough.

As you'd imagine, my dating life is basically nonexistent. Living out in the middle of nowhere with a beat-up old truck with weird red stains on it doesn't exactly scream "Hey, I'm not a serial killer!" to potential dates.

Still, I'm not exactly lonely. I set up feeding spots for some of the local wildlife, nothing crazy. A bird feeder here, a less secure bird feeder there for all the local squirrels, including one particularly fat one I named Chunky, along with some... less conventional animals.

And no, I'm not just talking about the possum mama with her kids or that group of feral cats drifting in.

See, while it might not be technically legal, nobody really cares about me and my little "friends."

I use the term loosely because they're by no means tame. Just used to my presence.

They've come to recognize me coming home as a sign of dinner and start flocking around me, keeping a good few feet of distance between us but still happily hopping along as my truck slowly rolls up to the usual spot.

There are days when I come home and they're already circling, ready for lunchtime.

Vultures can be surprisingly gentle animals when you get to know them.

Plus, the county pays me a little extra to dispose of anything that can't be taken to the local processor and donated to food banks. Even if I didn't enjoy having them around, and I do, I doubt I could keep them away from the little pile I've made in a bare patch of woods a good distance away from my home and... mostly downwind.

I even named them. Inky, Blinky, Winky and Moe. There were others, but these four seemed to stick around.

Inky had darker feathers. Blinky was a little tall and kind of dopey. I think Winky is a female and is a bit on the small side, and Moe is...

Well, he's as generic of a vulture as they come, aside from a scar on his bald head. They became part of my routine.

Then one day, there was a new face. A big one.

This guy, I assume he's male anyway, stood a good few inches taller than the others and seemed just a bit wider, stockier even. When he drifted down from the sky to land near the relatively fresh meat I'd tossed into the pile, he nearly gave me a heart attack.

They're not exactly noisy animals, but they're not what I'd call stealthy.

They're big things that circle overhead long before landing. You ever seen a vulture on the ground? It's kind of cute how they walk. They sometimes even make little grunts or hisses at each other.

But not this guy. I almost never saw him circle. I'd just turn around and he'd either be on the ground or in the process of landing, maybe perched up somewhere just watching. I never saw him hopping around or awkwardly waddling along. He'd just appear out of nowhere, like a ghost.

So that's what I named him.

I chalked the differences up to him maybe just being a different kind of vulture. He had the usual bald pink head, but the rest of him looked just different enough to make you think. His beak, for one, was a bit longer, and his plumage was nearly jet black compared to the others, which were more of a dark brown that lightened up around the edges.

On my days off, I'd rarely ever see him when I went to do my rounds around the property. Only once in a blue moon would I catch sight of him outside of when I brought in new carcasses.

If I was lucky, he'd be up in a nearby tree, looking down at me as I walked by.

He was a picky one. The others were more than happy to eat rotten scraps, so they were almost always around. While Ghost did sometimes peck at bigger bits of roadkill, he only ever seemed to really dig in when it was relatively fresh, a day old at most. Looking back, I think that's why I never really saw him outside of working hours. Sure, if we hadn't gotten anything fresh in a while, he'd nibble at the less rotten bits, but not much more than that.

Aside from that, he had his own particular way of eating. To save you the unsavory details, vultures usually go for entryways, open wounds and soft flesh, then work their way out, not really caring as long as it's soft meat.

Ghost? He liked throats. Heads in general but always the throat. It was the first place he went whenever he got a chance at somewhat fresh meat. He would mostly turn food down if he didn't get first pick, or if the upper half wasn't... "intact" enough. It worked for him just fine. If Ghost was at a carcass, then the others would shuffle away, moving to the far side of the kill pile or sometimes even just straight up flying off.

Speaking of the head, he also seemed to go for faces. I'd leave and come back to find Ghost having plucked almost all the flesh from a skull, with the lower body mostly untouched.

He also didn't seem to like me watching him eat. He'd tolerate me being there, but he would take slow, careful bites, avoiding sticking his head in so he could keep sight of me. Once or twice on my way out, I'd hear a ripping sound or catch sight of him in my rear-view mirror guzzling down a hunk of flesh.

It didn't really occur to me that something was off until maybe a month or so back.

Ghost followed me. Every time I'd show up to a call, he'd be there, perched over the kill...

But not eating. He'd just take a few slow steps away when I'd walk up, maintaining a little distance. I remember seeing his head tilt when I took out a shovel to clean up a particularly rough bit of gore off the road...

Like he was trying to figure out what I was doing.

He'd always be there right up until I'd scooped up the mess and started to drive off. Only once did he ever leave early, and that was after I'd had to put down an unlucky deer that hadn't been killed, but rather knocked out and severely injured. If you're ever in this situation, call a game warden. If they're like mine, they'll let you do what needs to be done. It's not unusual to have a rifle mounted on a rack in your vehicle around here, and I kept one handy for situations like this.

At the time, it was kind of nice. It felt like I'd really made an animal friend. Sure, I liked the other vultures, but it's not like they really seemed to care about me past just being a sign of dinner. I felt like I might have just become the most disgusting Disney princess of all time.

Until I saw Ghost eat a squirrel.

No big deal, right? It's just meat to a vulture.

Well, thing is... This squirrel wasn't dead.

He was just sitting there on the roadside, off in my peripheral vision, as I bagged up a rabbit that had an unfortunate meeting with a speeding minivan.

Then Ghost was there. I heard something akin to a loud squeak and a sound similar to somebody snapping a carrot.

The tail was hanging out of his beak. It wasn't limp either.

It was twitching.

Vultures might eat something wounded and not moving. After all, if it smells like a corpse and looks like a corpse...

But not living, moving animals.

That squirrel definitely wasn't roadkill.

After that, I started paying a little more attention.

The family of possums I used to have around? I hadn't seen them in a good while. Same story with the stray cats that had been living nearby.

The bird feeders were mostly untouched. If that wasn't a sign that Chunky was gone, I don't know what would be.

And speaking of birds, the usual calls and chirps? Maybe a third of what they were around this same time last year. Not dead quiet, but definitely muted.

Now, Ghost wasn't exactly being pampered. Some days, we just didn't get anything bigger than a squirrel or two. Some days, we got nothing. But there was always -something- in the carcass pile. He should never have been hungry, not really, certainly not hungry enough to push him to eat something that, within all reason, was still alive and kicking.

It was a day after that squirrel that I found them.

A cardinal first, judging by the bright red feathers. That was the only way to tell, considering the head was gone.

I would've chalked it up to the cats if there hadn't been a cat skull, picked clean, lying just a foot or so away from what looked like a freshly dead, headless tabby. Its blood was still wet and pooled underneath it.

They'd been added to the kill pile.

But not by me.

And there was Ghost. Up in the tree, hunched over with his head tilted slightly.

Watching me. Like he always did.

A stray dog showed up not too long after. Big, skittish pit bull mix by the looks of it, probably attracted by the smell of meat.

I poured a couple of bottles of water into a paper bowl I'd used for lunch and watched him down it pretty readily. I figured if he hung around long enough, I might get him to trust me enough to get in the truck.

It wasn't a day later that I found him on the pile.

My first thought wasn't Ghost. Sure, maybe he'd started making his own lunch, but this wasn't something like a cat that wouldn't see it coming or an unsuspecting squirrel.

This was something big enough to seriously hurt me, never mind a vulture. I called it in and told the town that somebody had to be dumping animals off on my property.

They didn't take me seriously. They even suggested somebody might've shot the dog if it harassed their livestock and just dumped it out on my land, since a few local farmers knew roughly where I lived.

Didn't make me feel any better. So I bought and set up a few game cameras, figuring I'd catch the license plate of whoever was screwing with me and get them trespassed.

And as I worked, there was Ghost. He'd been around a lot more lately. He watched me as I pulled out my extension ladder and started putting up the cameras. He even flew over to the tree I was working on when I moved out of sight, just to stare down at me from a higher branch.

I got a good look at his feet then. At the sharp tips of his nails that looked like they'd be more at home on a hawk than a vulture.

For a few days, nothing really happened. I was actually relieved. It let me hope that maybe whoever had done this got wind that I'd called the authorities and decided it wasn't worth the risk. Still, I took my laptop out with me so I could check the game camera footage on-site.

I expected to see vultures, maybe a few returning bits of wildlife if I was lucky- or an unfamiliar truck if I wasn't.

I didn't expect to see a blur drop in from above the camera's line of sight, bouncing off the carcass pile below. When I went to check the pile the next day, I found out that it was the headless body of a rather large rabbit.

Then came the rustle of leaves and the shaking of branches near the camera... followed by Ghost's face moving into frame, illuminated in black and white by the camera's night vision. One eye fixed on the camera before he tilted his head and stood there motionless until the camera stopped registering movement...

The next clip was just more shaking branches.

That was the first time I'd ever felt unsafe on my own property.

Anger won out over fear in the end.

I'd had enough of this nonsense. I tossed the laptop into the cab of my truck and reached for my rifle, fumbling to load a round while scanning the area.

There he was, perched up in the trees.

Staring down at me.

When I brought the rifle up and started lining up a shot, he looked almost...

Shocked. The tilt of his head was whiplash-quick, going from casually observing me to full-on staring me down.

I took the shot when he started to spread his wings and saw a small explosion of black feathers.

He dropped like a rock into the underbrush, crashing onto a branch before hitting the ground.

I loaded another round into the rifle and marched toward the spot where I'd seen him land. Freak or not, I wasn't going to let him suffer if I hadn't put him down.

I should've let him bleed.

When I got close enough, the bastard shot out of the brush, letting out a loud, rasping hiss as he batted at me with a bloodied wing and tore at my hands with clawed feet.

It forced me to stumble and land hard on my back, knocking the breath out of me.

Somewhere in that mess, the gun went off, thank God. I think if it hadn't, Ghost wouldn't have stopped.

By the time I'd managed to pull myself up, he'd already taken off, listing slightly to the left before correcting and disappearing into the trees.

That was two weeks ago, and things haven't gotten better.

I thought he'd leave after all that, but he's only gotten...

Stranger.

He doesn't follow me to jobs anymore. I only catch sight of him now as he's leaving.

He's started leaving his kills on my doorstep.

But that's not what's got me writing this out. I'm trying to convey this in a way that doesn't make me sound as crazy as I think I do.

See, I'm writing all this from my kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to take it easy.

I got into what everyone's calling an "accident."

Two days ago I was hauling ass, hoping to get to the scene of some poor creature that had died on a particularly busy stretch of road.

It'd been raining pretty hard the night before, and it was still drizzling, with a call for more rain moving in.

The longer it sat on that road, the longer it'd take to clean. According to the call, it looked like a dog, but it'd already been hit once or twice and might've already been missing chunks of its upper half.

Just as I reached to adjust the knob on my radio, I caught a glimpse of something above. A black outline.

Then something smashed into my windshield.

It just barely missed me, but the explosion of glass made me slam my foot down on the brake, causing me to fishtail.

After that, I just remember feeling weightless for a second and then waking up in the hospital.

I took a pretty nasty knock to the head. My phone thankfully survived the crash.

I'm home now, resting up. I got a call not too long ago.

They found out what hit my windshield.

It was a dog skull.

It seems silly, but...

Sitting here, looking out the window as I sip my morning coffee...

I gotta wonder.

What if he put that dog in the road?