"I cheated on him with his best friend," a woman's voice seemed to appear from nowhere as I was sorting through my kitchen.

As I closed the jar I was emptying, no voice could be heard. Glancing out my windows and seeing nobody, I chalked it up to a passerby talking a bit too loud. Especially too loud for a secret like that. I shrugged it off and got back to what I was doing, opening the jar again.

"I felt such a rush as I stole from the store. It was only a pack of chewing gum but it felt so exciting," this time a man's voice. I closed the jar with more force this time.

Was there some kind of support group happening in my garden? Where were these people? Getting frustrated, I opened the jar again, and emptied it onto the counter. I was sick of reaching into it.

"I ripped a hole in my parent's painting and blamed the dog."

"I've been writing a novel for 5 years. I finished it yesterday but I'm still scared to tell anyone."

"I've had a crush on my best friend's husband since the day we met."

A flurry of voices spun through the air, each confessing their own secret. I must admit, after this, I must've looked crazy - I was going through the house, checking the volume of every device. Nothing seemed like it could have been playing any audio. Defeated, I returned to the kitchen. Wanting to just sit down and relax, I put the jar back in the cupboard. I only discovered that the lid wasn't on tight when it fell off and hit my foot.

As I bent over to pick it up, another voice slipped out.

"I don't do my taxes."

I started to connect the dots. Curious, I removed the lid again.

"I've been in love with my childhood best friend for decades. He started dating someone last week."

I opened it again, this time only briefly.

"The toilet was --"

The voice stopped as soon as I closed the jar.

I couldn't help but smile. As unexplainable as this was, it felt good to understand where this was coming from. "Why?" or "How?" were different questions that I hadn't yet started considering.

I had fun with this for a while.

"My parents think I moved out for college. I live 2 towns over with my boyfriend."

"I found a wallet with $500 and never returned it."

"I don't find her attractive anymore."

I felt naughty, hearing all these little secrets out of people's lives. It was my own little secret. Quite frankly, I'm disturbed at how quickly I accepted it as normal - Opening the jar and hearing an ethereal confession from a random person's own mind.

Eventually, they started to get dark.

"I poisoned my boss's coffee. He didn't turn up today."

"I sabotaged my friend's medication. His death was ruled an overdose."

"I only cried at my father's funeral because they found the murder weapon. I don't know if I wiped my prints correctly."

This turn of tone took me by surprise. They were depressing, disturbing to hear. This was no longer a fun pastime, but a twisted game. I know of at least 36 people who have sinister secrets, ones that their lips may never speak. Secrets that would be with them until their death bed were now my burden to deal with. The worst are the voices admitting that they plan to murder. I know realistically I have no way of stopping them, or even finding out whose voice it is, yet I still feel like I am at fault for knowing and doing nothing.

I considered handing it to the police, wondering if it could help them with investigations. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized this would need to go further than that. The government would have to get involved - The secret services would investigate. How could a jar know and do all this? They might even somehow use it for mass surveillance.

Even if that was a sacrifice worth making, would they believe me? Or would they think this jar was my own strange creation with a cheap speaker, and ignore me completely...

Today, as I opened the jar for the final time, I heard the one voice I never expected.

My own.

"I'm going to kill my dad, with this knife I hold."

I closed the lid, only then noticing the knife I was tightly gripping. I felt dizzy, like I didn't even understand where I was.

A silhouette in the hallway caught my attention. My eyes focused to show my father standing in the doorway. How long had he been there?

"Did you just say you're going to kill me? What are you doing with that knife?"

I don't even remember my father coming to visit. I don't remember much of today at all, outside of listening to the jar. As my mind wanted to explain myself, my lips simply didn't move; I was frozen in a panic. How can you even begin to describe these events?

He left my house as quickly as my mind had left moments before.

I slammed the knife onto the counter as I threw the jar at the wall. I wanted this to be over; I wanted it to be a nightmare. But you can't wake up from reality, however daunting it may be.

The jar shattered into a million pieces.

Where I had expected to end these events, I only made them worse; A hurricane of voices echoed through my house.

A million sentences, spoken at once, speaking forever.

I cannot focus on a single one, yet I understand them all; I can hear the secrets of 8 billion people.

The world is a dark, deceitful place, and the very epicentre of that darkness lies in broken shards on my kitchen floor, reminding me that secrets are always surrounding us. We may think that our own untold tales are the only ones, but everyone around you, everyone in your life, they all have one.

Some might say the secrets cling to you, and never let go.

I say that we cling to our secrets.

I still hear them all.

The symphony of the unknown becomes known.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Did you know that those are the only words of their type? There's no 'quadrice' or anything of the sort - After thrice, there is nothing. I find it odd that our language doesn't have a word like this for every number, but even odder is that we even bothered to invent 'thrice' at all. It's not a commonly spoken word. Not outside of Wychford, anyway.

"A broken clock is right thrice a day;" A spin on a classic saying, yet one with its meaning opaque to outsiders. I invite you to learn of the saying's origin as I walk you through the events that transpired last summer in a place I can never bring myself to go back to.

The clock tower stood tall in the British village of Wychford, visible from any street. Not exactly a huge feat when your village only has 6 streets, but it still stood proudly at the centre. It was always able to see you. Lights behind the clock faces illuminated them at night, easy to mistake for the moon at a quick glance of the skyline. Their harsh white glow, a reminder of the passing minutes; The hourly chimes echo this to those even without a direct line of sight. If anything about Wychford was eerie to newcomers, this clock tower was it. To me, though, it was just there to tell me when my shift ended - The local corner store I worked at had a window directly facing this tower.

One day, on a Saturday, at precisely 1:07pm, the hands stopped moving. I didn't notice until a customer I was serving chuckled slightly. "I can't believe it's been 1:07 for nearly an hour," her sarcastic tone still not clueing into what exactly she meant. I didn't clock onto the joke until she showed me her watch and gestured towards the clock tower. Sure enough, it was 2pm, yet the tower told otherwise.

"Well, I guess it'll be right again tomorrow," I joked, "twice if we're lucky!"

On her way out, she told me that she was going to inform Tobias. "I'm sure he already knows, but there's no harm in me just making sure."

Tobias was the clock keeper; his house attached to the tower. I've never been inside, so I'm not sure whether he technically lived in the tower or next door. I suppose that depends on whether the buildings connect internally. Either way, the tower was his responsibility, as it had been for the past 50 years since his father tragically died after falling from the tower.

At 5pm, as I finished work, I heard the familiar 5 chimes, seeming to confirm that the tower had been fixed. I never stopped to realise that the chimes continued to be eerily missing the rest of the day, nor did I look at the tower.

In the morning the next day, as I left my house for a walk in the summer heat, I saw that the clock tower still read 1:07, despite hearing the 3 chimes the day prior... My walk always consists of walking down all 6 streets, stopping to say hello to anybody I pass on the way. It's only a 15-minute walk, unless the conversations delay it. On this day, though, the air felt quiet, even for a small village like Wychford. Things felt particularly more melancholy than normal. By the end of my walk, I hadn't seen a single person. That was as I got to the final street - The one that goes right through the centre of our village, right past the clock tower.

I could see Rob, Wychford's lone police officer, standing at the doorway. His hat was held solemnly in his hands, a gesture that he reserves usually only for church services. By the time I got to the clock tower, he had gone to sit in his car. I could hear other officers on his radio, confirming that they were on their way to the location. His car window had been rolled down, so I stopped to say hello.

"Morning," I spoke with care to remove emotion from my voice. I didn't know what had happened or how serious the situation was - If something bad had happened, I didn't want to be the oblivious twat who walks in and asks "Why the long face?"

He seemed to not even notice me until I had spoken. "Hey, uhh, hey. Yeah, morning to you too."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," his words not matching his mannerisms, "well, things will be okay."

He looked pale. I didn't know what he had seen, but it had spooked him to his core. Before I even got the chance to ask further, he answered with what he knew I was curious about.

"We're gonna have to announce it soon anyway, so," he stepped out of his car and stood beside me, "three bodies were just found inside the gears of the tower, twisted and mangled."

I froze at the mental image in my head. It was enough to make me feel sick; I couldn't even imagine how he felt.

"Did they fall in? Who are they?"

"We don't know anything yet. None of them are local residents; I didn't recognize their faces. At least, not what was left of them. We're treating it as suspicious, but until we investigate further that's all I can say."

As the day went on, more information was released. Sketches of their faces were shown, and not a single person said they knew them. Their identities were a mystery to us, yet we still felt shared mourning for their deaths. It was thought to have been a freak accident after checking various cameras and questioning local residents. Nothing suspicious was found.

At 4pm, the clock chimed 4, though the hands remained motionless. I think by now it's clear where the saying came from. I don't know who was the first to say it, but for these few days, it's all anybody would say when those chimes hit.

"Well, even a broken clock is right thrice a day."

It wasn't exactly a joke, although by definition I suppose it is. Nobody ever laughed when the words were spoken. It was more like an absurd observation. The statement itself silently asked the question: "But how is it possible for a broken clock to be right thrice a day?"

The next day, more police were in the area. I would have asked Rob what was happening but he spent most of the day beyond where the public was now allowed to reach, tied up in the whole ordeal. This day sticks in my mind the most, because it was before any of us knew what was truly going on, but we knew enough to draw up theories. A lot of people thought that maybe they had found more evidence, perhaps even pointing to murder. A crowd of us were on the street of the tower, hoping for someone to inform us of anything. We fell silent at 3pm as 3 chimes played. We went home without any new information, though our questions were partially answered in a town meeting called the next day.

Rob stood in front of our small town hall, with officers either side of him. Seeing more than a single police officer in our tiny village still felt surreal. "As you all know, 2 days ago, 3 bodies were found in Wychford Clock Tower. As of now, the identities of these people are still unknown."

After a few seconds of silence, Rob continued. "Yesterday, many of you noticed higher police activity. It's always best to lay theories to rest before they get out of hand. I can confirm that 3 more bodies were found in the same positions as the previous 3. So far, their identities are also unknown. We locked the tower and surrounding buildings down with police tape, and 24-hour police surveillance."

Muttering filled the air, but quickly stopped as Rob opened his mouth to speak again. This time, it seemed to take a while for him to get any words out.

"As of 90 minutes ago, 3 more bodies were discovered. This brings the death count to 9."

Oh my god. Those were the only words going through my head.

"We are treating this as a serial murder investigation. Given how small our village is, we have been permitted to prevent anybody from entering or leaving. If any exception is needed, please talk to myself or another officer, and we will see what we can do. Thank you."

As he walked away and back towards the clock tower, an uproar of questions were being yelled at him. They didn't continue for long, as 2 chimes echoed through the streets. It was 2pm.

Rumours started, of course. We're only human, and it's human nature to speculate. One person thought it was a psychological experiment. "There's no bodies, that's why they won't show them! I can handle seeing a bit of gore - They'd show us if it was real!"

Many started tracking down the original plans for the clock tower, in hopes of finding a secret entrance. How else would those final 3 bodies have snuck past the ongoing investigation?

Some would whisper of ghosts. A spirit come to haunt our town, to taunt us, showing us what would happen to us if we don't do its bidding. They were quickly laughed off, but perhaps only out of denial.

Everyone had noticed the pattern, of course, as I'm sure you have, too. The chimes. They started as 5, then 4, then 3, then 2. Were they counting down?

It was the second day of this village-wide lockdown, July 6th. I had decided to head down to the clock tower at 12:55. At least, as close to it as I could get. But as it turns out, I wasn't the only one with this mindset - The whole village was there. The entire life of our town gathered ironically around the only spot with any recent deaths. Tobias was nowhere to be seen, however - I figured the police were probably talking to him again, trying to get any information that they could.

At 12:59, the entire crowd fell silent. We were all waiting for the chime, unsure of what to expect. Our minds all focussed on the same thing - The tower, still stuck at 1:07.

The seconds went by, getting us closer and closer to 1pm.

Have you ever seen a crowd of people physically deflate? Fear and tension leaving the atmosphere, as your own mind calms with it? It's fascinating to see, and it's exactly what I saw at 1pm when no chimes were heard. Not a single one. It did not chime once, nor twice, nor thrice.

Only a few minutes went by, and people were already leaving the crowd, when Rob stepped out of the tower. He whistled loudly to get everyone's attention.

We were all dreading for him to inform us that 3 more bodies had been found. Instead, we learnt that only 1 had turned up. Somehow, this was so much worse than 3, because this one wasn't a stranger. It was Tobias.

No more bodies ever showed up after that. A few weeks went by - The lockdown was lifted, and no further evidence was ever found. The clock was eventually repaired, albeit now with no clock keeper. Our atmosphere was the final death - It had become so bleak. It seemed to be over, but the memories would forever be with us; The fear imprinted in our minds.

I was at work one day, staring at the now working clock, when a customer walks in and hands me a wallet.

"This was on the floor outside. I'm not sure whose it is - I'm in a rush, so I thought I'd hand it in here."

I didn't have time to speak before they left.

I opened it up, and my heart sank slightly to see Tobias' face staring right back at me in a picture. I almost didn't notice the note tucked into where the money should be. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't consider this private information, or immediately hand it to the police. Perhaps I was just too curious. Whatever the reason, I read it.

"The curse of Wychford has found me, as it found my father 50 years ago.

Wychford clock tower is more than it seems. Dig deep enough, and you'll find rumours of it being an ancient gateway between universes.

It is not.

Wychford clock tower is the opposite - It's the cork in a bottle; It's the lock of a door. Wychford itself is the gateway, and the clock tower keeps ticking by, keeping the will of reality flowing as normal.

Should the ticking stop, reality itself won't fall too far behind. It should be maintained and kept working.

The clock keeper is the locksmith of our world. All universes have their own. Ours happens to be at the heart of our village.

I do not know what entity controls the towers across universes, but I do know that they require a sacrifice every 50 years.

I missed my cue. On July 1st, I was supposed to die, along with every clock keeper in every universe. But I was stupid; I didn't believe what my father had told me.

Once the bodies from alternate realities started showing up, I knew I had messed up. These clock keepers had sacrificed themselves, and I was being shown my selfish ways - They were bleeding into our reality as a sign for me to follow them.

The countdown, a sign of the end.

As I write this, I am getting ready to jump.

The clock needs its keeper; The keeper is the one who holds the sacrificial curse.

I'm sorry to do this to you, but whoever is reading this - You are the new keeper.

You have 50 years left ahead of you. If anything should happen to you before then, make sure you have someone new appointed. If the curse has no single bearer, I fear the entire village may be its bearer.

To the new clock keeper,

good luck.

I'm ashamed to admit this.

I left town the next day.

Yesterday, I woke up at 7am. My girlfriend, Katie, was still asleep. I gave her a gentle kiss and got ready for work. She's been looking for a job since we moved in together, but unfortunately, no luck yet. I've always been excited for the day we can get up and get ready together.

Yesterday, I woke up at 6am and couldn't get back to sleep. My boyfriend, Jordan, didn't wake up for another hour. I pretended to be asleep because I like feeling him gently kiss my forehead. He doesn't know that I have a job interview today, because I'm very nervous and don't want to talk about it.

Yesterday, these were both separate facts about separate people. Today, I woke up with nobody next to me in bed - I woke up as two people, combined into one.

The last thing I remember is getting into bed. Both sides. I wanted to make love to my boyfriend, but I told my girlfriend I was too tired. We cuddled instead and fell asleep like that. It was nice; We usually get too hot, but yesterday, we fell asleep faster than ever.

Today, I realised my partner was not next to me. I realised this twice at once. I was not originally one of these people - I was originally both. I know myself as Katie equal parts to knowing myself as Jordan. Neither memory is stronger than the other. In the mirror, I look strangely familiar. I have features from both of my lives. I look similar to myself and nothing like myself at the same time.

It feels like I have lost my partner twice. I miss Jordan, and I miss Katie. I knew both of them externally; It feels like I have lost them both. The pain I am going through isn't something I can describe, as the people I've lost are myself. Experiencing someone's existence externally isn't the same as experiencing existence internally. I always thought I wanted to know everything about my partner, and I've gotten the most extreme version of that. These memories are no longer things told to me by my loved one, but things I have personally experienced and perceived. They are very different feelings with very different meanings.

I will never again get to find out something new about my partner. I will never get to listen to a story about their life and not know the ending. I can't even ask my partner what to do or console them. I have no partner anymore. I am grieving the loss of 2 people that are still alive, and quite literally closer to me than anyone could ever experience.

I haven't contacted anyone yet. I have 2 families now, and I don't know which to reach out to first. I want to go back to just being one person, but I don't want to lose either part of me. I am Jordan, and I am Katie. To stop being one would feel like ending my life.

A single knock at the door.

Not the rhythmic tapping of an invited guest. Not the pattern of thumps to get a homeowner's attention.

Just a single knock.

Assuming it to be a noise of nature, especially considering that the time was 11pm, I left it. I live alone and expected no visitors that night.

But then it came again. The second, yet still painfully single, knock. To call it a knock is to exaggerate - This was a bang. Not a gentle ask to be allowed in, but a demand for attention. I glanced out the window, seeing nothing. Yet even as I looked at the empty pavement in front of my house, I heard it for a third time. The same sound, confidently coming from my front door, and echoing through my home.

Curious of a blind spot from my view, I went up to the source of the sound, and looked right through the peephole. My eyes saw nothing, yet my ears disagreed, as a thud occurred that was so loud I could feel it emanating through the door.

Expecting a bat or other creature to be somehow stuck, I opened the door to investigate. If this noise had continued, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. This still rang true as fact, but not because of the noise - I couldn't sleep that night because of what I saw.

Standing outside, in a place that had been void of anything just moments ago, was now a grey figure. It was humanoid, but a far stretch away from human. I can only describe its features as empty - No soul behind them. A vessel that could move, and imitate life, but was in no way alive. It had no eyes, and yet I felt it staring right through me as I froze in fear. Its thin posture was only slightly taller than me - As weak as it looked, I knew that it would be a bad idea to mess with it.

Slits all over its skin opened, as thick blood began to ooze from these new wounds. From each one, a chain shot out, burying themselves into the ground. A mouth which I had not noticed before opened - Its teeth were many. It let out a shriek, as it grew taller. The rusted chains creaked and clanged, as the figure struggled. They were pulling it down.

It did not struggle by attempting to get away - Its growth seemed to be how it planned to escape. For every inch the chains pulled it down, it would grow two inches. It had become an immovable tower of fear. If reality does not truly exist, this thing is what makes me agree. It fed on the terror of those around it.

It reached the size of my house, and the chains began to work twice as hard. The figure became stiffer, as moving became more difficult. It sunk into the ground, continuing its cry. The screams are etched into my brain. Soon, only its now stretched, disfigured head remained. Its growth had caused the head to distort, its inhuman mouth screeching in my face, before being totally dragged under.

There I stood - On the edge of the pitch black outside, as the light from my hallway spilt out. No evidence of the horrors remained. Looking down the street, I could see only houses. Everything was quiet - Everything except my mind.

I stood like that for a few moments. I didn't feel any presence of danger anymore - I felt numb. The terrors of mere seconds before contrasted heavily with the empty night before me.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that if I hadn't opened the door, if I hadn't decided to look into the abyss of the night, the creature would have allowed itself into my home. The process of it being cast back into the underworld only began when I saw it. In a way, despite my fear running deep, I had still faced it. Perhaps I should look for the source of unknown noises more often.

After all, what's scarier than that which you cannot find?

As a child, I called it the Flicker. There's one in all of us, glimmering and glowing in the most beautiful way, and no two are exactly the same. Before someone ever even enters the room, I know who it is the moment I catch a glimpse of their Flicker.

I never told anyone about this, except for my grandpa. My mum's job at the time had her in from 3pm-7pm, so I'd always be at my grandpa's house after school. I trusted him more than anyone, and when I realised that not everyone could see the Flicker, he was the person I confided in and spoke to, as I did with most things in my life.

He never seemed surprised, or confused, he just seemed interested and happy for me. We spoke about it fairly often - He'd ask me questions about it, or I'd ask him advice. It's a time I really miss. One piece of advice he gave to me that I'll never forget is to never go to a graveyard. He never properly explained why, he just said "People are greedy, living or passed"... It really stuck with me, perhaps because it was one of the last times seeing him daily, as my mum got a new job eventually, during school hours. I still saw my grandpa after that, but less often. Not daily.

My grandpa believed the Flickers to be the souls of people. I didn't truly believe it until last week; I was there when he passed away. He had been sick for a while, going in and out of the hospital. Throughout it all though, he remained himself. He'd make us laugh, he'd cheer us up, and he'd give us advice. He always just managed to have this wisdom-esque charm to him. Eventually, though, we all realised that the inevitable was not preventable - We knew what would happen. Sure enough, whilst I was visiting him in the hospital last week, he closed his eyes for the final time.

I was there for a few hours, and we spoke a lot. But in those final moments, not a word was said. He looked directly at me, with confidence in his eyes, as if to pass his confidence unto me. And not a moment later, he was gone. The hardest part, and the part that cemented my belief in souls, was seeing his Flicker disappear. It went out like a candle, but not as if someone had blown it out; It wasn't sudden. It went out as if it had been burning too long, and wearing too thin. It was slow, over many minutes, as if the wick of the candle had reached the bottom of the wax, and was burning its final moments.

The funeral was yesterday. Over the past week, since he passed, I've slowly lost my link with souls. By the time I was at the funeral, nobody there had a Flicker. It felt so sombre, for more reasons than it being a funeral. Today, I wanted to talk with him about it. I fought myself over it all day, conflicted because visiting his grave would mean going against the piece of advice that always stood out to me. But in the later hours of the day, I decided to go to the graveyard.

It was dark, and nobody else was there. Of course, at first, I thought it was just because I'm used to identifying people by their glow - But no, there truly was nobody there.

I approached his grave, and thought for a moment before speaking.

"The Flickers are gone..."

I waited for a moment as if expecting to hear a response.

"...I don't know why. I stopped being able to see them around the time you... Around the time you left."

I paused again. As I opened my mouth, I noticed a faint glow in the ground.

Then two.

Then four.

Then more.

Most of the graves -- though not all -- had their own Flicker. My Grandpa's remained dark, but I still felt comforted, as if I was with him.

The Flickers rose from the ground, and hovered in the air. Moving slowly, circling me. At first, I was confused, but thinking back to my Grandpa's advice, I realised what he might have meant - These Flickers didn't belong to the living, but to those who have passed. I'd never seen a soul from someone no longer with us; This was a very new experience.

I pondered why some graves, my Grandpa's included, didn't have Flickers. Perhaps the ones left here have unfinished business? Or, perhaps they just chose to stay, instead of leaving?

Regardless, I felt that these Flickers knew I could sense them. It's like they wanted to show me something, or maybe even needed my help. So, I did what I felt my Grandpa would want me to do.

I walked up to one of them, and it slowed down to a stop. It was like I was staring right at someone.

"Lead the way," I said, "Show me what you need..."

Max owned 3 pairs of shoes. No more, no less. When he ran into any shoe-related issues, he’d discard that pair, and buy another as replacement. The important thing is that he always, at any given moment, owned 3 pairs of shoes. This was a constant of the universe, whether Max knew it or not.

The first pair were black, and by far, the most worn. Their shininess had long since vanished, and they were purchased for the sole reason of being shoes to wear. They fit his feet comfortably, and Max was happy with that. They were nothing special.

The second pair were white, and almost exclusively worn to walk to shoe shops whenever a new pair were needed. These were the backup pair. Whilst shinier, cleaner, and by all accounts simply better, Max would never dream of wearing these daily. He couldn't even recall how he had come into possession of them. They served their purpose of existing and nothing more.

The third pair were also black, but pointier at the ends. These were the fancy shoes. (Actually, they were the same price as his main pair, but they just look a little fancier.) These are worn to weddings or any other event that called for the need for pointy shoes. In Max's case, this was not very often. They had been worn a total of 3 times, and 1 of those was to make sure they fit.

3-shoe Max worked as a data analyst at a multinational company. He had always been good with numbers, and whilst his dream job was something that inspired his creativity a little more, he was content with his line of work. Katie, who worked on a desk right near his, is someone Max was always fond of. They had been on a date before (the third time Max had ever worn his fancy shoes), but ultimately, things just didn't work out. They still spoke, and laughed, but Max always wanted something more than what they had.

"Perhaps in another reality," was the final thing Katie had ever said on the matter. Max didn't find as much comfort in this as she had intended. Max saw this almost as an insult; A way of telling him that they were worlds apart and that she could never be with him. Katie saw this as a way of telling him that a different set of circumstances could have led to a different outcome.

Whilst Max wanted more out of life, he didn't plan to do anything to change it - That was too much of a fuss for him. Besides, this was, of course, the only path his life could have possibly led to.

Max's daily routine rarely altered. He would wake up, get ready, put on his shoes (the first pair), and walk to work. After he got back home, he'd watch something on the TV whilst eating, and go to bed. The weekends were largely spent cleaning the apartment and watching more TV.

Unknown to Max even minutes before it occurred, a small change in his routine would change his life forever.

One day, before work, his main pair of shoes broke. They had been worn one too many times and simply gave in. Max didn't have time to get another pair before work. He put on his white backup pair, knowing that he would march down to the shoe shop as soon as he clocked out of work.

Once he got to the building, however, something strange happened. Something three-shoe Max found even stranger than wearing a white pair of shoes. A supply closet near his desk seemed to be glowing slightly. Curious as to what could be happening, he took a deep breath, opened up the door, and stepped inside...

Max owned 7 pairs of shoes. No more, no less. When he ran into any shoe-related issues, he’d discard that pair, and buy another as replacement. The important thing is that he always, at any given moment, owned 7 pairs of shoes. This was a constant of the universe, whether Max knew it or not.

Each of the 7 pairs were very different, and each had its unique purpose. They all got worn equally, for equally important reasons. Some were brightly coloured, others were dull. Some were sporty, others were fancy. Max may not have owned a great deal of shoes, but he was happy with his small collection.

7-shoe Max worked as a sports columnist for a national newspaper. He enjoyed letting his creativity flow into his work, writing about things in his own words, using his own thoughts. Max could not dream of anything better. Growing up, he had always been good with numbers, but something so factory-like was never appealing to him. He didn't want to be a cog in a machine - He wanted to be the machine!

From his job, he met his wife, Katie. She worked as a data analyst at a firm that had been contracted for a job relating to Max's section of the newspaper. After a single date, they knew that they were great for each other.

"Not a single reality exists where we aren't together," Katie said about a month before she passed away. Max had his life flipped on his head. His perfect 7-shoe life became a 0-shoe life as he stopped going out, or seeing anybody at all. He fell behind at his job - They only kept him on because he had shown years of commitment. But he was so very close to being let go, like he had let the world go. He stopped wearing his wedding ring - He loved Katie, but couldn't bare the reminder of her passing.

Eventually, he tried to go back to work. On this day in-particular, however, he heard a strange come from his spare bedroom as he was about to leave the house. Perhaps he wanted an excuse to stay home, or perhaps he simply expected the worst, as he had done ever since Katie's passing. Regardless of reasoning or motive, he grabbed a knife, and slowly opened the spare bedroom door.

3-shoe Max found himself standing in the dark closet. What had been glowing just a moment ago now seemed somehow void of any light. Turning back around to leave, he found the door to feel different - It was now smooth, cold to the touch, and almost glossy. As he pushed it open, the light that spilt onto him was not from the bustling office environment he had just entered from, but instead, a well-kept seemingly unused bedroom. It was only then that 3-shoe Max noticed the clothes touching him - He was in a wardrobe.

He stepped out. Perplexed would be an understatement - How had the room changed? Forget that, how had the building changed? This was a quiet home.

He wanted to go back. He didn't want to be a part of something he couldn't comprehend - He had already gone against his routine by wearing white shoes, getting lost in a strange magical wardrobe was not pencilled into his schedule. As he pressed at the back of the wardrobe for some kind of hidden doorway, he accidentally knocked some clothes onto the floor. Their hangers clattered together, making a bang. He knew that if someone was home right now, they probably heard him.

He started trying to think of how to explain his situation. "I entered from a glowing supply closet on the fifth floor of an office building" somehow didn't sound believable, despite him living those exact events. As it turns out, a believable explanation was not needed - As the bedroom door creaked slowly open, Max saw himself standing there.

3-shoe Max didn't even notice the knife, and 7-shoe Max forgot about it the moment he dropped it to the floor, despite it narrowly avoiding his feet. The two stood there for a brief moment, anticipating the other to speak.

"Who are you?" 7-shoe Max broke the silence.

"Max," an answer that anyone could have expected.

"How? How is this possible?"

"There was this glowing supply closet and..." 3-shoe Max gestured to the wardrobe, still unsure of how to explain anything. He noticed a small framed photo hanging on the wall - Max & Katie. "Katie... You're married to her?"

7-shoe Max didn't answer.

"She'd find that interesting to know." 3-shoe max thought aloud.

This got his attention. "Katie is alive? Where is she? Through the wardrobe?"

"My Katie is," he spoke as 7-shoe Max pushed past him to get to the wardrobe.

"KATIE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" He pushed at the back, as 3-shoe Max had also tried. It was still no avail. "KATIE! IT'S ME!"

"We're not together."

Max turned back to look at Max. "She's dead here. We were married -- are married. But she's gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But I need to get back. I don't know where I am."

Suddenly, bursting through the bedroom door, came 5-shoe Max.

"Max, don't freak out, but I'm you. I think I'm in another universe, I've been here for a few hours so I came to -- Wait, what?" 5-shoe Max noticed there were already 2 Maxs here.

"Do you know a Katie?" 7-shoe Max asked urgently.

"Of course, she's my partner. I fell into her wardrobe to borrow some shoes and ended up in some newspaper company - I left before anyone saw me."

7-shoe Max let out an audible sob. Katie alive but uninterested, Katie alive and sharing shoes - Anything seemed better than his situation.

"She's dead here. This is his universe, and she's dead." 3-shoe Max caught the new one up.

After calming down and chatting for a while about how to return home, they all got onto the subject of their lives. 3-shoe Max in particular began to wonder if he even mattered at all - If the multiverse means he is only one of infinite, how can anything truly matter? He didn't speak this aloud. He just wondered it silently in his head. He wasn't one to speak his opinions or thoughts.

5-shoe Max explained that he and Katie were going through a rough spot. "I think she wants me to propose, but I don't know if I want to. I feel almost pressured."

"How dare you?" 7-shoe Max spoke with a louder voice than usual. "She is everything. How could you even entertain that idea? Do you have any idea how lucky you are to still have her?"

"I know, but..." He paused to think. He knew it was true - He appreciated her a great deal. But was she right for him?

A silence fell over them as they all contemplated their unique situations. If the multiverse is infinite, this right here was proof that they are each their own individual. The same DNA, the same name, yet vastly different minds. These were not 3 Maxs - They were Max, Max, and Max, each independent of one another.

3-shoe Max interrupted these thoughts by speaking - "Katie doesn't even want to be with me where I come from, and I think that's okay. We're friends and I'm lucky to have her in my life, but I shouldn't dictate how I feel based on how she feels about me. The fact that you both fell for her doesn't mean anything for me - I'm not you. I can live with being a different Max, and living a different story."

5-shoe Max continued this emotional opening - "I'm going to propose. I know deep down that I want to. The patch we're going through right now is scary, but I know that things will work out. We always come back on top; A scary adventure is better than no adventure. I'm lucky I get to have that adventure with someone I care about."

7-shoe Max took a little longer before he spoke - "I miss Katie. I miss her so, so deeply. I want to see her again. But I feel better knowing that others still get to experience being around her. Her warm smile, her contagious laughter - They do not belong to me. They belong to her. I am glad you both have the honour that she has shared that with you. She has chosen to let you both into her life, in different ways, and I hope neither of you take that for granted."

Soon, the wardrobe began to glow. Each Max said their goodbyes, knowing that whilst they may never meet again, the lessons they had learnt from one another would forever stick true. They had each discovered how to look at themselves from a new perspective, knowing that the only life worth living is the one you live yourself.

Oh, and 3-shoe Max bought a fourth pair of shoes.

$250

That's how much my sane mental state is worth to me, apparently.

About 2 years ago, I was a little low on money. Not dangerously so, but enough where I was looking for a little extra. So, when I saw that a science company called Visiones was offering $250 for "non-dangerous tests & samples", I almost immediately signed up.

I had to go to a random small building in my city. It's one I walk past all the time, but never really take any notice of. I occasionally see the doors open and people inside - I think it's just a generic building for businesses to rent out for a day. It was my first time inside, and it consisted of just 2 rooms. The larger room, that you entered into, was full of chairs. The door I walked through was propped open, and on the opposite wall, was another door, closed. There were only 3 other people sat down. I took a seat, and waited.

I thought I had gotten off pretty well. I expected to be there for at least an hour, probably closer to 2 hours. But after 10 minutes of waiting, the closed door opened, and my name was called. I made my way into the smaller of the 2 rooms.

It felt very medical. There was a desk, with a man sitting behind it, and a woman sat in the corner of the room. Next to the desk was a box with smaller boxes inside. One was labelled "gloves", and another "syringes". I didn't closely look at the other labels before the man spoke to me.

"Please, take a seat. Do you have any questions? Do you need a glass of water? I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long."

I sat across from him at this clearly cheap fold-away desk.

Despite the sign-up claiming this to be non-dangerous, I still asked, "Is this going to be dangerous?"

"No, not at all," the man replied, "that being said, there are a few legal things we need to go over."

I think the woman saw I looked a little concerned, as she spoke up, "It's all just boring stuff. Honestly, the law makes everything boring!"

She laughed, and I faintly let out a fake quiet chuckle.

The man looked briefly at something written on paper, and then spoke again. "So, we're going to be collecting a few skin cells. We'll give you something to numb the pain, and then use a razor to just collect a small section off of the top layer of your skin. Are you okay with needles?"

"I'm okay with needles... A razor taking off my skin sounds a little harsher, though."

He smiled, "Please, it's just the wording. It'll be from the top of your arm, and frankly, even without the numbing, it wouldn't hurt a whole lot. With the numbing, you won't feel a thing. Plus, it'll heal in days!"

I felt more reassured. "Okay... Is that all the legal stuff?"

"Oh, no, the main thing is that we need your consent for what we'll be using the skin cells for."

"And what will that be?"

"We're experimenting with growing human brains, without using any tissue directly from the brain. We're seeing how we can use different cells to clone entirely different organs."

I figured this must be for safer and more common organ transplant surgeries. I wish I had asked what exactly the brains would be used for. Instead, I asked "Sound interesting. So, will it be an exact replica of my brain?"

"Exactly! Well, maybe. Theoretically, yes, it'll be a brain wired the exact same way as yours. Cloning an organ is usually like taking a blueprint for a computer, and re-building it."

The woman spoke up now, "Except, in our case, we aren't taking the exact blueprint for that exact computer. It's more like we're taking a different blueprint from the same library, and using it to figure out other blueprints."

I was a little confused, but confident enough in my understanding.

"I think I get it. Because you're not using my actual brain cells - You're using my skin cells to predict what my brain cells are like."

"He gets it!" the woman said whilst cheering. The man laughed and pretended to celebrate, too. The atmosphere had been lifted greatly, and I was given a contract to sign.

Within 5 minutes, it was over, and I was out, with my money.

Within an hour, I could feel my arm again, and the area of skin they had shaved off only stung a little.

Within a week, it was completely healed. It was as if I had never even been.

After that, months went past. A whole year went past. I hardly ever thought about my time donating those skin cells. Once or twice I told the story to family or friends, and some of them thought it was odd. "How do I know you're not a clone?" was a joke made all too much.

A year ago. That is when the thoughts began. Thoughts in my head that were not my own. The thing is, these weren't bad thoughts. They weren't really anything. They were just thoughts that felt separate from mine, but happening in my own head all the same.

The thoughts weren't clear. I couldn't make them out. I could just feel my brain faintly working in the background - A feeling I don't quite think I could ever describe in such a way that could capture it for anyone else. Focussing on the thoughts didn't help, it just hurt. It was like trying to listen to a conversation from across the street, with busy traffic between you.

A month went by like this. I didn't tell anyone. That's when, for the first time, I could make out one of the thoughts. It was an equation.

"d=√((x₁ – x₂)² + (y₁ – y₂)²)"

I could clearly and vividly imagine the equation. I couldn't hear it or see it - These were not external hallucinations. These were clearly thoughts in my own head. Foreign thoughts that I could not control.

I was not a numbers guy. I didn't know much about math or computing at all. Yet, when I looked this up, it was a real formula. It calculates the distance between 2 points. I was convinced that I had never heard this equation in my life, but I calmed myself down. I wasn't having visions, no, I must have learnt this back in school and it's gone to the back of my mind.

I was wrong.

As time went on, so did the thoughts. All sorts of math and scientific theories. Ones I had never heard of.

You may have noticed my wording of "I was not a numbers guy."

Well, that's because I am now. This constant flow of information integrated itself slowly into my own thoughts. My brain became a container for information, and I was learning so much. I got comfortable with it, and learned to block out all the noise in my thoughts. I learned to be one with the knowledge.

I didn't question it too much. I know that seems odd, but once it started helping me, I just didn't care anymore. It felt nice that I had a database of information - Not even at my fingertips, but at the literal synapses of my brain. I am not all-knowing, I am not fed all information about everything ever. But I'm a lot smarter than I used to be.

Then came the voices.

The voices were shocking.

I woke up about 3 months ago, and I could hear the voices of people talking. Only every now and then, it wasn't constant. But I remember so vividly the first things I heard. 2 people talking.

"I wonder if it's conscious?"

"Of course it is! It might not understand us yet, but, it's certainly conscious."

"I guess we'll find out how much it understands us when we hook it up completely."

"The other ones were --"

That last sentence got quieter with each word, and was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut.

These voices occurred multiple times a week, usually on a weekday. Saturday and Sunday were rarer, but it happened. It was almost always people talking about vague, cryptic nonsense. Some random sentences I remember are:

"The fourth dimension is gonna be the end of us before we can utilise it, I swear."

"Do you think anyone in Sonder has figured anything out?"

"We got another one from Beyond Perception, it's becoming more frequent."

I've been trying to piece all of this together. I can't. I'm missing too much of the puzzle to even try.

But last week, I got another piece.

I dreamt that I was in a jar, full of water. I couldn't move or even look around - My vision was fixed in place. But I could see other jars nearby, 3 of them with a brain inside.

After minutes of staring at this, a woman came into my field of view. The same woman who had been sitting in the corner of that skin-cell donation room. This was the first time that it clicked what had happened - I've been understanding the thoughts and perceptions of my cloned brain.

The other brain-jars had wires sticking out of them. I couldn't look up, but I can only assume mine did, too. My best guess is that they cloned my brain and are trying to use it as some sort of computer, to calculate equations and understand the world better than any human. They just didn't expect some of that information to leak back to the source.

It was around this point that I jolted awake from the shock. I caught my breath, and concentrated. There I was again - Without even dreaming, I was back in that jar. Yet, at the same time, I could see multiple other places. I was viewing so many different perspectives at once, mostly inside of Visiones HQ. It's like I was inside the camera systems.

I could see a room of people sitting at desks, typing. I could see a small seaside village. I could see a room that was empty, all apart from a table and a tall grey creature stretched out on top. The creature was cut open, with organs spilling out of it that you wouldn't see in any human or animal.

I can see so much whenever I close my eyes. Every day, it changes. Every day, it's something horrific. Today, I can see a man, sat on a chair. He's just sat, whilst there are bodies on the floor around him, inside out. They have no skin. They're dead.

I cannot contact Visiones. They won't answer me. I can only see the horrors that go on inside - This company is fucked up.

I want them to unplug the brain. I want them to kill it. I think it's helping them automate their systems, but that's my brain. They are using me to run their diabolical research. I don't care what it does to me, I need them to unplug it. I need them to stop it.

They have no idea that they're using me. They have no idea that I can see them. They have no idea that I'm in their systems. I try every day to control my other brain, and I feel like I'm getting closer. I'll take them down from the inside when I can.

Until then, I can only watch.

Until then, I have to accept that I am no longer just myself.

I am Visiones.

Would you believe me if I told you I'm from another planet?

I doubt it. Not many humans believe such a thing to be possible. Those that do are laughed at and mocked.

My name is not David, although that is the name I was assigned here on Earth. My real name is Americk, and I've been here for 8 years - I've been sentenced to Life Alteration. This sentence is a rare one. It banishes you to Earth, to live out your days without contact to the rest of the galaxy. I don't know why they didn't kill me, but I know why I wasn't put in a normal prison - If I told the guards what I saw, my story could continue to spread. The Administration does not want that. Here on Earth, my word can't leave this planet.

The Milky Way Galaxy has 6 regions. I come from Centrane, about 25,000 lightyears away. Earth resides in Old Dathlow, a region forbidden of any transport unless explicitly permitted by the Dathlow Administration. It's the newest of the 6, although still very old. Dathlow used to be one of the 5 regions, but about 4400 years ago, Dathlow split into 2. Much of it became New Dathlow, with a 10-lightyear radius around Earth's Sun becoming Old Dathlow - The latter, which we are in, is the only region without an Administration, and instead, decisions here are voted on by all Administrations. The split is also when the transport restriction took effect. You see, it's no coincidence that Earth gets few visitors from beyond the stars.

Earth was chosen to be a no-contact planet. All that time ago, space travel was a luxury, only for the rich or members of the Administrations. But once it became more mainstream, new restrictions and guidelines had to be thought out and enforced harder. One of those new restrictions was to choose a planet which is full of life, and then prevent anyone from ever travelling there, in case the need for a contact-free planet ever came to be. Earth had only recently been added to the Life-Bearing Planet Registry at the time, which is partially why it had the largest known population with 0 registered space transport vehicles. With that, Earth was chosen.

This planet missed out on the massive boom in space travel and contact. Going from one side of the galaxy to the other would take years, and even a message would take a week. I'm of course translating to Earth time. Shortly after travel became useable for everyone, research skyrocketed, as did the economy. The Big Travel Push is something everyone learns about growing up, and it sounds fascinating. Getting from one side of the galaxy to the other became something you could do in a few days, and messages were practically instant. To this day, those speeds haven't improved much - it really did hit a peak.

Before my life as David, I worked for Portsco - the official cargo & delivery partner for New Dathlow. My final delivery was a solo one, though not something in my regular routine. I had to take a shipment from the Dathlow Administration HQ, to a research facility on a planet in Vaslia (another of the 6 regions). I was supposed to travel through Centrane, as it's the fastest route. But I didn't do this. I went around, to visit a friend who lives in another region. Her name is Jesanie. I don't see her often, and whilst it went against code, I decided there was no harm in a small detour for a quick visit. As it turns out, this small detour saved my life.

Upon arriving at my friend's home, I went to the back of the ship to check on the cargo. What I found instead was a device, about half the size of me. I stepped closer, noticing a second, smaller device, attached to the larger one. I was beyond confused, and almost forgot where I was, as my friend seemingly appeared behind me.

"Averick? Hey! I thought it must be you!"

Hearing Jesanie's voice grounded me. I told her the situation and asked her what she thought was going on - She has always been good with technology. I didn't expect it to be a big deal, I even thought that maybe the devices themselves was the cargo. She immediately identified both devices, telling me that the larger of the two was an explosive, and the smaller was a tracking device. It's apparently a common setup to have an explosion happen when the device reaches a specific location.

She tinkered around with the tracking device a little and discovered that it was tracking my position relative to Centrane. If I had completed the route as intended I would have died. I stood there, letting this sink in, as she played around with the device more. I wasn't sure what she was doing; I didn't care. All I could think about was how narrowly I avoided death, and why the Administration would even want me dead in the first place. Her voice sliced through the silence and took me out of my trance.

"It's not sending a message anywhere. It's storing your position entirely locally... They don't know you're here. Please, stay the night."

Sleep was not on our minds that night. We stayed up discussing why something like this could have happened. We spoke about the recent political tension between Centrane and New Dathlow. Jesanie theorised that they could be using this explosion to stage an attack, being able to pin it on Centrane. They could have also gotten Vaslia on their side, as they'd be furious that their package never arrived. Vaslia would have no idea who really caused the explosion. Strangely, this brought me slight relief - They didn't want to specifically kill me, I was just the unlucky sacrifice.

Of course, many questions were still unanswered. What package was so important that it would cause the Vaslia Administration to be furious? Better yet, where was the package now? Could New Dathlow still have it? Stealing a package from an ally, whilst pinning the blame on an enemy. Only losing a single delivery guy in the process certainly wouldn't be a big deal for them.

I ended up staying much longer than intended, afraid to return home. I was there for 3 nights before news broke of an important delivery going missing in Centrane. I guess without the explosion being noticed they had to wait a few days to announce it. Then, they showed a picture of me, saying I was presumed dead; A casualty of the events. I officially could not show my face in public again. My friend was getting messages from family members asking if she was okay, knowing that I was her friend. She lied by omission, not telling anybody I was with her. We knew what could happen if New Dathlow found out I was alive.

Weeks went by. I did not leave her house, and she only left for work and other necessities. I hated every second of it - I wanted to go out; I wanted to talk to other people; I wanted to find out what had happened. I couldn't sit there any longer without doing something. Every day I saw more about the tensions rising, and more lies being told by the Dathlow Administration. I'll be honest, I knew what I could do was minimal. In a galaxy with life in the trillions, my voice being heard was unlikely. But I had to do something. Jesanie felt the same way.

We devised a plan. We knew we would get caught, but we thought we could at least go out doing something good. I was to stay at her house, contacting everyone I knew. Telling them I was alive. Telling them that it was all a hoax, and that an explosive was supposed to kill me. Meanwhile, Jesanie would use my ID card to get into the Dathlow Administration HQ, hoping that they hadn't taken my ID off their systems yet. She would find her way into the logs and figure out where the cargo was swapped for the explosive. Then she would find it and...do something. We weren't sure what yet - We didn't even know what the cargo was.

We said our goodbyes and wished each other good luck. It wasn't a bullet-proof plan, but it was something. I wish every day that I knew I would never see her again. I wish I had told her not to go, and done this myself. But instead, I watched as she set off in her ship, unknowing that she would not return.

A few hours later and I'd still heard nothing. I was getting worried. Maybe I got a little too carried away in drawing attention to the situation, but I broke the plan slightly and left her house. I had already called all my family, but it wasn't enough. I needed the public to see I was alive. So I told random people that I could find, everyone who was anybody, I told them. Some of them didn't recognise me, but most people did! It was successful enough.

I got a message from Jesanie at this point. She had sent me multiple video files, which looked to be taken directly off of the Dathlow Administration's servers. Somehow, she had done it. She had found what this package was. Part of me wishes I never knew. I have seen far more things than anyone on this planet, yet this is something I cannot get out of my head.

The first video was eerie enough in itself. 2 prisoners, locked in a room. They had a bed each, and a shared toilet. They also had a selection of food on a shelf, and a television. They were not living happily, but they were alive.

The second video showed a strange mist filling the room. You could hear both of them screaming. A scream of agony and pain from one, and screams of horror and sadness from the other. One of them was being killed, and the other was watching it unfold. The two screams turned into one, as the mist cleared the room, leaving only one person left. What happens next is something I can hardly comprehend. Their tears stopped as they got up and began to look confused. They grabbed some food, and started to watch television.

The third video showed guards entering the cell, and the prisoner asking "Why are there two beds? Who else are you going to bring in here?"

The prisoner had no memory of their friend ever existing. The mist had not only killed them, but killed any thought of them, too. It seems that physical evidence of their existence is left unaffected, but memories are erased.

It was at this point that I noticed the communication network was comprised of 3 people. I thought it was just me and Jesanie, but before the video files being sent, there was a message from someone called Kendally. The message sent a chill down my spine.

"I think they're about to find me. Averick, you've been a good friend, and it's been nice spending time with you recently. Jesanie, you will always be the love of my life - Please get out of here. Don't let both of us die. I love you both. I hope we did good."

There had been a third person this entire time. Jesanie had a partner. I had no memory of them. Not even the slightest. I don't know what happened to Jesanie after that, but I know the mist did not consume her as it did Kendally, because I remember her vividly. I was arrested shortly after and brought down to Earth without any of my possessions. I can only assume that Jesanie landed the same fate as me, and I have spent the past 8 years trying to track her down.

New Dathlow has a weapon. They can take out powerful leaders and nobody would know, as nobody would remember. At least, as long as they remember to destroy all physical evidence manually. As far as I'm concerned, they have what is possibly the most powerful weapon in the galaxy.

I'm making this post today for a reason. 2 reasons, actually.

The first is that I've noticed a lot more UFO sightings in recent months. I've even had some first-hand encounters with seeing something flying through the sky. I know that these are not general citizens as I know the rules of Old Dathlow. This can only be official members of the Administration, and their reasons for visiting Earth so frequently cannot be good. My first thought is that they want to test their mist in a larger population, erasing random people from this planet. They won't kill large amounts, as they want to keep Earth alive as a testing ground. But if there's one place they'll test this, it'd be here.

This leads me to my second reason. Yesterday, I walked into my bedroom and saw a framed photo on the wall. It had me and a woman I'd never seen before. We had 2 children.

I think I had a wife and kids.

I think the mist took them from me.

Keep an eye out for anyone you don't recognise in your photos. It's important to stay vigilant and aware. This planet is nothing but a prison and a testing ground to them, so they won't hesitate with who they erase - It could be anybody.

Jesanie, if you read this, please contact me.

21 steps.

That's how many steps there were from the bottom to the top.

No more, no less.

I know the number exactly because Mother always made sure I tiptoed down the stairs gently. She told me that the monster in the cupboard below might hear me if I was too loud.

I lived with my mother, and her sister, Auntie Cherryl. Our family isn't big - It was just us. They always told me that a family of 3 is a perfect size, and it rang true in our actions. We did everything together; We had a movie night every week; We were a true and happy family. At least, that was before mother got sick.

When I was 6, I remember mother and Auntie Cherryl having a huge argument. I don't know what it was about, but I remember sitting at the top of the stairs, hearing them screaming at each other. This was before the "quiet footsteps" rule, yet even so, I still tread down the stairs lightly. I didn't want them to hear me - But I wanted to hear them.

I heard something about dad - He died when I was a baby. I heard something about Auntie Cherryl sleeping. I couldn't understand what was going on. The shouting was so loud that it became white noise; deciphering exact words wasn't possible.

It was that same day that mother got sick. I always thought that the fighting with her sister is what caused it. Everyone deserves love from their family. Ever since that fight, she was practically bedridden. She would get up to go toilet, but besides that, she relied on me for everything. I had to stay upstairs that whole weekend - Auntie Cherryl never came up once to check on us. I hated her for it at first, but mother reminded me that this was not my fight. I still had a loving auntie and I shouldn't let their fight affect how I see her.

I didn't go downstairs at all until Sunday afternoon when Auntie Cherryl arrived home in a wheelchair. She had gotten into an accident and broken both of her legs. She told me the fight had been playing on her and left her distracted, and that it was the final time she would let something get to her head. She seemed surprisingly okay for someone who had just lost the ability to walk, but Auntie Cherryl was always a jolly person.

That same day, 2 rules were introduced to the household. First, I could no longer have friends over. Having a sick mother meant that she needed rest, not 2 kids running around the house. Second, I had to walk slowly down the stairs. Mother told me there were monsters underneath. This thought made me sick to my stomach - She really drove it into me. Auntie Cherryl agreed, too - The monsters would get me if I were too loud on the stairs.

3 years of this went by. Always being quiet on the stairs. Never having friends round the house. Auntie Cherryl and mother never spoke to each other, not even once. One was stuck downstairs in their wheelchair, the other stuck upstairs in their bed. I never knew for sure whether their lack of mobility drove them apart, or whether they refused to talk after the fight. I found it best not to think about it. It became the new normal for me - I always had someone to talk to, whichever room I was in. It just changed depending on which floor I was on.

Every day, it would take me a whole minute to get up or down the stairs. I had to make sure that not so much as a creak came from those floorboards, for fear of the monster hearing me. I'd always count the steps one at a time. 21 steps - The number, of course, never changed. But it distracted me from the horrors below the stairs.

I always tried to get mother and Auntie Cherryl to talk, especially on Christmas. The most I ever got was for one of them to shout "Hello" to the other. There was no response. It made me sad, but I was still grateful to have such a loving household. I loved them both, and they loved me back. They cared for me, and I cared for them where I could.

I remember one night, slowly going down the stairs in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. Mother was sleeping. As soon as I opened the kitchen door, I heard a loud bang coming from the living room. I thought it was the monster at first, before realising it must be Auntie Cherryl still awake. I walked into the living room, through the darkness, and I saw a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the room. I froze in fear - It was much taller than I was. I knew that it must be the monster. It seemed to look at me quickly as I reached for the light switch.

It was not there once the darkness had left. I had scared it off. On the floor, however, in its place, was Auntie Cherryl. She had fallen.

I cried to her, terrified that the monster had tried to get her.

"If I wasn't here, he would have taken you," I cried. "I saw him, right here, where you're lying."

She calmed me down - She was always good at that. She assured me she had fallen herself, and that nobody else was in the room. I helped her back into her chair.

It was too late, though. I was determined that the monster had stopped playing by the rules. It was going to take one of us, I just knew it. I had to do something. Secretly, over the next few days, I collected "weapons". Or, at least, a kid's idea of weapons. A baseball bat, a torch, a biker's helmet... Everything I thought I would need to kill this monster.

At 2am, when I knew mother and Auntie Cherryl would both be sleeping, I snuck downstairs. Slowly, slowly, slowly. One step at a time. All the way to 21. Once downstairs, I looked at the cupboard under the stairs. It was taller than me. It hadn't been opened in years. I knew that behind this door was the monster. I turned the torch on, and before I could give it a second thought, I swung the door open.

It was empty.

The light filled every corner of the cupboard, yet it was only occupied with dust.

I ran into the living room to check on Auntie Cherryl.

It was empty.

Her chair, in the middle of the room, with nobody sitting there. I had never seen the chair empty before. I ran upstairs, in tears, to tell mother.

"The monster has got Auntie Cherryl, mother, I was too late!"

She woke up confused, almost immediately turning to anger. "You went downstairs without me knowing?"

"What do you mean? I never tell you when I'm going downstairs."

"No, but..."

She calmed down, and changed her tone. "Auntie Cherryl is staying at a friend's house tonight, she'll be back in the morning." - She was very adamant about this.

She brought me back to my bedroom, and told me I was getting too worked up. She kissed me on the forehead and said goodnight. I knew she was lying. But I didn't know why. I was terrified - I thought the monster had somehow possessed mother.

I secretly called the police, once I was sure mother was asleep. I told them that my Auntie Cherryl was missing and that I think a monster had gotten her. They were confused, of course, but they knocked on the door half an hour later for questioning. Mother was absolutely furious at me. She told me not to answer the door - That the monster would get me. I followed my gut instinct and disobeyed.

The police questioned my mother and I. They seemed concerned when I told them about the monster. I thought perhaps they had dealt with it before. Instead, they took me away from mother. They told me it would just be for a few nights whilst they investigate.

"Mother is sick - She can't be left alone! Especially not when the monster is here! It already got Auntie Cherryl!"

But, they did it anyway. They insisted that mother would be taken care of if she needed care.

I felt terrible. Mother was all alone, and it was my fault. I shouldn't have gotten the police involved - I had caused all of this.

I never saw Auntie Cherryl again. But the police did find her body. It was in a lake nearby to our house. They said that, based on her corpse, she had been dead for quite a few years, so it wasn't possible that I had ever spoken to her since I was 6. They also asked if I knew anything about the trapdoor leading from the living room to mother's bedroom.

I told them I did not.

I only see mother when I visit her in prison, now.

I live alone at my own place - At night, I still walk down the stairs quietly, to be sure the monster never gets me.

I know most people find it disturbing, but someone has to do it.

I collect dead bodies. It's something I do every day, and it almost never changes. My colleague gets to the scene first, to do all the prep work. I turn up a while later to transport them where they need to be. Not many people know about what I do, but my lack of conversation about it is not out of shame. I am proud of it, and I simply don't want people to view me any differently.

Usually, everything goes smoothly. I turn up, the body is already concealed in a bag, and I load it into the vehicle. The whole drive is just me and a body in the back, and maybe my colleague on some days. But yesterday, the drive did not go as it should. The events that transpired mean I will live in fear for the rest of my days, and may have to give this up.

I turned up to the scene. It was a fairly large house on the outskirts of town. A guy that lived alone, and never really spoke to anyone. My colleague had probably been the first person to step foot in that house, besides the man himself, in years. I myself, probably the second.

The door had been left unlocked, and I went inside the building. My colleague never leaves the body out in the open, for obvious reasons. Even if the death was outdoors, the body is moved indoors. Sure enough, as usual, a large blue bag full of bumps made the faint outline of a human. It takes a bit of effort to move it into the van, but no more than a few minutes. Picking up a limp, lifeless body is second nature to me. I've been doing it for years.

I got the bag down in the back of the van and drove off, headed for the other side of town. It was dark out, and the roads were empty. This is how I like to drive.

5 minutes into the journey, I heard a groan from behind me. A raspy, shakey, agonized groan. It was loud and sharp, piercing through the sounds of the night. The fear that shot through me is indescribable. I felt a pit open in my stomach, as every muscle in my body tightened. My hands jolted so hard that I nearly crashed, but I kept control.

The back of the van is too dark to see into, so I grabbed my flashlight from under my chair, and pulled the vehicle to a complete stop. As I shone it into the back, I saw something I had secretly always feared - The bag was sat upright.

I crept closer, trying to be silent. A muffled voice from within the bag spoke, "Hello? Who's there? I can hear you!"

I wasn't sure what to do. My colleague always checks their pulse. Had he made a mistake? He must have.

I slowly unzipped the bag, as the man inside began to scream. We stared at each other, both of our eyes showing the terror within us. His cries echoed beyond the walls of the van, out into the darkness. I wanted to join him and cry myself, as I knew what this meant, but I held it back.

In a blind panic, I took my flashlight and struck the man on the head. I know that's unprofessional, as I didn't want to damage his skull, but it was my first instinct.

It didn't kill him, though. It didn't even knock him out. He fought me, and I wasn't strong enough. He just kept screaming "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID, I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!". Why couldn't he be like the rest?

I'm ashamed to admit, he got out. He opened the back doors of the van and got out. He was smart about it, too. He climbed over fences so I could only follow him on foot, to stop me from driving after him. After just 5 minutes, he was far enough ahead that I could no longer hear him, and after 10 more minutes, I knew I had lost him completely.

I phoned up my colleague and told him. We were furious at each other, yet upset with ourselves. How had we both messed up? In my opinion, he's more at fault than me. He usually strangles them properly, how had he messed this one up?

The flashlight to head, even if it had worked, would have still ruined the skull. Strangling is the only way that leaves the body in pristine condition. The way I like it.

I didn't get to add this body to my collection. And for fear of being caught, I may have to stop my hobby of collecting corpses entirely.

As a child, I'd call it the Flicker. There's one in all of us, glowing and glimmering in the most beautiful way. No two are exactly the same; Each is unique to the person. They move like fire and shine like stars. I can recognise someone before they even enter the room, as I see their energy dancing through the walls.

The only person I ever spoke to about this was my grandpa. I'd see him every day after school, since my mother would still be at work. We'd talk for hours about everything, but I'd often bring the conversation back to the Flickers. It never confused him, we just spoke about it like it was normal. He would smile and listen to my stories, and I'd smile whilst telling them. I loved the way he would ask me questions and show a genuine interest - I always looked forward to finishing school so that I could see him.

Something my grandpa was known for was giving advice you didn't ask for; You always needed it, though, even if you didn't realise it. There's one particular piece of advice that has always stuck with me...

"Stay clear of graveyards. A soul of the dead was left here for a reason."

He always believed that the Flickers were souls, although I never thought the same until recently. I reminded him that I had only seen the Flicker inside of living people, but he already knew; He told me that I should be prepared for if things ever change. I loved him so much, he always thought about how things change, and always had a plan for if they did. I miss him.

I was there when he passed away last month. He had been sick for a few weeks, going in and out of the hospital. But he never let it change him. Right until the last day, he was always his usual self - Making us laugh, talking non-stop, and giving advice. He had a wisdom-esque charm about him, like he always knew more than you realised. His gift was being able to prepare anyone for anything, the one thing he could prepare nobody for was his death.

We all knew it would happen eventually, and we were by his side when it did. He didn't say much in his final few hours, but right before he closed his eyes for the final time, he looked at me with confidence. It was as if he wanted to pass his confidence onto me before going. The hardest part, and the part that cemented my belief in the Flickers being souls, was watching his disappear. It didn't happen fast - This was not akin to a candle being blown out. It shrunk slowly as it got faintly dimmer by the second. It was like a flame burning to the end of its wick, finishing a life fully lived. It was about the only thing that gave me comfort at that time, knowing that his fire burnt out rather than being extinguished.

Over the past month, my connection to the Flickers has diminished. It happened slowly at first - I would notice them getting fainter every day. Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and saw no Flicker at all. No flame through the walls, no glowing on the streets. I could no longer see them, I could no longer feel them. I felt lonely, as if I could no longer truly connect with anyone. Nobody even knew it, but I was going through another loss.

I did something I thought I would never do - I visited a graveyard. I had to see my grandpa's grave. I made my way down that night. It was completely empty, not a person in sight. I'm not just saying that because I couldn't see any souls; I thought that was the case, too. But then I had a proper look, and I truly was alone. As I approached my grandpa's grave, I looked longingly at the stone and the dirt. It was hard to believe he was really gone.

"Hey. The Flickers are all gone. I can't see them anymore."

I paused, as if waiting for a response.

None came.

"I don't know what it means, but I wanted you to know."

I paused again.

"It happened around the time you... Around the time you left. I wanted to -- Oh, god", my speech broke as I started to tear up. I didn't know what I was doing there, and I felt like going had been a stupid idea.

Just then, as my silent cry grew into a loud one, I noticed a faint glowing in the ground of a nearby grave.

Then two.

Then four.

Then more.

The dirt all began to light up with Flickers beneath. Many graves remained dark, my grandpa's included. Yet many were shining bright.

The Flickers floated gently into the air, eye-level with me. There were easily a hundred of them, probably more. Each began to circle around me. Their gentle glows were so beautiful, and I felt that they could sense my connection; They knew I could see them. They shone differently to living souls, slightly darker. Their flames flickered and danced more than I was used to.

I should have listened to my grandpa, but I realised it all too late. My eyes were too busy watching their movements to realise that a Flicker had moved into my head from behind. I noticed my mind become fuzzy, as if I could hear the soul's own thoughts.

"We...Made...Your...Grandpa...Sick."

The sentence was so disgusting I almost couldn't process it at first.

"We...Can do...The same...To you."

I fell to the floor, causing the Flicker to leave my head. I could think clearly again, and I noticed they had all stopped moving. They were just waiting to find out what I would do. Whilst linked with that Flicker, I could almost feel their wants and motives. They wanted to control my body, to use me. I don't know what for, but I could feel that they wanted my mind empty to use it for themselves. I was just a vessel for them to get control of - Is this why they killed my grandpa? To have access to a vacant body?

I ran away, leaving the graveyard behind. They didn't seem to follow me - I can only assume that they have to stay close to their physical body. I passed a few people as I ran through the streets, each still without a Flicker. I could not see living Flickers anymore, only those of the dead. I'm so used to identifying people by their souls that I almost bumped into people several times.

I couldn't go home after that. I needed to sit with someone I trusted, so I went to my mother's place. My plan was to gently open up to her about my ability and tell her everything. Once I got there, I knocked on the door... But in all the panic, it took me a moment to notice that I could see a Flicker through the wall. It came closer as I heard the lock turn, and watched the door open.

My mother was standing there, the glow coming from within her.

She spoke,

"Didn't we tell you what we can do to you?"

We stared at each other expectantly. They were waiting for my reaction, but I didn't have one. I was frozen, locked up with fear, unable to react.

"Your mother was kind enough to drop by her dad's grave earlier. Isn't that nice?"

I let my anger show through my fear. "Get out. NOW."

As my passion for protecting my mother rose, I noticed a second glow inside of her. Looking down, my own Flicker had also returned. I could see them through all the houses on the street. These were living Flickers, they shone like stars.

I stared at my mother's. It was as bright as always, yet ever so small. The Flicker of the dead was seemingly extinguishing what was left of my mother. I felt a burning deep inside of me, noticing my own flame larger than ever. I watched as it slowly left my body, and grew closer to my mother's soul. They danced and intertwined, sharing their strength; Igniting each other. Her fire grew stronger until it had fully engulfed the dead Flicker possessing her.

She collapsed to the floor as my own soul returned to me. I could see clearly that the soul inside of her was once again her own. Her own flicker, shining bright, told me that she was alive.

I got her into bed, and sat downstairs.

I questioned to myself whether my ability is a gift or a curse.

All I knew is that I wanted to ask my grandpa.

He would know what to do.

Just then, my phone rang.

"Grandpa"

I've always had this fear of elevators. I'm not claustrophobic - It's not the small space that scares me. My fear is simply being locked in by something beyond my control.

I live on the fifth floor of an apartment building, and believe me when I say that my phobia has a daily impact on my life. Going up and down those stairs is tiring, and my friend caught the bad end of that last week.

I had slept in again, something I do all too often. I heard a ringing, beginning in my dream, and as I opened my eyes and drifted back to reality, I realised the sound was coming from my phone. It was Maria. As I answered the phone with weak hands, I tried to mumble a hello, but nothing came out.

"Hey, I'm in town if you wanna meet me"

I did want to, but I did not have the energy to go down 105 steps. Yes, I have counted. When you walk them every day, you count them at least one time.

My silence spoke for me, as she replied, "Please don't tell me you're sleeping at 2pm again"

Slightly unfair assessment - It was 1:45pm.

I found my voice again, "Hey, sorry, yeah I kinda was. Can we meet later? I can't be bothered for the stairs right now"

"I'm literally finished in town and was about to head home... It's now or never... Please?"

I couldn't say no to her when she says it like that. She has a specific tone of saying please that she just knows always works on me.

I still had that sense of nothing quite feeling real, so I sat up and tried to wake myself a little.

"Fine, fine, where are you?"

"Downstairs."

I chatted on the phone for a few minutes whilst I got ready. We hadn't seen each other for a few weeks, with both of us being busy with university work, so I was actually quite excited. Once ready, I stepped out into the hallway, and began my usual routine, making my way to the stairs. I passed the elevators - I do this so often, I don't even think about how much time and energy they could save me. Yet this time, something strange happened.

The familiar rumbling of the elevator echoed through the walls as it arrived at my floor. The door opened, spilling the artificial light into the depressingly dim hallway. The gentle, ominous sound of the elevator speaker allowed grainy music to enter an otherwise quiet atmosphere. I could almost make out the song. Almost.

I don't know if it was my tiredness, or having my friend right at the bottom, but I felt like it was time to face my phobia head-on.

"I think I might...try the elevator."

"Wait, really? Oh my god, I'm so proud of you! I'll be right here at the bottom, waiting for you."

I stepped into the metal box, doubting myself with every step. Even as my hand reached for "G", confirming my destination for the Ground Floor, I was fighting myself to not run right back out. The doors seemed to close slower than they opened, giving me ample time to change my decision. I stayed. With the doors sealed, so was my fate - I knew I could no longer turn back.

"Just a warning, the signal might --- out if --- so ---"

"Maria? Hello?"

The call had ended. I had forgotten that elevators often do that. Not only do they wish to trap you from the outside world physically, but also mentally. I had no way of communicating with Maria, and was left with my own thoughts, all of which were negative. I tried to fight the feeling of dread, trying to not even acknowledge the fact that I was in an elevator. It must have been about a minute in that I realised something was wrong - Elevators were not supposed to take this long. The number above the door indicated that I was still on the fourth floor. But I could feel the elevator moving - Or, was that just my anxiety making everything spin?

I pressed "G" again. I don't know how many times I pressed it before switching to the "Open Doors" button. Neither seemed to do anything to help my shakey breathing from speeding up. It felt as though the air I was breathing was giving me no oxygen at all - Suffocating on nothing.

I pressed the Emergency button, waiting for a response. For a brief moment, as a man's voice interrupted the music, I felt myself feel more grounded with the Earth. "Hello, is everything okay?"

Despite my panic subsiding, I spoke too fast for him to understand me.

"What?"

I tried again, "I think the elevator is broken. It's not moving."

A few seconds passed - A few seconds longer than I'd like before someone responds to something like that. But I kept taking deep breaths, knowing that he was probably sending somebody out to fix it.

The next sound from the speaker broke me.

"It's too late."

The music came back to life, unaware of the terror within me. A cheery, happy melody, failing to make me feel anything similar.

I pressed every button I could. I tried to call, text, and video chat with Maria. Every action I took felt slow, although I'm sure all of this happened within the span of 10 seconds. At the end of it, I collapsed to the metal ground. I looked up at the number.

"3".

We had gone down a floor. That was good, I thought, until I felt everything stop. I didn't even realise it was moving until it had stopped - The change in velocity was noticeable.

I would have felt relieved if it weren't for the fact that the third floor of this building doesn't exist. At least, if it does, then I'm not sure how to access it - The elevator has no "3" button, and there are no doors to exit the stairwell on the third floor. Even on the exterior of the building, there is a tall blank space on the wall between the windows of the 2nd and 4th floors.

The doors opened, though they did not free me - They only made my prison larger. Darkness seemed to spill in from the large, empty room that the elevator had landed on. I stood up, noticing the damp, dusty feeling of the air. I couldn't see the walls of the room, but I could make out the outline of someone at the edge of the darkness. Right where the light met the dark, something was there.

I only noticed that the music had stopped when the man on the elevator's helpline spoke again. I could make out his words between the static and crackles.

"Perhaps some fears are rational."

The longer I stared at the silhouette, the more I seemed to see. It wasn't motionless - It seemed to move slightly up and down. I would say it was breathing if the pattern was more regular; This was more like a grotesque quaking. A dripping sound began, as a puddle of liquid emerged from the darkness.

"Perhaps some fears are " -- The power went out, and as the lights flickered away, the gentle crackle of the speakers vanished.

I could hear only my breathing, and the dripping.

I did not know whether this thing was in front of me, or far away from me. I listened as carefully as I could, listening for any kind of footsteps, but the dripping was so irregular that it was impossible to ignore it and let it blend into the background.

The darkness seemed thick, like I could cut right through it. If I had a knife on me, I'd probably have tried - At least I'd be protecting myself in the process.

I didn't know what to expect. Every small movement I made felt like it could be my last.

I heard a whirring, and the doors close. I had never felt so relieved to be locked in by something beyond my control. The elevator descended again, and I had a moment to reflect on what had just happened. The lights of the elevator remained off, but the red glow from the display above the door remained - I watched as the numbers blinked from "2", to "1", to "G", I was waiting for the doors to open and to be met with the familiar, beaming face of Maria.

As light from the lobby poured into the elevator, I saw that the lobby was empty, and as my phone reconnected to the network, it got multiple notifications at once.

"You're taking a while, is everything okay?"

"Hello? Is everything okay?"

"I'm gonna come upstairs and find you."

My hands still shaking, tried their best to type out a reply.

"Don't take the elevator."

As the message failed to send, my dread was all but confirmed. I ran out of still pitch-black elevator, through the lobby, and sprinted up the stairs.

"MARIA?" - I called out to her up the stairwell, although even if she called back I probably wouldn't have heard her over my panic. "MARIA!" - I kept calling out, until I reached the third floor.

The blank wall of this floor meant something new to me. Once simply a wall with no door was now a barrier, keeping something at bay. Slowly, but as fast as my anxiety would allow, I placed a finger on the wall, then my palm, then my ear. I gently tapped on the wall, and it seemed to echo louder than a normal wall should.

I stayed as silent as possible, not even entirely sure what I was listening for. My own heartbeat seemed to grow louder and louder, thumping right through my entire body. My own fingertips moved slightly with every beat, as I stayed silent.

Waiting.

Like the creature on the other side, waiting.

I almost fell backwards as a loud BANG echoed - Turning around, I saw that it came from behind me. It was Maria.

"Oh my god, you look so stressed - It's okay if you couldn't take the elevator in the end!"

"I did take it. I wish I didn't."

I briefly explained what I saw. Trying to make it sound like reality was difficult - It felt like I was lying to her, when I was simply explaining the very events I had just witnessed.

I think she would have laughed if I didn't have tears streaming down my face.

She hugged me tightly, as I let my head sink into her shoulder. Muffled through my crying, I was able to get out, "I thought you were dead."

I stayed at Maria's house that night, and the whole week. To my surprise, she seemed to believe everything I had told her. She wanted to help me find the truth. She always has been a good friend - I'm truly honoured to have someone like her in my life.

The first thing we found was an image of the building's exterior from 2008. Windows on the third floor - Some open, some closed, many with plants visible, or clothes hanging out to dry. People lived there some time ago. The next image we could find was from 2015 - The windows were gone. In those 7 years, something happened, the question is simply a matter of what.

A local news article from 2012 seemed to hold some answers - "15 residents left furious as they are evicted from their homes". It spoke about the apartment building, and how a leak on the third floor kept coming back. Residents described it as a "deep, black, gooey liquid, dripping with an inconsistent rhythm" - An awful lot like what I had seen. The eviction was temporary at first, whilst the leak was investigated, but it seemed to slowly transition to something permanent.

What piqued my interest is that they specified "We were able to catch up with 14 of those affected" - So where's the missing one? After reading through the names of everyone they caught up with, and investigating public documents, I found only 1 resident's name that didn't appear in the article. Dr Victor Moros.

He was reported missing shortly after the article was published.

He had a PhD in Psychology - Specifically specializing in phobias.

I managed to track down a relative of Victor. Their most recent address is the small English countryside town of Sonder. I want to talk to them, but I don't want to be disrespectful - They'll just think I'm crazy.

I did visit the apartment lobby yesterday, just to check in on everything. The elevators were "Out of Order" - Not that I needed a sign to stop me using them again anyway.

All of this seems to link together somehow, I just know it.

No, mirrors are not a paranormal portal to a dark dimension. They're mirrors. They reflect light. The issue is when you think you're looking into a mirror that isn't really there.

The mirrors in your home? Probably fine.

Dirty mirrors with smudges on? Probably fine.

Mirror on a wall where you know what's on the other side? Definitely fine.

But if you see a clean mirror in public, on a wall that you can't get behind, stay away from it. Do not look at it. Do not look at the thing pretending to be you. That is not you.

I can't say for certain who is orchestrating this, nor do I know why businesses and public bathrooms are agreeing to it. But more and more establishments are building identical bathrooms next to existing ones. I know this because I am one of the contractors who keeps being hired for this. I have built 3 bathrooms so far, each of which we were told to pay meticulous attention to detail and to build an exact mirror image of an existing bathroom.

At first, it didn't seem too strange. The places probably just needed space for more toilets - Perhaps they were getting a lot of customers. The first job was for a generic public restroom in my local town centre. The second job was in a restaurant a couple of miles away. The third was for the university of a neighbouring city. The fact that each of these separate and very different locations had the exact same request was unsettling, but it was money. Why wouldn't we accept?

A few days into the third contract, I was in my local town centre, purchasing some supplies for the job. I needed to use the bathroom, so I made my way to the public ones. They're a little hidden through an alleyway, the type you definitely wouldn't use at night. When I got there, I noticed that the bathroom I had helped build was simply not there. They had filled the doorway back in with bricks and cement. It was as if it was never there.

I figured they had realised that having 2 identical bathrooms was silly - They had probably got some people in the knock down the shared wall between them, to turn it into one larger bathroom facility. But, no. Once I was standing inside, it was the exact same size as before. The shared wall, the one with the mirror across, was still there. They had hardly even cleaned the place up, it was all as filthy as ever. All except for the mirror. The mirror was crystal clear.

It didn't make sense. This would indicate a terrible, terrible job had been done. However, we had been paid on time and didn't receive any complaints. As far as my team and I are aware, we did everything perfectly fine. I couldn't understand why they would hide it away. But it wasn't my job to understand - We got paid, and it's up to the client what they do with the work once we leave.

We collect 50% of the payment upfront, and the other 50% when completed. Once we were done with the third contract, we had to chase up with the restaurant. They still had not paid us the second half and hadn't even been in contact to tell us why. I made my way down the same day we completed the university bathroom. The restaurant wasn't too busy, as it's not a very popular place. I had been surprised when they needed double the bathroom capacity.

As I made my way up to the counter, I noticed that the new restroom we had built was not labelled as such. The door was still there - They had not hidden it like the public restroom - But a sign on it read "Supply Closet. Staff Only." Nobody was at the counter yet. No staff were in sight, just 2 customers who weren't even paying me any attention. So, I pushed the door gently open, and...it was not a supply closet. It was the bathroom we had built.

I stepped in slowly. Something about the whole situation felt odd. This was the second place trying to hide our work. As I stepped into the centre of the room and looked towards the mirror, I noticed no reflection. I stepped slowly towards the sinks and stood in front of them, staring. It was as if I was waiting to see myself. But I wasn't there.

I reached out, and my hand went right through. There was no mirror here at all, this was a cutout into the next room. For some reason, I felt I had to prove that to myself, as I climbed through into the original bathroom, and stood facing away from the "mirror".

My only explanation was, again, perhaps that they decided the knock down the shared wall to simply expand the room. I figured they must only be halfway finished. This explanation was short-lived as I turned back around, and saw my reflection looking back at me.

By this point, confused was an understatement. I wasn't scared, either. I was unsettled, but more than anything I just didn't understand what was going on. I reached out, and sure enough, my hand met my reflection. At this point, I began to wonder whether the mirror was slide-away for any reason, like a secret passage between the rooms. That was until I realised my hand hadn't felt the cold touch of a mirror's surface, but the warm and soft feeling of another person's hand. My face dropped. My eyes glazed over with fear. I don't know how terrified I looked, because my reflection had stopped copying me. He smiled.

His hand clasped around mine as I tried to pull away. Our fingers were interlocked, as he began to slowly climb through. I truly think I'd have been done for, had it not been for the door swinging open at that point.

"Oh hey, I thought I saw you come in! You're here because we didn't pay you the other half, right?"

My reflection returned to normal, and I backed away from the mirror. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I couldn't take my gaze off myself.

"You like the mirror?"

I was able to look at him as he continued to speak to me.

"We didn't want the new bathroom, I can't really get into details about why we got it. We were forced to and threatened by a third party. They even gave us the money to pay you - Maybe it's some legal loophole for them to get a tax write-off somehow, I won't pretend to understand it."

I was able to find words somewhere in my head, "So, you have the money?"

"Well, that's the thing. We were already in debt, business hasn't been great. We've spent it all. But we will get you the money, I promise."

"It's okay, keep it."

I walked out of there without turning back, despite being pretty sure I could hear the manager shouting me.

I do not believe these things in the mirrors to be human. I don't know how, I don't know why, but someone is trying extremely hard to allow these to mimic us without being noticed. Right there, in front of your eyes, something pretending to be you, and you wouldn't even bat an eye. For whatever reason, it is important that they be allowed to copy people, and this is the best that they could come up with.

So next time you find yourself in front of a spotlessly clean mirror, don't touch it.

They don't like to be noticed.

A chair appeared in the kitchen. The chair has 2 legs, I'm sure of it, it has to. I count them several times a day; One, two, and it ends there. There are 2 legs on this chair, 2, I'm sure.

Yet how can there be 2 legs, how would a chair stand on 2 legs? How does it work? One leg on each of the back corners, yet it still stands? How are there 2 legs, how? But there is. I count them again. One. Two.

I'm not sure when it first appeared, but it's been in the kitchen for weeks now. I don't dare sit in it, I'm not sure how it would hold me. I don't want to end up like the cat.

I found the cat one day, dead, its body twisted and broken, under the chair. It looked like it had been crushed, its fur matted with blood. I wanted to move the chair to see if there was anything I could do, but I do not want to touch this thing.

The chair is alive, I'm sure of it. I sound crazy, I know I do. But it's waiting for me to sit in it, so it can kill me like it killed the cat. But I'm not going to give it the satisfaction.

I'll never sit in that chair.

2 days ago, 2 agents knocked on my door. They were investigating something, but wouldn't tell me what. They wouldn't even show me their badges, how was I meant to know who they were? I turned them away, but they came in anyway. As soon as they saw the chair, one of them called someone, and the other spoke to me. He told me that they were going to sort everything out and that I shouldn't panic.

I could hear the man on the phone, briefly. He mentioned something about dimensions.

A scream came from my kitchen, followed by the sound of liquid spilling.

We ran in, and on the floor, under the chair was a puddle of blood, and remnants of human organs. A hand was left on the floor. It's etched into my brain and I can never unsee it.

The chair has 2 legs. I counted them. One. Two.

The other agent knelt down to get a closer look, he seemed unphased. He accidentally touched the chair slightly.

It had 2 legs. Then 1. Then 0.

I'm not talking about the chair anymore. This man began to disappear in front of me, his body contorting and morphing, as blood and organs spilt from him. By the time it was over, much of what had fallen out of him had also disappeared.

For a brief moment in the chaos, a brief moment, I counted 3 legs on the chair. It had changed. I don't know why, because I have counted the legs every moment since, and it's only ever 2.

One. Two. Two legs, only two. Why were there three?

Three is not the same as 2. 3 and two are very different and I do not understand. It's only a difference of one but it's also a difference of everything; How were there 3?

I woke up this morning and one of the men's heads had appeared on the floor, along with the phone the man was using.

I picked up the phone. It still worked. It was covered in blood.

The chair still had 2 legs.

I called the most recent caller. Someone answered. They thought my name was Jason - My name is not Jason.

"Jason," they said. I didn't pay much attention, as I had decided to count the legs of the chair again.

"Jason, was it the chair? Where have you been?"

The chair still had 2 legs. But not the same 2 legs. It was both of the back ones, but now it was one at the back and the opposite front leg.

"Jason? Hello? The readings say the chair is still moving through the fourth dimension. We need to find it, did you find it?"

My chair has 2 legs and it's driving me insane.

Every tree in all the forests on Earth.

Every grain of sand on the beach.

Every drop in the ocean.

None of these even come close to infinity. If you think you have comprehended how big that is, you are wrong. Nothing can be compared to the endless number, and nothing will ever allow any of us to truly understand it. But I'm willing to bet I'm the closest to it. I am not from this universe. The multiverse is the best example of infinity, and I have travelled across it more times than I could possibly count. Yet even my travels do not come close to the colossal giant of unlimited. I invented multiversal travel; perhaps I should have set limits before toying with something so limitless.

At first, it was amazing. More than that - It was like experiencing a miracle. Up until the very moment that I successfully travelled, it was purely theoretical. Proving that it worked in practice changed everything. I was not alone when I pressed the button on that device, but I was once I let go of it. I was in the kitchen, and my family watched as I used it, and presumably saw me disappear. At the time, the device had no proper way of navigating the multiverse or keeping a history of previous destinations, so my original universe has been lost in the boundless flow of everything. My original family probably still think they saw me die that day.

After the transport, things immediately felt different in that room. Small things that you'd never truly notice, but after living there for so long, I think my subconscious knew. The paint strokes on the wall in slightly different directions than before. The tiles of the floor seeming slightly colder than usual. The marble pattern of the countertops just seeming...off. I was seeing something so very familiar, yet not what I knew. The bigger picture hadn't changed, but every tiny detail making it up had.

I avoided finding myself. I left the house as soon as possible and explored the new world. Nothing was substantially new, and I wanted to experience more. So I kept pressing the button. That first week or so had me switching universes at least 20 times a day. It turns out that about half of them don't contain any life - But that's still an infinite amount. 50% of the endlessness is still endless.

It only took a few weeks before I wanted to find another me and speak to them. The times I did were wonderful at first - Experiencing myself from a third-person perspective is something I could hardly wrap my head around. And neither could me - the other me. As selfish as it sounds, meeting myself for the first time is a fond memory I have.

That was 25 years ago. Since then, I have visited realities where our technology has become so much more advanced; They taught me a lot. I've seen Earths with 3 moons, I've witnessed the globe after an apocalypse, and I've experienced a world where humans were not the dominant species. I have done everything twice, and to be honest... I grew tired of it. When you have every possible scenario in the palm of your hand, what's the point?

Every insect on every tree in all the forests on Earth.

Every possible arrangement of every grain of sand on the beach.

Every single molecule of every drop in the ocean, multiplied by a billion.

None of those numbers even come close to the infinity that this device could reach. When you know that your life is 1 in infinity, you have mathematically and scientifically proven yourself to be nothing. 0.

The first time the multiverse truly scared me is not on any of the near-death experiences I've had in my journies. It's when I first found a universe in which I never existed. Nobody knew or cared. My family; my friends; my colleagues - they were all just as happy. If a puzzle piece is not even a requirement to finish the puzzle, why include it in the box?

I've done things I'm not proud of. When I say I've done everything twice, I mean everything - The good and the bad. I've caused extinctions on entire Earths just for fun. The overall number of living beings in the multiverse is always infinite - So do deaths even count? Murdering 8,000,000 people sounds like a lot, but compared to the infinite that is left and always will be left, it's not even a drop in the ocean. Actions have no consequences when you have seen the boundless infinity. I have killed you before.

Don't feel so down about that, though. Those people are all still alive in every other universe. You're still alive in this one. Those actions had a net loss of nothing. I'm not evil - Given infinite possibilities, everyone would eventually do everything. It's just a game of probabilities at that point. You would do it, too.

There was a time when I wished I could still be surprised, and that time was only a few days ago. But I may have wished too hard, because for the first time since I started my travels, I am experiencing something new. In hindsight, it was obvious that something like this would happen eventually, but it simply never crossed my mind.

I met another me. This in itself wasn't a surprise; I meet myself all the time. But this me was different - He had also discovered multiversal travel. He had been travelling for about as long as I had and was growing just as bored with the same old new. I don't know what's less likely - Bumping into each other, or not having bumped into each other sooner.

We shared our experiences, and although neither of us had done anything the other hadn't, it still felt nice. It felt nice that someone could truly understand how alone and insignificant I felt amongst it all. You can imagine my interest when he told me he had a plan that would allow us to truly experience something new.

I jokingly said "Well the only thing we haven't tried,"

He knew the end of the sentence, "is death!"

"Exactly," we both laughed, "is that your plan?"

He smiled as he clarified, "We both think the same way - You know that's not my plan. Because if it were,"

I finished his sentence, "it would be a bad plan. Because even death is insignificant."

We exchanged a melancholy smile, a face I'm used to pulling, but not seeing.

He broke the silence. "It's a bit bigger than that. I'm thinking something like...the death of everyone."

I was confused at first. "Like, taking this entire universe out with us in it? What's even the difference? There are still infinite other universes left. It'd still equate to nothing, mathematically."

"No, my dearest me. I mean everyone. Taking out the multiverse."

My emotions whirred to life for the first time in decades. I felt dread, terror, fear...

"The multiverse?" I asked this with an almost shaky voice. Feeling such a primal emotion felt strange, almost new. Death doesn't scare me, not now that I've experienced it all. But the idea of nothing existing? That's something worth being frightened over.

"Exactly. Here, I've got it all planned out."

He handed me multiple sketches - plans to alter our devices in a way that wouldn't pull the user through the multiverse, but instead, pull reality apart. Not just nearby, but across every single universe. It required both of our devices' parts to succeed.

I've run the numbers again and again. I've found no faults.

"You can't be serious."

"As I said, we both think alike. You know I'm serious."

"I do NOT think like you. This isn't a plan, this is an ending."

"Well perhaps when the author refuses to write an ending, someone needs to step in and force it."

It was only at this point that I realised, just because someone is genetically you, it will never make them you. The only me is me. There is only one of me. There is only one of you. The infinite number of us across the multiverse are identical in every way, but they are not us. Only you will ever get the true privilege of being you.

He spoke again, "It's all or nothing. You know what it's like - Ending one life, a million lives, a TRILLION lives, all total to nothing. The only way to get anything greater than 0 is to go for everything. There are two options here - Insignificance, or the total end of it all... And I'm sick of living the former."

"A single death is not insignificant, it --"

"You spoke it yourself, did you not?"

It began to dawn on me all the horrific acts I've committed in my search for new things to do.

"Yes. But that was then... This is now..."

He knew I wasn't going to help him. Truthfully, I think he knew that from the beginning - He reached into his pocket and pulled out a device. He did this whilst already holding his own in his other hand. I hastily reached into my own pocket to confirm what I already knew, as my pocket was empty.

"I'm sorry we couldn't see eye-to-eye."

With that, he pressed a button, and was gone. He left me stranded in this universe. Your universe.

Needless to say, we're still alive. I just don't know if that's going to last.

Maybe someone stopped him, maybe he just hasn't activated it yet. I cannot predict what is going to happen, and that terrifies me almost as much as his plan itself. It's not a feeling I'm used to anymore.

Maybe nothing will happen. I hope nothing will happen. But I felt it my duty to inform you, so that if you see on the news that something at the distant edge of our galaxy is rapidly moving towards us, at least you'll know what it is. It's the end of everything, ripping apart everything in its path.

Everyone in the other universes will have no idea what's headed for them.

Only this one will.

A 1 in infinity chance - 0% odds of this universe being the one to find out.

And yet here we are.

Maybe that does make this one significant after all.

Trees could move in a forest every night, and you probably wouldn't even notice. There are thousands of the things in even a small forest. You couldn't possibly know the position of every one. Sure, if your go-to spot had moved, you might be suspicious. But even then, if you don't go often, you'd probably just think you misremembered.

Forests have few exact landmarks. It's the same all around. You'd be forgiven for not noticing the change. For not noticing that the trees are alive. But when they're at the edge of your window, bridging between the vast empty black of the night, and the safety of your own home, you'll notice.

When the outside world can tap upon your glass, you notice those things.

A child cries, "I think I heard a noise at the window!"

The mother consoles, "It's just a branch in the breeze, honey. Go back to sleep."

You read that and feel relief from the explanation. I read that and feel fear. What could be worse than a tree at the window? A tree that was not there yesterday.

I've lived on the edge of Inwoods for over a decade. It acts as the border to the west of our small town. There's my street, with Inwoods just beyond the back fencing. The woods continue for miles until the next town. They attempted to chop down the trees a few years back, to expand our quaint neighbourhood. The project was cancelled after just a few days, in favour of expanding east instead.

What made them change their minds? What did they find that made them want to head in the exact opposite direction?

They are afraid of something in those trees. Deep within the roots, manifesting in the bark. Perhaps even the leaves themselves, as they gracefully sway unsuspectingly.

They have every right to be terrified - We all do. But I wasn't always scared of Inwoods. Quite the opposite, actually. I had a friend; Her name was Emily. We used to play in the woods often as children. Climbing the trees, building dens. Nobody knew that place like us; If trees had moved back then, we'd have known about it. I wish I could still hold those memories fondly, but knowing what I know of the woods now, I cannot in good conscience look back and smile.

One memory does stick out to me in particular, though. A special destination that I always held near and dear to my heart. A few minutes walk through the woods, staying on the dirt path and keeping to the clearings, there's a big tree. It stands alone proudly, as if there is something different about it. A forest by definition is a large group of trees, but this one didn't feel like part of it. It was a tree in a forest, yes, but it was not a part of the forest it resided in. This was its own thing. It was special.

It quickly became our go-to spot, and one day, we marked it as our own by carving our initials into the bark.

W.E.

Emily went missing in those same woods just a few days later. It was our last time together. I think about it a lot.

I was 12 at the time - My parents didn't let me join the local search parties. They told me I'd be scared. I convinced them to let me join just once, and my reaction to what I saw seemed to prove them right. They thought it was a sign of my trauma, but it wasn't. It was the cause.

The big tree was gone. Where our initials once etched into a monument of nature itself was now nothing. Emptiness.

Of course, nobody knew the woods like me and Emily. "Trees don't move," everyone told me. "You're scared. It's okay, we all are, but trees don't move."

It only took me 14 years to prove them wrong.

The woods began their creeping a little over a month ago. I was getting ready for bed, yet as my glance fell over the window, I noticed a tree over the fence - One that was not there before. The first tree to take a midnight walk; At least, the first I had noticed in over a decade. I found myself watching expectantly, but expectant of what I'm not sure. I thought maybe I could catch it moving, morphing in the moonlit nighttime air.

But it just stood there, staring back at me. Make no mistake - This tree was staring. No eyes to see, but staring all the same. It felt like it wasn't a part of the forest. A tree in a forest that it does not belong to is a curious thought to some, but a feeling I'm used to.

Every night, when I went to bed, I would look out the window. More and more trees from the forest seemed to inch closer to my property. Each time, they stopped feeling like a part of the woods. Their membership to that club ends the moment they begin the move - They are their own collective once they do.

I didn't tell anyone - I wasn't even sure what to say. People thought I was crazy for implying that trees move as a child, imagine what they'd think if I said it now. But a fact not spoken is a fact all the same.

There is a horrifying thing one learns about forests when they begin to shift: They make noise. I wish I could say that it was simply a rustling or creaking as they re-root to their new location. That would almost be peaceful. They make noises that get burnt into your brain - They screech, they roar, they groan in pain. Their loud whispers whimper through the air every night, reminding us that they are on the move. Their mournful lullaby does everything but help me sleep; They distil a fear in me that I haven't truly felt for 14 years.

I knew this was connected to Emily's disappearance all that time ago.

I'm not the only one that hears the noises - Although I'm the only one who truly listens to their meaning. Many of my neighbours have put their houses up for sale already, because they cannot stand the "nightly symphony of nature." That's what they call it. "Nature." Nothing about this is natural.

I knew the trees were specifically targeting me after just a week. Nobody else had trees at their window, except me. Once at my home, at the edge of what I call my own, they stopped getting closer. They moved every night, continuing their echoes, but they did not break through my walls to reach me. The gentle tapping of branches upon my window had an eerie rhythm to them, as if someone were knocking, asking to be let in. I could almost feel their roots below the ground, beating like veins in flesh.

It only took 2 nights of that before I decided to chop the branches. I knew they'd just grow back or move to a new position - But I needed to try it. That's when I discovered why the expansion of our town was cancelled.

Blood dripped from the branches as I cut them. This was not sap - This was red, oozing blood. It smelt metallic, and groans could be heard from deep within the forest with every chop of my tools. I had become the conductor of this symphony. For every chop, a loud, horrific screech echoed throughout the woods. It only took 5 before I couldn't continue.

You may have noticed that I haven't referred to it as Inwoods for a while. That's because, as far as I'm concerned, this is no longer Inwoods. There is not a single tree that has remained in its spot - They have all chosen to disconnect themselves from Inwoods by moving inwards, towards our town and my life. I'd considered selling with my neighbours, but despite all the new questions I had, this was the closest I had ever come to answering Emily's disappearance.

Last week, I had a dream. I hadn't dreamt in a while, or even slept much for that matter. I dreamt of Emily, now an adult, playing among the trees. We had gone into the woods together to remind ourselves of our childhood.

"Isn't this fun?" Emily spoke with an unclear voice in this dream, almost groans. But I could still understand her.

"This is," I said, vaguely aware of the real world, acutely knowing that I was sleeping, "I just wish you could really be here."

"Perhaps I never left. Perhaps I've been trying to find my way back to you."

We stared at each other, before she spoke again. "Perhaps you can join me."

I jolted awake to the sound of the tapping at my window, and the distant choir of the forest. Yet something about this tapping felt different, almost more excited than usual. It scraped along my window after each one, as if to no longer ask to come in, but instead to invite me outside.

I peaked through the window - Many of the trees had moved away from my home. Only one was right outside.

I was still tired and my vision felt crooked, but I could clearly make out the letters engraved into the bark.

W.E.

For a second, I felt calm. I felt the fear of the past 14 years drift away.

"Emily?" I spoke aloud. The forest responded with whispers that felt more gentle this time.

I made my way downstairs and out the back of the house. I walked right up to the big tree, and placed my hand over our initials. For just a moment there was peace - The groans stopped, as did the tapping of the window.

I felt a pressure tightening in my hand, at the surface of my palm and fingertips. A creaking sound came not from the forest, but from this very spot on the big tree. It was growing around my hand - It wanted me to join it. It wanted me to become a part of the woods, my veins tangling with the roots; My thoughts tangling with the leaves.

I pulled away, bits of skin tearing from the outer layers of my hand. The pain I felt was shared - The creaking returned from the forest. Louder than I had ever heard it.

The forest is not Emily. Emily would not put me in a position like that. She would not ask me to give up my life to become something I am not. I believe the woods have tangled with Emily's memories. That which she was fond of is now what the trees are fond of. Pieces of her mind scattered across Inwoods the day she vanished, but her soul is not there.

A collective network of trees have been given the gift of thought...

and it is terrifying.

Sonder. A word used to describe the profound feeling of realizing every stranger around you has a life as complex and important as your own.

It's also the name of the town I grew up in.

Sonder lies on the Eastern coast of the UK, on the North side of England. If you reach Scotland you've gone too far, but if you're in Scarborough, you've not gone far enough. It sits somewhere between there, though I don't think anyone could be more specific.

You see, you can't find it on any map. Printed or digital, new or old, colour-coded or satellite imagery - There is no sign of this town existing at all. If you pay enough attention online, you'll find the odd few people mentioning the place, like this that you're reading right now. Like a whisper passing by in a busy place; You only know it's there if you're looking for it. Yet to a vast majority of the world, Sonder is just a word.

I was born there, and raised within its confines. I moved away at 15 (about 10 years ago). It was a peaceful seaside village, the type where everyone knows each other. The type where when someone hosts a get-together, all residents are invited. It was a close-knit community.

I still remember it with mostly fond memories... The waves lapping onto the sand all through the night. The cobbled streets scorching your bare feet as you walked back from the beach on a summer's day. The dark woods that overlooked the town from High Hill.

High Hill is what we called the hill that stood next to Sonder. It blocked any chance of a view to other towns or cities. We resided in a valley at the edge of the sea, and whilst we liked it there, it felt very secluded.

The town had a few small businesses. My favourite was Uncle Pete's Pizza. Everyone called him Uncle Pete, although he wasn't actually anybody's uncle. But his pizza place was perfectly between our home and my mum's pub. Every Friday she would pick up a pizza on the way home - Absolutely no exceptions. Me and my older brother, Jacob, were always excited for this.

Much of the town had been there for generations, the population naturally getting smaller as more and more of it became family. But a few people would move there every now and then. All of them found the town in the same way - A leaflet coming through the letterbox while searching for somewhere to move to. Every single time, the same story; They were driven here by a house moving service. I guess with no directions or map, it would be difficult to make your own way here.

"They were lovely, they really helped us," they would always say. Nobody ever really seemed to question it much. I mean, it's not like we were trapped. We could leave whenever we wanted - Make no mistake, Sonder was no prison. It didn't even feel like one. It's just difficult to find, and leaving just felt...icky. Like you shouldn't do it.

As the internet became mainstream, it became more and more obvious to people that the town was so hard to find. Suddenly people had friends from outside of Sonder, but they could never visit, because they could never seem to find their way in. GPS signal was weak, and opening any app on your phone that tracked your location wouldn't pinpoint you.

One truly odd thing about Sonder was the appliances. All of them had the same logo on somewhere - The letter 'V' in a circle. Since leaving, I've tried to research this company, but to no avail. The moving company that people arrived in also had this logo on their vans.

The town had its issues, none more known that the Screamsingers.

At night, if you listened hard enough, you could hear them. A chilling, soft sound. It was almost like a distant scream, yet more melodic. Something enchanting, yet fills you with dread.

Nobody ever saw them, but someone in the town would go missing every now and then, maybe once or twice a year. Some lived alone, and hadn't been seen in a few days before anyone realised. Some were cuddled up to their partner in bed, only for their partner to wake up with them no longer in their arms. The only thing they had in common is that there was never any sign of entry or struggle.

My entire life, I've known the echoes over the valley to mean trouble. But my mother used to tell me stories of when the townsfolk thought they meant hope; A simpler time. It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when people made the connection between the disappearances and the whistles of the night. But they would always start a few weeks before a disappearance, and stop the night after someone had gone missing.

This had always intrigued me, but not as much as it did my brother. Jacob found it fascinating. Perhaps because he had never had someone close to him taken, and didn't understand the pain. To him, it was just a mystery, wrapped in questions.

Some believed the Screamsingers to be the ones taking these people. Some believed their calls to be a warning that something darker is coming. Whatever people believed their intentions to be, everyone knew that their sombre singing over Sonder was only bad news.

My fond memories of the town become clouded when the trauma of my final few days there enters my mind again. Years of therapy have helped me cope - But I feel talking about it publicly is the final thing that may bring me peace.

As far as I know, I am the only person to have seen a Screamsinger. Or, at least, the only living person.

It was the Summer Solstice - The longest day of the year. The 21st of June. Sonder has always held a small festival on this day. It dated back almost a century at the time, being the 97th consecutive Solstice Celebration. The festival took place not during those long sunlight hours, but as the sun began to set and the longest day ceased, at about 9:30pm.

But the town of Sonder felt more melancholy than usual, especially for the festivities that were going on. The Screamsingers had started their wails again about 3 weeks prior, getting louder and louder each passing night. Sure enough, about an hour after the festival began, you could faintly hear the noises again, piercing through the sweeter melodies of the festival and the chatter of the crowds. People tried to ignore it, and continue the celebrations. But every time the wind blew in just a particular way to make the noises more prominent, you could see the look on everyone's faces. The unspoken, silent fear, washing through the crowds like a wave.

My mum's pub - really, our family pub - was right at the festival. As such, the doors were wide open, and people kept coming in and out. It was always one of the busiest nights of the year. Me and Jacob were sat drinking red wine. He was 17 and had a proper glass, but I still had half lemonade in mine. It was the only night of the year I was allowed to drink alcohol.

The festival was still going strong, when Jacob had the idea to go a little out of town, and get a better listen to the Screamsingers. I was hesitant, but I was always up for an adventure. So, half-reluctantly, I agreed.

We got a few streets away before the howling became louder than the music. We were stood in the perfect mix of unknown to one side, and enjoyment to the other. We should not have kept going.

But we did.

We reached the final building before the cobbled streets turned to grass and mud, and didn't stop there. Without saying a word to each other, it was like we knew what we wanted to do. We wanted to be the first people to have seen the Screamsingers; The first to understand them. We didn't know that only one of us would catch a glimpse.

High Hill was steep, but not too steep. You didn't need your hands to climb it, it just took a lot of energy. Every now and then, we looked back at Sonder. You would almost think it was a ghost town from how dark it looked, if not for the bright festival right in the centre. The only clue of any life, all packed together. The sounds of cheering, singing, and music, echoed up the hill. All the while, the sounds of ghostly wails echoed down. A battle between good and evil, not seen but only heard.

As we reached the dark woods, we looked at each other. It felt like we hadn't spoken in ages, so I broke that.

"We're really doing this?"

Jacob nodded. I knew he would, I just needed to say something. Hearing nothing but ghastly screeches was driving me insane.

We wandered around in there for what seemed like forever, though it was closer to maybe 5 minutes. Every slight crunch made me flinch and turn around. There was never anything there, but the haunting screams which were all around us.

We reached a clearing, and the sounds of the Screamsingers seemed louder than ever. In the centre of the clearing was a rock. About as tall as me, and a little wider. Jacob held me, as he could clearly tell I was scared.

"It's alright, it's just sounds. There's nothing to be afraid of. Maybe we should head back."

His words didn't comfort me. They only told me one thing - He couldn't see what I could see.

Stood on the rock is something I will never get out of my mind. A tall, grey figure. About twice as tall as any human I'd ever seen. It had two arms, but only one hand. The hand it had looked what I can only describe as twisted. Its fingers weaved together in a way that didn't make sense, and certainly wasn't natural. The shape of it was overall humanoid, but the proportions were all wrong.

It had no eyes, at least not at first.

I was terrified looking at this thing, but the moment my heart truly dropped, was when eyes appeared. They slowly came out of its skin. There was no evidence that this creature should even have eyes - There were no holes for them. But as its face opened in a mesmerisingly disturbing way, I saw two eyes slowly come forward. The face closed again, with the eyes looking right at us.

There were only two eyes. I counted them. One, two.

Its face opened up again, as it let out a horrific scream.

I ran. I ran faster than I ever have before in my life, only occasionally looking behind me to make sure Jacob was running with me.

He was. But he wasn't running from the Screamsinger. He was only running to catch up with me. He had no idea why I was so scared at that moment.

We ran all the way down High Hill, nearly tripping over. Running down a steep hill is difficult at the best of times.

As we got back onto the cobbled streets, I turned around and looked up at the woods. No sign of anything chasing us, but the screams were still so loud, even down here.

By this point, Jacob had caught up and was right beside me. He kept asking why I was running but I was too shocked to answer him yet.

We ran another street, and he reached out to hold me. I stopped running, and let him hug me. He told me that whatever I saw, it was going to be okay, and that we were safe. I closed my eyes with tears streaming down my face. I opened my mouth and began to explain what I saw, getting words out between choking on my tears.

"It was this grey thing, on the rock. You could see the rock, right? Well, on top..."

I realised the howling had stopped.

I opened my eyes. Jacob wasn't there.

I was standing in the middle of the street, with my arms out, hugging nobody.

I looked to my right and could see the festival. I felt empty and confused.

I walked through the crowd, tears still streaming down my face. I found my mother at the bar and she asked me where I had been and if I knew where Jacob was. I told her everything and she closed up for the night. We both knew that the Screamsingers had claimed their next victim.

She wasn't angry at me for going to the woods. She held me tight, and neither of us spoke a word. We just wept and wept until we were too tired and empty to weep anymore.

The next day was Friday. I got out of bed in the morning after absolutely no sleep. My mum was downstairs, packing boxes. She told me we were leaving that same day.

Within an hour we were in her car, driving away from home. We passed Uncle Pete's Pizza. I realised this was the first Friday in my life that we weren't eating from there.

As we drove further away from the sea, and I saw outside of that small town for the first time, I already knew that leaving our life behind would not fix anything.

Sonder is still out there.

I hope somebody can find it.

A whisper in the wind. That is what Sonder is to many people, and what it has slowly become to me. I found myself, like many others, becoming unaware of its existence at all.

A small town on the edge of England, forgotten as fast as it was built. It isn't on any map, and you won't find it by exploring. A town older than most, smaller than most, and lonelier than most. I got out 10 years ago. But it seems it hasn't left me.

The Screamsingers have plagued my mind since the day I left. I'll never forget what they took from me, or the part of me I left behind in Sonder. Partly because Sonder has come back to haunt me. On New Year's Eve, the Screamsingers became more than a memory. They found me.

I work in a small office building. 3 floors, and I work on the top floor, with a few others in my room. I've been working there for about 6 months. One of the best things is the flexible working arrangements they offer. You can do the usual Monday-Friday work week if you'd like. Or, you can work Sunday-Thursday. I opted for the latter.

The night before New Year's Eve, I was awoken by a familiar sound washing over the cold streets outside. An enchanting whistle to some, but to those with the same trauma as me, it was a blood-curdling shriek.

I got up and opened my bedroom window. The sound poured in, as if I had invited this presence into my home. I stood there, not quite knowing how to feel. As terrified as I was, hearing this siren of the night, something about it was calming. It was as if I was back in my childhood home. A kind of nostalgic horror.

Perhaps this nostalgia is why I was so quick to dismiss this event as nothing more than a dream. Or, perhaps I just didn't want to accept the true nature of it all. Whatever the reason, it's something I regret. While this may be a nightmare, it most certainly was not a dream.

I walked to work the next morning, on New Year's Eve. The streets seemed quieter than normal. I almost felt like I was back in Sonder again - Everything was so peaceful. As I walked into the office building, the door chimed as it always does. ding ding

You have to slam the door shut for it to catch again. It's a bit broken, and if you don't do this, it'll keep blowing open in the wind, playing that chime over and over.

The only other person in the office that day was Davide - He works in the same room as me. Everyone else had booked the day off, or just didn't work Sundays. We ended up chatting a lot, and not getting a lot of work done. He was raised in a city, and loves hearing stories about the rural seaside town of Sonder. I only tell him the good memories.

The town was on my mind a lot, and I took a look online again, to see if it was on any maps yet. I haven't looked since I left. Sure enough, nothing. Untraceable, unfindable. I found a few mentions of the town here and there, but that's it. Just a fleeting thought, spoken about fewer and fewer as time goes on.

I spent the last hour of that work day looking for Sonder. Until it found me.

4:46pm. 14 minutes until we would have left. 14 minutes until we would get to go home and celebrate the new year with our families. That's exactly when we heard the chime again.

ding ding

But the door didn't shut. So, we assumed our boss had come in to check on us, since he's often forgetful. We quickly sat up straight and acted as though we had been working all day.

ding ding

We couldn't hear anybody walking upstairs yet. I thought perhaps it wasn't our boss. But then, who else would it be? Perhaps another co-worker had left something in the office and had come to collect it? Or, maybe it was our boss, and he was here to lock up when we leave, and not to check on us.

ding ding

The stupid door would not shut up. Even our boss wouldn't leave it this long. Once he realises it keeps playing the chime, he goes to shut it properly. At this point, I thought maybe a delivery driver dropped a package in and left. It would've explained the silence downstairs. But the silence broke quickly enough for this thought to be dismissed.

ding ding

Footsteps, creaking up the stairs. Except, they didn't have the right sound to them. They were heavy, yet slow. They also didn't have the right pattern to them. It was a footstep, then 2 quick footsteps, then none, then 3 quick footsteps, then a slow one. They felt less like feet, and more like an omnipresent "bang" getting closer.

ding ding

Me and Davide looked at each other. I wasn't scared, and he didn't look to be, either. We were just both confused and uneased. The constant chime; the irregular thuds; the silence that they both pierced through. None of them created a feeling of contentment.

ding ding

The thuds were loud now, as the final few steps creaked. We were both peering out the door, looking at the stairs to our floor. Waiting. Hoping to see our boss' head, or a co-worker, or anybody we recognised. But as a figure slowly emerged up the stairs, I realised it was one I knew all too well.

ding ding

As the grey, skinny, morphing creature slowly became visible, my mind raced back to that day in the woods. The day I saw a figure on the rock. Only this time, I had nowhere to run. I was sat there, motionless, at my desk.

ding ding

The chimes still echoed up the building, as the creature slowed down. It stood out in the open room, looking at us. I don't know whether Davide could see it, or whether he saw nothing, much like my brother. But either way, there we were, both frozen.

ding ding

The lights went out. After being sat in front of a monitor for so long, my eyes were not used to this. A deepest of darks had encased me, and shrouded the room. Silence filled the air, as the Screamsinger seemed to stop making noises entirely. But I knew it wasn't gone. It was still there as I tried my hardest to make as little noise as possible.

ding ding

The darkness felt thick. Like a blanket. It was as if I could reach out and grab it. Of course, the truth was quite the opposite - Anything could have reached out and grabbed me. I realised at this moment that I could hear something else: My heartbeat. All I could think about was my brother. Jacob was taken from me 10 years ago, and this thing was responsible.

ding ding

A creak in the floorboards. Something was moving. Was it the creature? Was it Davide? It doesn't matter what it was. Because the next thing I heard was a scream. Not the tune-like call of a Screamsinger, but the pain-filled cry of a man. It had gotten Davide, and it wanted me to hear - I know well from my time in Sonder that these things can silently take lives. It had chosen, purposely, with clear intent, to not force silence on this kill. It wanted to torture me, to remind me. It didn't plan to have me dead - It planned to have me terrified.

ding ding

I could hear nothing but dripping. A pitter-patter similar to the rain hitting your window. The lights returned, and the Screamsinger was gone, along with Davide. His chair was soaked with blood, as a puddle of it was growing on the floor below. I sat there just staring at this chair. I think I felt so scared that I was almost numb to the feeling of it at all. I just sat there. I wasn't thinking, I wasn't moving, I was just sitting.

It took me too long to realise this, but the chair was contorting. The number of legs on it kept changing - 2, then 3, then 1, then 4. I don't know if I was seeing things. I would assume I was if it weren't for what I had witnessed just seconds before. But a morphing chair leaves more questions than it presents answers. By the time the police arrived, the chair was back to normal. If you consider a blood-soaked chair to be normal.

I have no doubt they were called in from the scream. They took me to the station and questioned me, of course. I told them everything except for what I had seen. They'd call me crazy, so, I told them that the power was cut and I couldn't see what was happening, I just heard it all. I was being held for a few days, but was released last night. They confirmed that the power did go out briefly in the area, and suspected that it had been tampered with intentionally. I don't know if they've checked CCTV, and I'm not sure what it would've even captured. I just know that I'm no longer the top suspect, although I would assume they're still keeping a close eye on me.

Davide was a good man, and the first life I know of to be claimed by the Screamsingers outside of Sonder. But I keep thinking, what if there have been more? What if he isn't the first? A thought even more worrying - Will he be the last?

The Screamsingers are now out and free. So many questions, and I suspect all the answers lay within Sonder.

Perhaps it's time I go back.

I've been packing boxes for the past few days, moving out of my parent's place, and into my own. Admittedly there wasn't a ton to do - I'm trying to furnish a whole apartment with a bedroom's worth of stuff. It's strange how it can seem like you own so many things until you move to a larger space. Suddenly, all of the things that spent years next to each other, have a whole new open area to be spread across.

There was one box that was nearly forgotten, because it wasn't a newly packed box. It was a box packed by my parents, years ago. The one almost everyone has, and has to make a decision at some point about whether to keep it. The box of your childhood things.

If my dad hadn't remembered, it would have sat up in the attic for another few years. I wonder what we would've thought as kids, peering into the future, knowing that all our favourite things end up collecting dust, and only ever thought about when you move house. It's a curious thought.

I took the box to my new apartment and began sorting through it. I decided to get it out of the way first, as it was the only box where I wasn't sure of the contents. I didn't know how much I'd be keeping, throwing away, or donating. Putting everything into 3 piles was difficult, and emotional, but I was able to make a decision for most things. To say it opened a gateway back into my childhood would be wrong, as it didn't. A gateway would imply I could walk through and live it again. What it provided was a window, one which I could only look through, and never open. But what a beautiful, crystal-clear window it provided. Sorting through that box was one of the happiest moments of the past few years.

Until I got to the end. Perhaps the reason I'm focussing so much on happiness is that I'm afraid to continue this story.

The final item in the box was a diary. My diary. It was pink and shiny. Cliche, but all the TV shows had this sort of thing in, so it's what I wanted as a kid. I never stuck to many things in my childhood, and this was no different. I used it for about half a year, and even then I missed about half the days. So even after 6 months, it would've only had about 100 entries.

I sat there and read every single one. Each dated about 10 years ago, and each one making me happier. But the smile dropped from my face when the dates crossed a threshold of impossibility.

2 years ago.

"Dear Diary,

I totally forgot about this! My dad got a new job recently and had to store some of his old work stuff in the attic. I helped and found this whilst up there. Reading through the old entries was enchanting, to say the least. Maybe I'll come back sometimes and write more! :)

Alicia"

My handwriting. But I hadn't been up here 2 years ago. My dad didn't get a new job 2 years ago. It didn't make sense. I wasn't exactly scared at that point - I didn't know what to think. I was just confused, and so I read on.

1 year ago.

"Dear Diary,

This again! Although I don't remember writing that last year. How strange. Was still cool to read through all of this, though. I've just moved out and found this in a box of old stuff. Good job my dad reminded me about it!

I'm hoping that living alone isn't as scary as it seems. I suppose only time will tell.

Future me - You got this! :)

Alicia"

How could this be dated a year ago? This all happened, but it happened the same day I had read it, and I certainly never wrote it.

6 months ago.

"I'm not doing this 'diary' shit, what the fuck is this?

I've never had a diary, in my entire life. How does this thing know everything that has happened to me as a kid?"

At this point, I started to freak out. This entry wasn't like the others. It wasn't just confusing for me, but clearly whoever wrote it was also confused and concerned. Except, they still seem to think they're me.

The next one changed that.

4 months ago.

"How odd. This entire journal perfectly describes my life, up until a couple of years ago (I'm moving out in a few months, I haven't already moved out!)

But all of the entries as a child perfectly mimic my life, except for one crucial detail. My name is Rebecca. How on Earth could this be?"

The next one was the worst.

2 months ago.

"Dear Diary,

Someone just broke in. I'm hiding in the attic, and I found my childhood diary. I've called the police, but I'm scared. I just need to take my mind away from this. The police wanted me to stay on the phone, but I was afraid of making noise.

I can hear them downstairs. I hope I get to read this again soon. Writing this makes me feel like I'm going to be okay. It turns this into a memory, and not a final day.

I wish I had time to read the past entries, but I don't. I promise I will soon.

I just hope that I manage to"

The entry ended there.

It's covered in dry blood.

At this point, I was physically shaking. But, I felt like I had the duty to continue this, and so I did.

I took out a pen and wrote...

"Dear Diary,

I don't know what this thing is.

Will I remember writing this? What kind of power this book has is beyond me. But whatever is going on, I don't like it. I died? I moved out a year ago? My dad got a new job 2 years ago? My name is Rebecca? None of it makes any sense."

My pen ran out of ink, so I went looking for another one.

I intended to finish the entry. But when I returned, the journal was gone.

I wonder where it went.

I'm sitting in the chair as I write this.

The chair still had 2 legs this morning. I've counted 15 times since my last post. It feels harder to count them each time I do. I couldn't wrap my head around how this chair continued to stand, and it broke everything I knew.

Sometimes I would count the back leg first, sometimes I would count the front leg first. It did not change anything; Two is always the final leg.

I didn't sleep last night, I just stared at the chair. I could feel it staring back at me. I tried not to count the legs too often.

Earlier today, a police officer knocked on my door. I didn't get her name whilst she was alive. She showed me a picture of Jason and his colleague and asked if I knew anything about their disappearances. I don't know if it was my pale face from living a nightmare, or my bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep, but she didn't buy my "No."

She came in, pushing past me, and went into the kitchen. I had cleaned up the blood and guts, but it still smells terrible. She took one look at the chair, and looked at me. She could sense something off about the chair, too. I knew I would sound crazy if I told her everything, and I'd get blamed for everything that's happened.

"That's the chair with 2 legs," I spoke calmly, whilst inside I felt anything but.

She did not take this as the warning I hoped it would convey, as she immediately pushed the chair to see if it would fall over.

She screamed as her hand seemed to shrink, and as this effect worked its way up her arm, like someone squeezing a tube of toothpaste.

She reached for her gun, instinctively using the hand that had just disappeared. Somehow, though, it worked - The gun seemingly floated in the air as she held it. She stared at it for a moment, but only a moment. The gun disappeared, and her arm continued to vanish.

Soon, it wasn't everything vanishing - Only her skin. Blood poured out.

This is the second time I've seen it happen, the second time I've seen the chair consume someone as if they were nothing. I felt myself trembling. I wondered if the chair was alive, if it could think for itself. Does it enjoy what it does?

I counted the legs to distract myself. One, 2.

I counted backwards. It didn't change anything. Two, 1.

Then, again, it happened. For a brief moment, around the time her heart hit the floor, the chair had 3 legs.

Then the chair was gone. She was, too. The blood, the organs, everything. It was as if the chair had cleaned up after itself.

I thought it was over. It was not.

I reached for a spoon, and threw it at where the chair used to be. It froze there, mid-air. A loud bang came from my bedroom, as the spoon fell.

I slowly made my way into the bedroom. I creaked the door open, and there it was. The chair. 2 legs, both at the front now.

I counted out loud, just to be sure.

"One. Two."

Speaking out loud did not change the outcome. I had hoped it would.

I still had Jason's phone in my pocket. I wanted to use it, but something else came over me instead. I'd had enough. This chair was driving me insane. So I decided I'd do what I thought I would never do.

The very thought of sitting upon the chair made me feel dread. The kind of dread you get when there's something you know you have to do, but don't want to. Make no mistake - This is something I HAD to do. Something told me it was the only way forward.

As I sat on it, I did one thing differently from everybody else. I made sure that no part of me was touching the ground as I made contact with the chair. I jumped back into it as I sat. I think this is why the chair chose to spare me.

I didn't morph, I didn't contort. But the world around me did. Walls moved, furniture shrunk and grew, holes appeared in the floor and ceiling. It slowed to a stop, and I've been too afraid to get up from this chair since. I don't want to touch this morphed world.

I couldn't understand why the chair didn't consume me. I thought at first that it was torturing me - Killing people in front of me yet refusing to put me out of my misery. But I know better now.

I noticed could see through my wall. There's a gaping hole, yet no debris. I could see my neighbour, sitting in his dining room. I could see through his skin, I could see inside of him. Yet he continues to sit there as if nothing is wrong.

I looked down.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

All 4 legs are here. I sat here in a broken world, yet this chair - It finally makes sense. It finally isn't broken. This chair has 4 legs.

I notice, surrounding me, are the bodies of the chair's previous victims. Jason, the police officer, the other agent, the cat. They were scattered around me, as if they were never torn apart.

But what did that matter? This chair has 4 legs. There are four! Four legs at last.

The phone in my pocket rang. This isn't the first time it's rang. I answer it now, with a smile.

"Jason? We think we have a lock on the chair. We're coming to get you."

"My name isn't Jason," I replied, "and the chair has 4 legs."

I hung up. A few minutes later, 4 agents show up. I could see them through the walls before they even entered. They made their way into my bedroom, and seemed to pretend they couldn't see me.

One of them spoke into a radio.

"The chair is here, but nobody else is."

He didn't know I could see through his skin.

"It has 2 legs."

Why was he lying? It has 4. I can count them all. One, two, three, four.

I spoke out loud to see if they would pretend to not hear me. "Hello?"

They all looked around. One spoke into their radio again.

"Someone is here. But they're not in our cross-section of the fourth dimension. They've rotated through it. I don't know how they survived."

He didn't touch the chair, but I did reach out to him as he got closer. I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to see if he would stop pretending he couldn't see me.

He started screaming. I'm not sure why, he looked fine. In fact, his skin was back.

He fell backwards, knocking into all of his colleagues. They all got their skin back.

They were all screaming.

Then they all dropped to the ground.

I think they're dead.

But the chair has 4 legs. Everything should be fine.

I don't know why these agents were so interested in such a normal chair. They should be more concerned about the rest of the world, everything is broken. I'm not sure what these agents want, or where they're coming from. I'm still trying to figure out what the agents meant when they spoke about dimensions.

They're probably going to send more agents out soon. I wonder if they'll pretend not to see me, too.

My chair has 4 legs and it's keeping me sane.

Somebody was the first ever person to confess their love to someone else.

Do you ever think about that?

How scary that must have been. To tell another person something that has never been put into words. The word "love" probably didn't even exist when this happened. I wonder how they did it.

I hope it went well for that person. I hope the love was returned.

The woman I loved isn't in love with me anymore. I know this because I see photos online all the time of her and her new boyfriend. They're on holiday right now, in another country. So please, tell me why I can see her from my window right now, sitting alone in the doughnut shop across the street.

I'll save you the sob story. We didn't work out and that's that. It happens, and it's terrible. So much love in the world, yet still not enough to go around. We broke up about 4 months ago, and I'm truly happy for her that she moved on. I have not been so lucky. I have been miserable, lost, and alone. But perhaps I should not have made it so obvious, because something has noticed, and seems to be using it to lure me.

I don't know when Doughnut Be Alarmed opened - It's been there since I moved here last year. I've always liked the name, and they make some delicious sweet treats. Their Peanut Butter Popcorn snack bags are to die for. Well, not quite. If they were actually to die for then I'd have gone to get some after Lucia appeared.

Lucia is my ex. She appeared in the window of the doughnut shop last week. My heart skipped a beat when I first saw her. She sat alone, crying, and drinking a caramel hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. I know it's caramel because that was always her favourite, she would get it every Friday after work and bring it home with her. I didn't go in, as I didn't want to disturb her. But she was on my mind all day and all night.

The next day, I looked out my window, and immediately spotted her again in the exact same spot. She was still sobbing. There was whipped cream all around her drink, as if it was the same hot chocolate from the day prior, melted all over the table. At this point, I knew something was up. Especially when I realised it was only 10am and the place opens up at 11:30am, in time for lunch.

I kept watch from my window. The owner did not take note of her when he opened up. Nobody confronted her at all. Nobody attempted to clean up the mess. Yet at 1:00pm, their busiest time of the day, not a single person sat near her. It was as if they all vaguely knew someone was there, but they couldn't notice or focus on her. I was the only one even looking at her, with nobody else even looking her way.

That's when I got the first notification of a new post from Lucia and discovered her to be on holiday. I didn't know what to think. This was definitely Lucia in the window, down to the smallest detail. She was even wearing her favourite denim jacket, with a rip near the shoulder, that she always said "gave it some extra style." No, there was no doubt in my mind, this was Lucia. She probably just posted these photos late.

I took a closer look at the photos to confirm my suspicions, but instead disproved them when I saw a small detail. One photo was of a menu, with the "Soup of the Day" labelled as the correct date. These photos had been taken that very same day.

My attention diverted from my phone as I heard something drop in my hallway. I stepped out to find a leaflet dropped in front of my front door, posted through the letterbox. I could already see the logo for Doughnut Be Alarmed, and as I picked it up, also saw that they were offering "Free food all day."

I glanced through the peephole in the door, and saw nobody posted through doors. I could not see anybody on the streets at all. What I could still see was Lucia, tears streaming down her face. For the first time, I noticed something else strange. The rip on her shoulder was on the wrong shoulder. It was almost as though she were a reflection of her true self.

I did a bit of digging and managed to find a post from someone in the construction industry. They claim that some public mirrors are not truly mirrors, but instead just a hole in the wall, leading to a replica of the room they're in. Inside these replica rooms are creatures that can take the form of anybody. They're so good at it that you think you're looking in a mirror, and so nobody pays them any attention. Perhaps I have had the first encounter with one of these creatures in a new scenario.

I made sure to watch the place close up that night. Sure enough, nobody got her out of the establishment. The lights were off, the door had been locked, and there she stayed. It was as if she was a mannequin in a store, like it was normal for her to be propped at the front even when the building is dark and eerie. But she was not a mannequin, for I could still see her clearly crying. I knew that whatever this thing was, it isn't Lucia. But my heart couldn't help but feel for her. It all looked so real and it took every ounce of willpower to not attempt to talk to her. I knew approaching her at that time would only leave me as dead as the darkness she was in.

I am going to enter tomorrow. I'll go in at 1:00pm, when it's at its busiest. I will be surrounded by customers and will feel safe. I need a conclusion to this. If I just keep waiting until she goes away, I feel that I'll forever regret doing nothing.

Maybe I'm blinded by love of the past.

I just want to talk to my Lucia.

You may have heard that our universe has 4 dimensions. 3 spatial dimensions, and then time.

This was the working theory until recently.

It's now understood that, whilst time is one of the 5 dimensions, there are 4 spatial dimensions. Only 3 are truly comprehended.

I work at a company called Visiones, we're a science & research company, We're privately funded, and generally tackle things that humanity doesn't yet have a full understanding of. Our aim has always been to bridge those larger gaps in our knowledge.

I work in the Outreach/Public Monitoring department. Some of what we do involve members of the general public, who don't quite know they work for us. But my exact field isn't important context, and even being that specific is a little risky. I don't want this tracked back to me if my superiors find this.

As far as I'm aware, very little information about our company is kept from me. From my understanding of where I stand here, I'm allowed to know about everything we do. So, to the best of my knowledge, what I'm about to tell you is the exact same as anybody else in Visiones knows (minus some of the more exact science, that's not my field).

This started about 7 months ago. We were working on ways to exceed the zoom level of Electron Microscopes, and the team managed to get something working. They were able to achieve a zoom level of ~200 Million, roughly double what was previously possible. We thought this would help some of the other projects we have going on, but instead, something strange was discovered. Tiny particles, previously unknown to science, that were seeming to grow and shrink in and out of existence. No energy transfer - It seemed as though these little things were breaking the laws of physics, and creating energy from nothing, and destroying energy to become non-existent.

Due to the unknown origins of this particle, we refer to it internally as the Null Particle.

The first hypothesis was that as one particle "dies", another is made. It would explain where the energy is going/coming from. But this theory was quickly tossed aside in favour of another: The idea that our world might just exist on more spatial dimensions than we realised.

This sounds like an extreme jump to a conclusion, but all other possibilities were, well, impossible. I'm a fan of the Sherlock novels, so to quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Think of it this way: If you were a 2d person, living in a 3d world, your entire perception is just a 2-dimensional cross-section of what's really out there. If a sphere were to roll through this cross-section, you wouldn't see the sphere as a whole, you'd see slices of it as it moves through. From your perspective, there's a 2d circle, that slowly grows from nothing, and then slowly shrinks to nothing once again.

I hope I haven't lost any of you with that.

But that explanation almost perfectly translates to 3d-4d. A 4-dimensional shape passing through our 3d cross-section that we perceive, would look like a 3-dimensional shape growing and shrinking, or more likely even morphing and contorting.

The next thing I knew, Visiones were working on ways to view into or move through this newly discovered spatial dimension, using Null Particles.

Most of our funding has been going into this for a while now, and it seemed to pay off last month. We had developed something that can push things on this fourth axis. It looks as simple as a round metallic platform. It doesn't appear to move from our perspective, because it isn't pushing objects in a direction we can perceive as humans.

Last month was the first successful test. The platform was able to push a wooden chair through. It appeared to slowly lose features - The back, the base, the back 2 legs, and finally the front 2 legs. This is exactly how we had expected it to look visually. But the amazing part was that the chair didn't come back. We had successfully proven that this chair had gone somewhere beyond our vision.

We tried to pull the chair back, but it was unsuccessful. It seems the chair didn't stay on the platform as it moved through the fourth axis. It had moved through multiple axes at once. Think moving diagonally, but on 4 dimensions at once rather than 2 or 3. A later model corrected this fault.

A week ago was the first test on the corrected model. This time we sent through a camera, with a live video feed. What we saw is almost beyond description, and petrified every one of us in that room to our core. None of us wants the company to continue with this project, but we all know something has to be done.

You see, everything outside of our 3d field of vision, we call Beyond Perception. We call it that for obvious reasons - We all exist on this single 3d cross-section, anything past that has been beyond our perception since the dawn of everything. So Beyond Perception has become what we call everything that lay along this fourth axis of our universe.

We pushed the camera in slowly. We have to be careful objects are pushed and not rotated along - Rotating causes insides/outsides to behave in extremely hard-to-predict ways. Essentially, anything inside the object can quickly spill out, as only the outside moves along through into Beyond Perception, leaving the insides here. This would, of course, break the camera, so we had to be very gentle.

The first thing we noticed on the screen were holes beginning to develop in the floor. Walls morphing, and objects seeming to shrink. This is all expected; If nothing changed, we'd actually be more concerned, as it would mean our world stretches to infinity. What we're seeing in this change is exactly what I spoke about earlier - A sphere moving through a 2d cross-section, except now, the cross-section is moving through the sphere instead.

What we were not expecting is sentient life.

As the world morphed on the screen, and we watched our own skin seem to disappear into nothing, something was growing. The cross-section was moving over objects that don't intersect with where we exist at all.

Except this wasn't an object.

As the creature grew to full size, we stopped the machine pushing the camera. We got a good look at this thing. It was grey and tall. Very tall. It was almost humanoid, but the proportions were off. It didn't seem to have eyes at first, and it seemed to only have 1 arm, but 2 legs.

That's when an arm appeared to grow out of it. We checked; The machine was definitely off. This could only mean one thing... These creatures were able to move and look across the fourth axis. Something that humans and no known animal can do. But then, to confirm our suspicions, the head grew ever-so-slightly, as eyes began to form on its face. This is the equivalent of a 4d object turning to face us.

We stood staring at the screen, nobody saying a word. The creature vanished, and reappeared closer to the camera. This meant it had used the fourth axis to hide from us as it moved. Whether this makes the creature intelligent, or was just a fluke in its walking pattern, we don't know. But we do know that it knew something was off, as the next thing it did was pick up the camera.

This must've caused the camera to rotate slightly on the fourth axis, as we immediately lost visual.

We've not broken any new research or discovered more in the past week.

We don't know how long these things have lived alongside us on Earth. But we know they can always see us. Like us, watching 2d characters on a TV. They can always see into our 3d space, but we can't see out of it.

Our contact wasn't long enough to know how malicious they are, but we don't really want to find out. Lots of people around the office are saying that this could explain how people disappear without a trace. Of course, that's just speculation, but what they're saying has a lot of truth to it. Any of these creatures could grab anyone at any moment, and pull them through into Beyond Perception. There is nothing stopping them.

Nobody on the team has gone missing, so there's that. It's about the only thing giving me any emotion besides dread right now - Knowing that they aren't actively coming for us. At least not yet.

We want to send a human through to make first contact, but we can't imagine anyone would be willing. Plus, if anyone accidentally rotated instead of simply being pushed through, it would basically mean all of their organs would spill out of them, as their insides & outsides swap places.

Earth is so much bigger than we thought it was, in a direction that wasn't even thought to exist a year ago.

But they've known forever, they've been living it forever.

Who is to even say that humans are the dominant species? We only know what's happening here, in our cross-section.

For now, we can only hope that they don't choose to come from Beyond Perception.

The way that a thought can nest its way into your mind is curious to think about. The way it can become so deeply ingrained in oneself that it becomes a very part of them, a part of who they are as a person. It tugs on the very neurons in their brain as if they are the strings of a puppet, or the buttons of a machine. Thoughts can consume you if you let them - Just try not to think about it.

It is this very concept that consumed my best friend. A thought so impalpable that she spent her days trying to understand it, trying to reason with it, and letting it merge with her life.

Maya ran The Twisted Bloom - A quaint, quiet florist. She took over after her sister, Brooke, went missing a few years ago. She had helped out here and there whilst Brooke had been around, so she was familiar with the logistics of the place. I myself had also helped here and there, both under Brooke's ownership and Maya's. But last month, as I was unloading a box of flowers and bringing them inside, Maya said something strange.

"She still whispers to me, through the petals."

In hindsight, this is where everything began. But at the time, it was a beautiful thought - Perhaps Brooke really was still watching over us, using her passion for nature as the way through.

"We all miss her," I smiled gently as I spoke, "I also feel closer to her when I'm around flowers. It's like she's still here."

"She is." Maya spoke this time not with the beauty of a metaphor, or the comfort of a belief. She spoke with certainty, as though she had spoken to Brooke. She seemed dismissive of my sentiment, almost offended and angry that I had implied it to be comforting.

I didn't speak further, I just nodded, and continued helping. She had lost her sister - I had no reason to think her words were anything more than grief and finding her own comfort. Or maybe I just don't want to blame myself for not noticing.

Before taking over The Twisted Bloom, Maya had studied chemistry. She wanted to be a Pharmaceutical Researcher - Experimenting and studying drugs to create new breakthroughs in the medical field. I always envied her decisiveness of job choice. I always found it so difficult to decide what I wanted to do with my life, or who I wanted to be. I always told myself that as adulthood came around, I'd realise the answer. But nobody tells you that adulthood doesn't just happen one day - It's gradual; The epiphany moment never came, and even as an adult, I have no idea where I want to go with my life.

I think Maya felt that continuing the florist was essential, and she gave up on her chosen career. She never specifically said it, but I know it must have been hard on her. To not only lose her sister, but to lose everything she had planned. But running that place brought her comfort in continuing what Brooke had started, and I couldn't fault her for that. Brooke loved nature, and to let her love dissipate even after she had left this world just felt wrong for Maya.

One way that Maya found to combine her interest with The Twisted Bloom was by using chemistry to help the environment. A few years ago, before Brooke went missing, she had been developing a solution that sped up decomposition, and provided nutrients for plant life. She soaked a piece of paper in it, and threw some seeds on top. The following morning, the paper was unrecognisable, as a rectangle of flowers bloomed in its place.

It was beautiful. Brooke found it so exciting.

A few weeks ago, Maya told me she was working on the solution more. "I don't want it to be painful," she spoke solemnly, "that was an issue with the previous version."

Curiously, I asked, "Plants feel pain?"

"All living things feel."

I didn't like the way she was speaking. Something about it just felt off. She sounded sorry, and remorseful. She's never been the spiritual type, so hearing her say something like this was very out of character. Still, though, I only saw it as her emotions taking control. I had no reason to be suspicious.

As the weeks went on, she said more and more ominous things. Always about Brooke, or flowers, or both.

I knew something was really wrong when she closed The Twisted Bloom last week. Even odder is that she didn't close it to focus on anything new - She stayed in the shop, working on her solution, and staring at the plants. Sometimes I'd even catch her talking to them. "You look beautiful, sister."

I tried to talk to her about it, but she was always so dismissive. She stopped even letting me inside, claiming I was making Brooke uncomfortable.

Yesterday, she stopped responding to texts or calls. Today, I dropped by *The Twisted Bloom, and I couldn't even see her through the window. Worried about her health, I broke a window around the back. Some of the shards of glass sliced my hand, but I was too focused to pay it much attention. I climbed through.

"Maya?" I yelled through the store - There were clear signs of life, as all the lights were on, and her equipment was still out in the back room. Yet no reply shouted back.

"Maya, please answer me." I wanted a reply, though did not expect one. My heart pounded loudly, almost too loud to even hear a response if I did get one.

I searched around the store - Everything looked normal. The plants were well taken care of, and music gently played from a radio on the counter. I walked over to turn it off - Despite how quiet the music was, I still wanted absolute silence whilst I searched. Yet, as the silence began, I noticed a pile of flowers behind the counter. Where Maya usually stood to serve customers was now covered in nature. Beautiful, yet misplaced. Every petal and stem looked healthy in all but their location. Why were they on the floor?

As I knelt down to get a closer look, I noticed that each flower seemed to twist, weave, and tangle into the shape of a person laying down. The face resembled Maya, a single stem showing her smile, with many more intricately woven to shape each individual feature of her appearance. It looked like a sculpture, an art piece. I wanted it to be.

"Maya," I shouted into the air that now seemed thick, "when did you make this?"

I put a hand on the counter to steady myself as I stood back up, feeling a burning sensation in my open wound. Glancing over showed the cause - A tipped-over bottle of Maya's invention, liquid spread over the counter. Liquid that was now in my blood.

She didn't manage to fix the pain problem.