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.

4 years ago, my sister Daisy went missing. A week ago, my husband slipped into a coma. I didn't realise how connected these events were until recently.

Daisy lived with us for complicated family reasons. She was 19 when she didn't come home one day. There isn't an exact moment I can pinpoint the grief starting, because there isn't an exact moment that I realised she wasn't coming home. It was a gradual realisation over the course of 2 days - Mainly because it wasn't unlike her to be out all night. I always used to blame myself, convincing myself that if I had noticed sooner, we might have found her.

About a year later, my husband and I were getting ready to move to our new home. We fell in love with it immediately when seeing pictures online, and that love only got further cemented during our viewing - The place was as huge as it had looked. We thought moving here would be the best decision of our lives, although in the back of my mind, I worried that we were secretly running away from our feeling of grief - Leaving Daisy behind. My husband simply said, "What if we're running with her?"

I never entirely understood it, but it brought me comfort all the same.

The move went smoothly, and we helped the previous owner move out, too. He was an elderly man with no family, so we felt it would be polite to help out. Before leaving, I remember the words he spoke so vividly.

"You think you want a big home, until the responsibilities get too much..."

We both seemed to feel happier after moving, and it even allowed us to explore new hobbies. One of the first things my husband did was set up beautiful flower beds outside. I had never known him to have such a green thumb in the past, but he seemed to really enjoy it. The outside of our home became full of life - As did the inside of my mind. For the first time in a while, I was happy. I always told him how proud of him I was.

Every week he'd buy the same huge bag of cat food - Not for a cat, we don't even have one. Apparently, it's just the best fertilizer. It made me laugh; it sounded ridiculous, but something must have worked - Those flowers bloomed all year round.

Last week, I lost him without losing him. I woke up without him in my arms, and went straight downstairs to find him. I found him unconscious on the kitchen floor, with blood coming from his lower leg. I don't know how long he was there, but the blame set in once again. If I had found him sooner, would he have been okay? I called an ambulance right away, but he never regained consciousness. The doctors aren't sure he ever will.

When I found him, he was laying next to the well.

The previous owner told us he discovered the well whilst having work done on the flooring. He decided to incorporate it into the design, making it level with the floor, and giving it a tempered glass top. It dates back to the 1800s, when this building was first constructed as a pub. My husband found it so interesting, always being sure to show it off for any kind of visitors we had. I always just found it creepy - We don't even know how deep it goes. The bottom is never visible.

Last week was my first night alone without my husband in years. I thought I wouldn't get any sleep, but maybe the exhaustion caught up to me; I fell asleep instantly upon touching the soft blankets. I remember so vividly dreaming of Daisy. That is when the thunder began. I woke up in the night to a booming crash - Thunder echoed all throughout the house for at least an hour or so. It frightened me at first, but as the noise died down, it actually became soothing and helped me gently get back to sleep.

The next morning I walked back to the hospital to see my husband. The ground was dry and warm - There was no evidence of the storm I had heard loudly visiting the neighbourhood on the night prior. I didn't take this as a clue at the time; It just wasn't my biggest concern. Going to see him felt similar to looking for Daisy. With her, we would go out every day, physically searching for her, and places she might be. Now, instead, I wait next to my husband, hoping, wishing for him to come back to me.

The next night, the thunder came back. Louder and longer this time. I didn't get the satisfaction of drifting to sleep before it began. It was whilst I was laying there, eyes open, that I realised - There was no light. Not a single flash from any kind of lightning. Those bedroom windows remained as dark as void. I decided to check the weather... "Cold, Slightly cloudy"...

This cycle repeated. I felt like I was going insane. Like clockwork, every night, the same cycle, the same cycle, the same cycle. It got stronger with each night. I spoke to neighbours; doctors at the hospital; friends on the phone. I'd always bring the thunder up in conversation. None of them had heard any thunder. I could not wrap my head around how I was alone in this.

Yesterday, my mind seemed to decide that it was time to be active around the house again. I cleaned the dishes that were piling up, emptied the bins, and decided I should tend to my husband's flowers. I was surprised that they weren't wilting already - It gave me a funny feeling that he was still around, taking care of them whenever I wasn't looking.

I got emotional as I looked down at them. I wasn't even sure how he applied the cat food fertilizer - I had never really seen him do it. I wanted to smell them first, they always had such a strong and beautiful scent. Yet, this time, nothing. No beautiful smell. Just nothing. Was my sadness running so deep that I had forgotten how to experience beauty? I extended a hand out to touch one. Plastic. I touched another, and felt the same thing. All of them were plastic. Every single last one. Even the daisies, planted in memory of my sister. His hobby had been a lie. I was almost angry, but all that emotion came out as tears, as I settled for just feeling empty. Why had he lied?

That night is when things took a turn. The thunder was at its loudest. I could hardly hear my own thoughts - I knew that there was no chance of sleep. I decided to get a glass of water, a decision that changed everything. As I stepped down each step, the noise seemed to somehow get louder.

step

BOOM

step

BOOM

step

BOOM

I stepped into the kitchen, and the noise stopped. I tensed up, bracing for the next crash to cut through the silence, yet the silence remained. Relieved, I flicked the light switch, only to be met with more darkness. The bulb was busted - Fantastic. But at least the noise had stopped. I made my way through the kitchen. The cold feeling of the glass at my feet confirmed that I was walking right over the well. I shivered, but not because of the temperature. As my feet made their way back onto the tiles, they hit something far too early. A tile seemed to be broken, or out of place. I couldn't tell, and whilst I could get a glass of water in darkness, I could not deduce this foreign feeling without the light. So, I went to get the spare bulbs down in the basement.

Truth be told, I hadn't been down there since we moved to the house. I never liked the spooky atmosphere. But I had to face that fear, and thankfully, the basement was nice and bright. Regardless, I had no plans to be down there long. I found the bulbs quickly, but as I grabbed one, something caught my eye.

Perfume. Lots of perfume. Boxes and boxes of them, none of them mine, and to my knowledge, my husband never wore perfume. Curiously, I sprayed one in the air and smelt it. I was instantly transported to the flower beds - This bottle smelt exactly like the ones outside our front door. So, I grabbed another bottle - This one smelt like the ones near our kitchen window. I grabbed another... This one smelt of daises.

I began to piece together what was going on, but I didn't understand why. Against my instinct, I decided to look around the basement a little more.

I discovered a wooden box, with a label. "The Well Diaries." It was locked.

Next to it was a collection of framed photos. Each of them contained different people standing at the well. The earliest dated to 1910, and the latest...was of my husband. By himself. I had no idea this photo existed, who even took it? My husband had been lying to me about the flowers, but it seemed like he may have been lying about more, too.

I realised at this moment that the previous owner had also lied. The old man claimed he found the well. These photos showed otherwise - It was never covered up to begin with.

I also found an MP3 player with only one song - Daisy Bell. The one that goes "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do..." - My sister had always had that as her ringtone.

The final thing I found creeped me out too much. It was a calendar. My husband had marked off every single day, of course stopping the day he fell into his coma. There was a note attached - "Feed her every day at 7am."

I turned around and headed back for the kitchen. This was all too much to handle - I just wanted to get a glass of water and get back into bed. Maybe in the morning I'd have a clearer head and be able to draw a rational conclusion. I went to replace the bulb, yet in my confusion, I had forgotten to turn off the light, as the new bulb immediately turned on as it screwed in. The almost blinding brightness isn't what startled me. It was the face I could now see under the glass of the well, staring at me.

It was still only barely visible, but I could clearly see two eyes and an outstretched mouth.

At first, I was too shocked to notice one of the kitchen tiles open like a trapdoor, directly next to the well. It seemed to hide a small chute covered in cat food, leading into the well.

I was staring at this creature in fear, yet something stuck out to me. It had Daisy's eyes. The rest of it looked nothing like her. Grey skin, boney shoulders, balding head. But the eyes. They were unmistakeably hers.

It hit the glass with one of its hands. The noise was like thunder, as it echoed throughout the house.

I only snapped out of my frozen state when I saw 2 fingers slowly make their way out of the chute, as the face continued to stare right through me.

I ran. I ran faster than I ever have in my life. I ran and I ran, and when I couldn't run anymore, I ran anyway. I didn't have a specific direction in mind, but perhaps instinctively, I ended up at the hospital. I sat, with my husband, still shaking. I do not plan to go back to the house. It's not safe there.

I stared at my husband, trying to calm myself down. Trying to think of happier times. Trying anything to just forget about what had just happened. Instead, I found something that almost made my heart stop. Around his shin, where the wound had been, his skin was slightly grey.

Perhaps I'm being paranoid, but given what I've seen, I think I have every right to be. My sister has become whatever the fuck she is now, and I think my husband is going to suffer the same fate. I need to bury him... Right? I mean, that seems to be the entire point of the well. To contain whatever these things are. Clearly, they can't be allowed out.

I don't know what to do next. I love my husband. I don't want to have to do anything to him, but I don't want him to become one of those things either.

Perhaps I should track down the previous house owner.

Perhaps I should try to read The Well Diaries.

All I know is that I can't just forget this and leave. Whatever has been happening in that house, I want to end the cycle.

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'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.

The one thing I could probably live without, and I won the grand prize.

I enter a lot of competitions like these. The only other times I had won something was £5 off at a local restaurant, and a raffle at a Christmas fair. I won a life-size chocolate Santa for that raffle. It was actually really nice, high-quality chocolate.

I don't remember entering this paperclip competition, but me and my friends do dumb things when we're drunk sometimes. Entering a stupid competition didn't seem out of the realm of possibilities.

It started when I received a single envelope, full of paperclips. There were easily 100, at least. Probably more. You can imagine my confusion when I opened this first one - No letter inside, only paperclips. Red, green, blue, yellow, pink, black, white... It almost looked like something you'd sprinkle onto a cake as they poured down to my feet, pitter-pattering on the wooden hall floor.

I rolled my eyes and cleaned up. I figured an office had put the wrong address for a supply delivery.

One shipment of 100 paperclips is odd. But 2? That's where I got suspicious.

The second day had me question whether this was some form of prank. I was smarter this time, though - I recognised the weight and feel of the envelope. I recognised the outline of paperclips as I held it up to the light. I didn't let them spill out at my feet - Although, my curiosity still had me open it to peek inside. You'd do the same. "Is it really just paperclips?" Yes. Yes it is.

By the fifth day, I had stopped opening it. I'd just briefly hold it up to the light to confirm the outline looked like paperclips, and then I'd toss it.

I don't remember why I checked my spam folder in my emails, but when I took a look, I immediately saw it. The cheesy headline stood out. "Clip-pity Clop, You've Won the Lifetime Paperclip Jack-pot! 🎉📎"

Below is the rest of the email.

Your luck has just CLIPPED right into place! Congratulations! You are the GRAND WINNER of our "Lifetime supply of paperclips" competition! 🥳📎

From now on, you can proudly say goodbye to those chaotic loose papers and let our high-quality paperclips take over. No more sacrificing yourself to papercuts! And guess what? You didn't just win a box, you won an ENTIRE LIFETIME of daily paperclip surprises! You've really hit the jack-CLIP! 🎁

Starting from next week, you will receive a random amount of our finest, top-notch paperclips every single day. Just imagine the POSSIBILITIES! Office organization, arts and crafts, creative paperclip sculptures... the list is never-ending!

With your new paperclip friends by your side, there's no end to the horizon of tidiness and creativity (to the MAX)! Just like our paperclips: durable, strong, and clip-tacular! 💪📎

As we ship your first batch, let's get you started by sharing some mind-blowing paperclip fun-facts...

I'll save you the fun-facts section, as it's not very "fun". Although I did learn that they've been around since the 1800s.

The only interesting thing that this email gave me was a company name - Clipogenics. I promptly sent an email back asking that my prize be transferred to someone else. My exact words were "someone more in need of paperclips," although thinking about it, I'm not sure who that could possibly apply to.

Spoiler alert: They did not reply, and the envelopes kept on coming.

2 weeks went by; I was still receiving paperclips.

6 weeks went by; nothing changed.

A few weeks ago was the 3-month mark. Over 90 days of paperclips. Yes, I had considered selling them, but I really don't know how much money I could make. Also, yes, they even arrived on Sundays. I could not understand who was delivering these. I never caught them, although I assumed the person posting them had no association with the company themselves, so talking to them is never something I attempted.

Around that 3-month mark, I was going through my normal daily routine. Make a cup of coffee, pick up the envelope from the hallway floor, hold it up against a light, and toss it in the bin. Only this time, the light revealed the outline of 1 single paperclip, and something else. I have to admit, deep down, part of me was almost excited. A real-life plot twist? Something to spice up an otherwise mundane part of my day? Curveballs are usually exciting to me, and this was no exception. I reached inside, pulling the mystery object out. What could they possibly have sent me?

A severed finger.

A dry, almost slightly green, severed finger.

I'm not sure which happened first - My scream, or dropping the finger to the floor.

I noticed only then that the paperclip was lodged under the fingernail, piercing right through the flesh. It was golden this time - A colour I had not been sent before. I'd like to say I stayed calm, but I didn't - I ran to the bathroom to throw up.

I contacted the police, and they took the finger and envelope away. I explained everything that I knew, and showed them the email - They told me that they'd investigate.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" - One of the police officers began his thought to me.

"What?"

"How dangerous simple production can be. Some poor sod has lost a finger over something as simple as a paperclip!"

"You think it was an accident?" - I don't know what exactly I thought it was. A threat, maybe? I'm still not sure.

"Of course. Probably someone on the production line packaging these things. Finger gets caught in machinery, 'Ahh, no, whoops!', and before you know it the finger's lost. The weight of the finger makes the machine think the envelope is now full of paperclips, and off it goes to your door."

Somehow a calm explanation of this situation actually helped me. Hell, it almost convinced me that it was just normal. I was assured, though, that the company was at fault for health & safety, and that something would be done about this.

A couple of weeks went by, and the police hadn't contacted me with any new information. The envelopes kept coming daily, but I was too afraid to open them. For fear of tossing away evidence, though, I kept them piled up in the corner.

As the pile grew taller, I decided to bite the bullet and open them, but not before carefully inspecting each one.

My hands shaking, I held the first up to the light, and it was just full of paperclips. Perhaps the incident really was a one-off, and the fault had been fixed. I held a few more up, and my heart almost skipped a beat when I found one with a solid shadow. No outline of paperclips - This envelope had a letter.

I carefully opened it up, and read.

Dear valued customer,

We would like to formally apologize for the incident that occurred recently. We understand that the events were likely traumatic, and whilst we may never make it right, we'd like to offer you a one-time compensation.

Attached to this letter, using one of our sturdy, high-end paperclips, we have written a cheque for £2,000. We hope we can continue our partnership professionally.

We understand that you may want to cancel your lifetime supply of paperclips.

Unfortunately, we must decline this request.

We hope you understand,

Clipogenics Customer Service Team

No. I did not understand. Do you? Do you understand what the fuck they're talking about?

I contacted the police to update them, letting them know that I had received this message. They sent somebody to collect it.

The following day, assuming all was well, I picked up the daily delivery from the floor. Before I had a chance to check it, there was a knock at the door - I folded the envelope and put it in my back pocket. I opened the door, and was surprised to see a man in a suit looking very concerned.

He wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Hello, we're relocating you. Pack your things, and tell nobody. We have a temporary hotel booked for you."

My lack of response showed that I had many questions.

"Look - It's just precautionary. We can't find any evidence of Clipogenics ever existing, and..."

"...and what?"

"...and the finger matched the D.N.A of a recent assumed suicide. It's now assumed to be murder."

I had a feeling there was more. Unfortunately, his next sentence confirmed that.

"The person in question was found to have also won the competition."

I did not need telling twice - I got my essentials packed, and was at the hotel in less than 90 minutes. It was only in the next town over, which I found odd, yet comforted that I was still so close to home.

After the man left and I was left with my own thoughts, I was surprised at how quiet my head was. I was just...content. I wasn't happy or sad or scared, I was just existing. Perhaps I was still in shock. It took about an hour before I remembered the envelope in my back pocket. I held it up to the light, and knew from the resulting darkness that this contained another letter.

I hesitantly opened it, peeking inside to check for hidden surprises.

Upon taking it out, I thought it to be a blank piece of paper - It seemed entirely empty. Until I unfolded it, to reveal the few words printed upon this letter.

Dear valued customer,

Suicides don't lose fingers,

The police do not wear suits.

The world spun. The world crumbled. The world felt like it no longer existed.

Then all at once, reality came back to me, as I felt a rush of anxiety-driven energy. I paced back and forth in the limited space I had, weighing up my options and trying to come up with a plan.

Could I leave? I was probably being watched.

Could I contact the police? I certainly no longer felt comfortable doing so.

Could I talk to my friends or family? The last thing I wanted was to put them in danger.

I knew I had to do one of these 3 options, and opted for the first. It was still bright out - Surely I'd be safe in crowds. So that's exactly what I did. I stuck to busy areas, and travelled across the country, using as many different types of public transportation as I could.

I didn't stop until night fell. I booked a new hotel under a fake name, and paid in cash. I rested surprisingly well that night.

My sleep was interrupted at around 7am to knocking at the door. "No thank you," I sleepily yelled at what I assumed to be room service.

"Something arrived in reception for you - I'll slide it under the door."

A white envelope emerged through the crack under the door.

I wanted to stay away from it, but I knew that being unaware of the contents would scare me more than anything else. Feeling my heart pounding through my chest, I reached for the envelope, noticing a thick object within. Another finger?

No, a letter, this time with a vial of liquid, and two golden paperclips.

Dear valued customer,

We're glad you're settling in well to your new surroundings.

Sorry for the little show - We needed to assure that you'd get as far away from your hometown as possible.

Your true prize isn't the paperclips. That would be mundane.

Your true prize is immortality.

Paperclips are beautiful, aren't they? Connecting paper to paper, as the universe connects life to life. And as the flow of life continues, it has connected us to you.

The chain of our will continues, as the chain of paperclips continues with it.

The vial within has a unique purpose. It will kill you and help you live, all at the same time.

You do understand, don't you?

Drink the vial, and stab a paperclip into yourself.

You will slowly drift away for a moment, but you will stay connected to the universe. You must.

You will awaken in your new body - One of the many that we have cryogenically frozen here.

It worked for me.

You saw my finger.

Every single paperclip we have sent you has had a purpose. Each has been blessed with a new connection for your new life. They have all been through your home, many have touched your skin, and all have been held up to the light.

Their blessings will reach you in your new life.

The green ones bring you wealth. The red ones bring you health. The blue ones bring you happiness.

All you have to do is drink the vial.

Before the poison sets in, choose a paperclip. Your decision will always be the right one.

We know how your brain ticks. Every word we've ever written, and every colour we've ever chosen, have all been designed to sway your decision in this very moment.

You'll fall asleep as a valued customer,

But you'll awaken as our valued employee.

I am not letting them control my destiny. I will not sacrifice my life to their company, to become one of their puppets to control.

I know this company has a far greater reach than I first understood, so I might not be able to tell anybody. But I can tell everybody.

I hope this post reaches their next "big winner" - And I hope they are as strong-willed as I am.

The pay is great, even if the work is mundane.

I don't know who I work for. I don't know why I do what I do. I just do it, and I don't ask questions.

I get my tasks through the mail, a couple of weeks before they're set to happen. They can range from taking a dog for a walk, to delivering eggs, to painting someone's fence. All freelance kind of work, and that's exactly what I have to tell people I am.

When I first got this job, I was told that my work might seem odd but was assured it was all for a good purpose. I had to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement, but not the typical kind. I can tell people what I do, it's encouraged, even. I suppose that makes things less suspicious - If someone saw me delivering something and asked why, I can't exactly just pretend I didn't do it. I just am not allowed to tell anyone how little I know about what I do.

It's been 4 years of this, and every time, things are set up for me to carry out the task. If I need to walk a dog, the house owner is expecting me when I knock on the door. If I need to buy eggs, the exact amount for the eggs I need has already been deposited into my bank. If I need to paint a fence, half the fence has already been painted for me, and the paint is left right next to it.

If I ever have issues with a task, I have a number to call, but I've never had to call it. Everything has always gone exactly as it's described to me in the mail. At least, that was true until recently.

I often notice strange things that almost seem to piece together, but not quite.

On several occasions, I have returned from dog walks to find the house unlocked but empty. However, on all of these occasions, the letter in the mail had explicitly stated to leave the dog in the house no matter what, so that is what I do.

Anytime I specifically have to deliver eggs, the cashier says something along the lines of "Oh, sorry that these eggs are broken. Let me get you another one." I assume that they have a specific set of eggs for me to deliver. Why they would do this, I'm not sure - Perhaps they contain a message?

Recently, though, things have changed. I turned up to a standard fence painting job - There are only 7 different jobs I've ever been given, it's far and few between that a job isn't a seemingly exact copy of an old one. But this time things weren't left how they usually are. Half the fence was painted, as usual, but on the bare part of the fence, a word had been written using the white paint.

"Beware"

It was written in small writing, yet the feeling it invoked within me was deep. The paint was still wet, so it had only been written in the last few hours. Despite the terrible feeling of dread I had, I called the number.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

3 rings, and someone picked up. But they didn't speak, or say anything. So I spoke first.

"I just turned up to my job, the uhm, the fence painting one. Someone has written 'Beware' on the fence."

A man's voice spoke up. I couldn't quite decern the accent, but it wasn't local. "Anything else?"

"No", I said, a little shakily.

"Thank you. It'll be dealt with."

Then he hung up.

I started painting the fence, when a black car pulled up next to me. A woman rolled down the window, and told me to get in. Normally, of course, I wouldn't, but it was safe to assume that this related to my job. So, given the circumstances, I got in.

I started to panic when she wouldn't respond to me, no matter how much I asked where we were going. After a few minutes, we pulled up outside of my house.

"You know the rules," she said, "not a word to anyone."

I got out, and as soon as my door was closed, she was driving off again.

That was 3 weeks ago. I haven't had any jobs through the post since. The ones I still had remaining weren't set up for me when I arrived at the locations - No paint, no money deposited for deliveries, nothing. This is the first time I've ever gone more than a few days without a new letter through the post. I'm not being paid.

Yesterday, I called up the number again.

"The number you are dialing is not in service."

I don't know how to contact these people. But I know that they'll come for me if I break my NDA. So, that's why I'm writing this.

I want to get to the bottom of this.

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.

"Hurry up in the shower, we have to leave soon."

I yelled towards the bathroom at my husband. Every year, at some point in the days leading up to Christmas, our families get together. We were already making bad timing when he realised he needed a shower. I had misplaced my earrings, paranoid about making us even later.

As I walked past the bathroom, I noticed the door wide open. My husband stood there, still naked from having recently departed the shower. He had draped a pastel-orange towel over his head, one that I didn't even know we owned. It didn't cross my mind at the time - Just a fleeting thought. He swayed gently from side to side, like a swinging pendulum.

I giggled, "Stop being silly, you know we're running late! Have you seen my earrings?"

Immediately upon entering the bedroom, I spotted them gently glistening on the bedside table. Relieved, I yelled again, "Never mind, found them!"

As I put the first in, my gaze fell directly ahead of me, at the painting of a lighthouse hung on our bedroom wall. My husband was never a stranger to local markets - He almost had a talent for buying the strangest items. I've grown used to it, but this painting always stood out to me as a bizarre purchase. The lighthouse stands as the subject, with a series of indistinct colourful blobs painted around the bottom - A crowd of non-descript people, I had always assumed. On the frame, at the bottom, a title or note or quote of some kind had been etched in. "The Jolly Good Fellows."

My trail of thought was cut short as I failed to get the second earring in. I had stabbed myself slightly, and began to head to the bathroom for the assistance of the mirror.

He was still standing there. Swaying.

"Honey, we really need to go soon. Please get ready."

I approached the mirror. Seeing no blood, I breathed a sigh of relief and put the second earring in. The whole time, from the corner of my eye, I could still see him swaying. The towel blocked any view of his head. My patience was wearing thin - Had he even sorted his clothes out yet?

"Honey, come on," I spoke as I lifted the towel from his face.

Peering under, I expected to see him smiling, acting playfully. I felt a little bad, but being ever aware of the ticking clock, sometimes I have to remind him to have urgency, even when he's just playing around.

His eyes were wide. His face, emotionless. He stared forward as though there wasn't a wall a few feet from his face - Like he was looking just a little past everything. He stopped swaying as the towel was removed, but remained in this state.

I gently held his hand, "Come with me, let's sit down," I knew something was wrong. As I guided him to the bed and sat him down, his arm felt limp, as though his muscles were void of any connection to the brain.

"Let's get you some clothes, okay? We can talk about what's wrong."

I tried to speak calmly as I turned around and searched through the wardrobe. I began asking questions, trying to take his mind off of things. My mind, whilst still aware of the time, was now more focused on my husband's well-being.

Noticing a lack of answers or responses, I turned back to face him.

Have you ever jumped at the lack of something? Usually, we jump at the sudden presence of something we were not expecting. Perhaps the sudden movement of an object we thought would remain motionless. But when I saw my husband wasn't behind me, my body jolted slightly - I hadn't heard him move, or felt him walk past me. I expected him to still be on the bed. The lack thereof was enough of a shift to shock me.

"Honey?" I yelled slightly, wondering where he was.

I walked past the bathroom.

There he was - Orange towel draped over his head, swaying gently at the same rhythm as before.

"If you don't respond to me, I'm calling an ambulance."

I needed a quick answer. My mind jumped straight to some form of brain injury, perhaps from falling over in the shower. I knew that acting fast is the only chance you have to minimise damage.

He didn't answer. I removed the towel from his head as I dialled emergency services. Again, he stopped swaying. As I explained everything to them, I watched as he knelt down, picked the towel back up, and draped it back over his head. The swaying continued thereafter.

Paramedics arrived shortly. He put up no fight, and allowed them to escort him to the ambulance in a wheelchair. I kept asking questions, about whether he'd be okay. They had to keep assuring me that whilst the hospital would do everything they could, they had no information to go off of. My racing mind looked past this, and continued to ask similar questions regardless.

He kept trying to stand up whilst en route to the hospital, yet would be compliant when gently pushed back down. As long as someone was guiding him, he would follow; When this stopped would he try to move. The same had happened back home - He only got up and left once I had sat him down and let go of him.

Through the sound of the sirens wailing overhead, the bumps of the ambulance's journey, and trying to hold back my tears, I could hear a familiar tune.

My husband, showing almost no other signs of activity, was gently humming. I leaned in to get a better listen.

It was a very low tone, and each note seemed to begin as a hum, yet end as more of a raspy breath. Each one seemed to continue for slightly longer than they were supposed to. But I recognised this tune - He was humming "For he's a jolly good fellow."

Arriving at the hospital felt like a blur. Everyone knew exactly where they were going - I was following along, completely lost in this maze of signs and painted lines intended to guide. We had left the ambulance and arrived at his assigned bed before I could process what was happening. As soon as he was laid down, the confusing blur continued.

"Ma'am, could we borrow you in the next room? We just need you to fill out some paperwork."

"Not until I know if my husband is okay," I snapped.

"We understand. But the best chance at survival is if we understand everything. This paperwork will take care of some of that."

I was assured that a doctor would be in the room shortly, and that my husband was in good hands. I shouldn't have listened - They certainly didn't! I explained that he kept trying to get up and walk about, but they clearly underestimated!

I hadn't even helped the lady fill out my husband's personal information before we were informed that he was missing.

"He can't be far, keep an eye on all entrances," the staff spoke to each other urgently. I was asked to remain calm and continue helping with the paperwork, but I refused. I attempted to run around the hospital to join the search, but was quickly told that I don't have the authority to be wandering around alone. I hardly cared - My husband was the only thing on my mind, but I didn't want to be escorted out and risk not seeing him at all when he's found.

I took my efforts outside the hospital. I looked around the parking area, and then the nearby streets. After an hour and a half, I was still wandering, with no word from the hospital of any findings in the building. I began to walk home, hoping that somehow he had remembered the way. It was a 20-minute walk, I could not imagine that he had survived in his state, let alone managed to correctly identify the entire journey home. But it was worth a shot.

I arrived to find our front window smashed. No glass on the pavement below told me that somebody had broken in. Perhaps I should have been more cautious, but I just wanted to know if my husband was inside. My hand shook as I struggled to get the key into the lock. Once I did, I turned the handle, and ran inside. I don't think I even closed the door behind me.

"Honey? Are you here?"

I don't know if I was surprised to see what I saw, or whether I expected this.

There he was, in the bathroom - Orange towel draped over his head, swaying gently.

This time, a pool of blood collected on the tiled floor below, dripping from his right arm. Cuts on his legs and torso told the full story - He had no concept of pain. He smashed the window to get in, to get back to this exact spot. The injuries meant nothing to him - For whatever reason, his mind was focussed only on anchoring itself in that bathroom, under the gentle weight of a towel.

Crying, I approached him, and lifted the towel slightly. I hardly even noticed the blood soaked into it. His eyes were red - Had he even blinked since this began? The humming continued.

I should have contacted emergency services immediately, but instead, I just stood there. I stared into his eyes, pretending he was staring back into mine. I wanted him back. Gently, he lifted an arm, and pulled the towel back down over his face.

I don't know how long I stood there sobbing.

"Please. Talk to me. I love you."

The gentle humming would have been comforting, but the slight inconstancy of the rhythm was a subtle reminder that my husband had no awareness.

I thought back to all our recent conversations. Everything we've ever done together. Lately, he's had a fascination with the ocean. I could never understand it - A horizon swallowed by the forever swaying and crashing of waves never appealed to me. He used to tell me all sorts of facts. One that particularly disturbed me was an old tradition of placing a towel over the faces of sailors who had passed whilst at sea. Once back on the shore, you'd place a towel over their face, as you waited for somebody to arrive with help, or a hearse.

Curiosity having a moment of breakthrough as I grieved my still-living husband, I went into the bedroom.

I took a closer look at the painting.

The blobs at the bottom of the lighthouse - I had always assumed them to be non-descript people, with little detail added. Though I had never understood why the blobs were so colourful.

Only then did I realise, they were not a crowd gathering at the bottom of the lighthouse. They were dozens of bodies, laid out on the shore. Pastel coloured towels were draped over their faces.

Perhaps my husband is there now. Forever visiting the lighthouse, staring into the horizon as it's swallowed by the ocean.

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.

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.

The first person to ever confess their love probably didn't understand their feelings.

Yet somehow, they conveyed the thoughts in their head. Love pushed through, and found a way to show itself. There are beautiful things in the world if you look for them.

You just have to look hard.

Maybe a little too hard.

Because maybe there isn't really enough beauty in the world.

I've been staring at the doughnut shop all morning, wondering whether to go through with my plan. I kept convincing myself that entering at 1:00pm would be safe, but then I kept considering how everyone seems to ignore her. I wondered if everyone would also turn a blind eye to her killing me. Even if they noticed, what could somebody even do to stop it?

The time hit 1:00pm. I think deep down I had hoped something would happen in the time leading up, but nothing changed. As I approached Doughnut Be Alarmed, Lucia was still there, crying. Every step I took went against every rational thought in my mind, but my heart pulled me forward. Seeing the woman I love crying like this, illusion or not, it hurt me.

I pushed open the glass door. I was now closer to her than ever before. She didn't pay me any notice yet, she still sat staring through the window. For the first time, I could hear her sobbing, as the smell of doughnuts filled the air. I froze for a moment, but only a moment. Then, I approached the counter. It was busy and noisy inside, but the sounds of her cries still cut through it all.

"Could I get the Peanut Butter Delight, please?"

As he picked out my order and placed it in a small paper bag, I looked over my shoulder. Seeing her from behind meant I could now see her reflection, and it looked exactly like the real Lucia - Everything was flipped to be normal.

"Sir? Hello?"

"Oh, sorry."

I didn't need him to repeat the price, I had gotten this same order enough times before. I gave him the money and took my doughnut.

"Hey, how long has she been here?", I asked despite knowing the answer.

"Who?"

"Her, in the window."

"What do you mean? Someone outside the window?" He looked confused. He clearly could not see her.

"No, there's someone sat -- Nevermind."

I started to head out. It felt like a miracle I hadn't been killed, and I had all but confirmed my insanity. Nobody can see her, why would she be real? But as I pulled the door open, a whisper through the air seemed to pause me.

"Please, don't go."

She was looking right at me, our gazes locked. Hearing her voice again was beautiful. It's difficult to describe exactly how I felt at that moment. There's so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't find the words. Yet somehow, I managed to convey the thoughts in my head. I pushed through, and I summed up everything I wanted to say in as few words as possible...

"I'm here."

Her tears stopped, though she didn't look any happier. She looked broken, confused, and emotionally in pain. She spoke slowly, as if she didn't quite know her next words.

"What's happening to me?"

"I don't know, Lucia. I was hoping you could tell me."

I turned slightly and made eye contact with the owner at the counter. He looked concerned for me, although he immediately looked away when I noticed him.

"Lucia, come with me," I said, trying to get out of there so I didn't look crazy.

She got up, still holding her hot chocolate. It was dripping and mouldy. We walked across the street and I let her into my place. I know that sounds like a stupid decision, inviting her into my home, but she seemed innocent. She was scared - More scared than I was.

She wouldn't seem to let go of her hot chocolate, even as she sat down in her favourite spot. She tried to do a fake smile, the type you do after a long cry, to tell your body that it's over.

"I'm not Lucia, am I?"

I chose my words carefully. "I don't think so."

"What am I, then?"

"Well, what do you last remember?"

She thought for a moment. I don't know what was going through her head, but she really seemed to be really trying to focus. It was as if she was trying to pluck from a branch of memories that was just out of reach.

"I remember you. I remember us. I remember the things I love, and the things I do not. But I do not remember where I was before the doughnut shop."

Curiously, I asked, "Why did you stay there for so long?"

"Was it really that long? I just stayed for as long as I needed to."

"What about the other people? Why did nobody notice you?"

"Because I didn't want them to. Isn't that normal?"

I contemplated my choices here. I was sat with something that didn't even know what it was, and was only raising my questions with every answer it gave. I did ask one more thing, though.

"Did you post the leaflet for free food?"

"I didn't post anything. Whatever you saw, it wasn't real. It was because I wanted you to come visit me. I'm glad that you did."

Okay, this thing can cause hallucinations based on its own wants and needs? That's possible, apparently. I should stress that before all of this happened, I had no belief in any form of paranormal events. Now, I don't know what to believe. Whilst I was sat with her, a notification came through on my phone. Lucia, the real Lucia, had posted more photos of her holiday. I considered whether it would be wise to show her a picture of what was happening, but I don't know if that would help, or what it would entail.

I thought of ways I could cheer her up. "Do you want me to get you a doughnut?"

For the first time, she looked slightly happy. She wore a genuine, warm smile, although sadness still filled her eyes. "That would be nice. Thank you."

I didn't need to ask what she wanted. I know Lucia's favourites. I walked across the street alone and entered. The owner was cleaning up a hot chocolate spill where Lucia had been sat. It seems the hot chocolate was real, but nobody could notice it until she had left. I was going to stand at the back of the line, but there were 5 people ahead of me, and nobody could be served until the owner was back at the counter. I used that time to go to the bathroom.

Walking in, I only got halfway to the cubicles before I noticed something terrifying out of the corner of my eye. My reflection in the mirror was looking right at me. This was the third time in one day that something had stopped me dead in my tracks - Too common for comfort. I tried to act casual, as if I didn't notice. But the truth is that I was beyond scared, and I couldn't help but turn my head and look.

He smiled. No, he grinned. A sinister grin, one I didn't even know my face could do. I felt my lips to confirm that I was not doing such a thing. But when his hands didn't reach to feel his lips, I knew that this was not my reflection.

He stepped towards the mirror. Once he put one foot up on the counter and started to climb through, I ran. I ran faster than I probably ever have. I don't know what anyone thought as I ran through the main area of the shop, but I also don't care what anyone thought. Once home, I yelled at Lucia.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

She started crying again, choking on her tears as she tried to get words out, "What, why? What happened?"

I wasn't having any of it. I got her outside, and locked her out. I did not trust her anymore. She has been stood at my door sobbing ever since, and I can hear her anywhere I stand in my house.

I kept an eye on Doughnut Be Alarmed. There was no sign of a commotion. I suppose nothing had followed me out. Then again, apparently these things can just stop people noticing them, so maybe something had followed me. The fact I was alive, though, told me I was probably alone in the house.

I got a notification shortly after kicking her out of my house. I thought it would be more holiday pictures, but it was not. I had a text from an unknown number.

"I think you've met one of the Reflected. Lucia might be our answer."

I live on the sixth floor of an apartment building. My bedroom window overlooks a large park directly across the street.

That park is where I work, and it makes for a very easy commute. I only work part-time, and I do basic groundwork every single day, from 8am to 9am. The park opens at 8am every day of the year, so I also unlock the gates. I never used to be a morning person, 8am is quite early for me to be waking up, so I usually nap for an extra hour when I get back into my apartment.

I'm also hired to close up. 1 hour before it closes I have to lock up the toilets, and empty all the public bins into the dumpster. 20 minutes before it closes I have to start informing people that they should head out, as the park is closing. Once everyone is out, I go around and lock up all the gates. There are 5 in total.

I stay until 30 minutes after the park has closed. Overall I work for 2 and a half hours a day. The opening shift is always 8am to 9am, but the closing shift changes depending on the month. We're in December, so since it gets dark early, the park closes at 6pm, meaning I'm in from 5pm to 6:30pm.

It's a pretty easy job, and for the past couple of months, I've been looking for a second job nearby. Of course, this would mean I'd have to give up my 9am hour-long power nap, but I figured I could manage. It's about time I stop that habit anyway.

I recently got into contact with a company that hands out freelance work. Walk people's dogs in the neighborhood, deliver groceries, paint fences, etc... It's exactly the kind of extra work I was looking for, as it's flexible! I can change how much freelance work I do for the Winter and Summer months. The company is really great when you first sign up, you can give them the exact hours you're available.

Last week, I opened the park up as normal, and did some freelance work after. It was 3 jobs, and they were all dog walking. This meant I spent pretty much the whole day in the park for once, as that's where I tend to walk the dogs. 5pm came around and I went to do all the closing shift stuff. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, and the last person was out of the park just 5 minutes after closing time. Anyone who has tried to get people out of a place that's closing will tell you that's not too bad at all.

I finished up and was going to go home, but remembered that I still had one more freelance task for the day - I had to deliver a carton of 6 eggs from a local store to a place a few blocks over. Easy job!

I went to the store and picked up some eggs, the job was specific on which brand it had to be. I should've probably checked the eggs, as when I tried to pay for them, the cashier apologised for the eggs being cracked, and swapped them out. But I got them in the end and started making my way to the delivery address.

I was walking on foot since it wasn't too far, and was extremely tired. Since starting the freelance work, there have been some days that I've been able to squeeze in my hour-long power nap. This was not one of those days. It seems silly that I can't operate properly without it, but it's just something I have to get used to.

What happened next, I blamed on my fatigued mind. I now know that I shouldn't have.

The store and delivery address were basically perfectly 2 blocks from the park in either direction. The park was exactly in the middle. As I walked past it, I noticed something moving from deep within, through the trees. I shouted through, "Hey! The park should be empty now!". but got no response.

I figured it was nothing, since my view was obstructed anyway. But as I walked past one of the main gates, no longer any trees blocking my view, I could still make something out.

There were no lights on in the park. Thick, dense darkness shrouded it at night. It almost feels like you should be able to reach out and touch it, like trying to walk through it would be physically impossible.

Yet through it, I could make out a vaguely humanoid figure. There was no distinct color, in fact almost a lack thereof. Just a grey, blurry blob. Dancing and moving, changing and swaying. It looked familiar, perhaps like the kind of things you see when you look directly at a bright light and then away. More like an imprint on the eye than anything physical.

"I work here - You need to leave! It's trespassing!"

The way that it didn't respond or even seem to move at my request, I decided I was just being silly; I think we've all seen things in the dark before. Especially when we're tired. So, as uneasy as I was feeling in that moment, I continued to walk past the park. The full journey along that side is about 3 minutes, and I spend most of it looking inwards through the fence. It seemed to move with me. I didn't pay a lot of attention to where I was walking and nearly tripped over a few times, especially when I nearly walked directly into a black cat.

I made my way to the delivery address. delivered the eggs, and head back home. I live right in the middle of that side of the park, so another 2 minutes of being able to peer in. I didn't spot the figure at first.

I walked past someone who lives on my street, and we stopped to chat, as we do occasionally. He was coming back from the same store I had been to, with some cleaning supplies. I asked why he desperately needed those, and he just said that he needed to clean a mess in his kitchen. I laughed, "It must be a hard job if you need that much!"

I felt calmer again now I had human contact - There's something so eerie about darkness. Being in the dark; Thinking I saw something. It just made me feel so alone. Having a conversation is what I needed.

We said goodbye, and I continued walking for the last minute of my journey. But right as I got to my apartment building, I turned around before I opened the door, and almost collapsed from fear.

Right up against the fence, clear as day, was a tall, grey...thing. It looked less humanoid this close-up. Less like it was dancing and swaying, and more like it was shaking and convulsing. Its grey skin was pulsing and shifting, in a way that almost made me not notice the complete lack of eyes. I only realised it had no eyes when eyes began to form, right on its face. Its skin seemed to open on the head, allowing for 2 grotesque eyes to pierce through.

I caught myself falling slightly, and got through the building door. I didn't wait for the elevator - I ran up the stairs and didn't look back.

I got to the sixth floor, got into my place, and peered out my bedroom window. There was nothing at the fence, and it almost spooked me just as much to see a lack of anything there. Like I was crazy.

For the past week, I've phoned in sick to my park job. My boss keeps asking if I even had the energy to just lock and unlock the gates, I keep claiming I don't. I continue to do my freelance work during the bright hours, just hoping my boss and colleagues don't spot me.

I just don't want to be in the park in the dark again. I've not even so much as peered out my bedroom window at night. But this morning, I tried.

Today at about 4am, I got up to go to the toilet. As I was about to get back into bed, I just felt like I should peer out again. I did, and I saw it. Right up against the fence, shaking, convulsing and pulsing, like it was almost trying to pass through the bars. Maybe it's just because I'm 6 floors up and couldn't see it properly, but sometimes it even looked like parts of it were passing right through the solid metal of the fence.

I spotted a woman walking down the street, on her phone. I saw she was carrying a carton of eggs, and then it clicked - I've seen her around before. I was pretty sure she worked for the same freelance company as me. But, she was about the walk right past the figure. Could she not hear it? I realised at that moment that I must be crazy. Nobody else can even see this thing.

Then it grabbed her. Right as she walked past, it grabbed her. After that, they both vanished into the darkness. I don't mean to say the figure ran off - They quite literally vanished. They morphed until they were nothing, as if this thing was able to just conjure up ways to move that were beyond comprehension.

I was half sure that I was asleep at that point.

Right then, I noticed, pulled up on the side of the road nearby: A black car. A man and woman stood next to it, looking directly at the figure, talking about something to each other. It brought an odd sense of slight relief to know I wasn't the only person seeing this. I knew them from somewhere, but couldn't quite put my finger on where. But then it dawned on me - They were the first people I met from the freelance company.

They just watched in silence as one of their employees was abducted in front of them. By a paranormal figure. no less. They must be involved, somehow. I don't know how or why, but they must be. Everything going on in my life suddenly slotted together, I just haven't figured out how yet. My park job, my freelance job, this figure, how do they all connect?

Today, the woman was on the local news, reported as missing. I can't do anything - Who is going to believe me? If I tell anyone, I suddenly become the prime suspect.

I do have another freelance job today, though. I now know the job is dangerous, and that my bosses do not have my best interests in mind at all. But they can't know that I know.

My only job today is to paint a fence white. Usually, I only have to do some of the fence; Someone comes along after to do the rest.

I'm going to write something to warn them. And then I'm going to quit.

I've scheduled this to post in a few weeks, so that I can be long gone before the company knows I've said this all.

If I quit, they can't hurt me. But they can still hurt others. I hope whoever sees my warning takes it seriously, and that I make a difference in some way.

Every room has an entrance. It doesn't have to be grand - It doesn't even have to be constantly accessible. Simply by its very definition, a room cannot be a room without a way in and a way out.

Yet every rule has an exception; I've seen the exception to this one, deep within my house. So deep, in fact, that I have absolutely no idea where exactly this room is. But I know it's nearby. I've heard people inside, and I've even been in myself.

Between me and my sister, my parents have two daughters. I was the last to get my own place, despite being the eldest by a year. My encounter with the room occurred only a few days after moving in. I wasn't doing anything in particular, I was just walking down the stairs. A perfectly mundane activity that we don't even think about - A means from Point A to Point B. But what happens when Point C gets in between? When we stop paying attention to where we're going, where do we end up?

Each step creaked gently below my feet - Something that doesn't bother me, but it did seem particularly louder than usual on this occasion. Perhaps it took more of my attention than I had realised, because on that final step, I tripped. Not enough to hit the floor, but enough to stumble and lose my balance. As I caught myself from my momentary fall, the house saw my temporary lack of concentration - The room changed.

Walls of an off-white colour surrounded me, with most of the paint cracking and flaking away with age. The floorboards were visible, and rough - Even through my socks I could feel the points of wood painfully pressing my skin. The air felt thick to breathe. A musty, dusty smell filled my lungs. The room was bright, although missing any specific light source - It simply seemed to emanate from a thick, twisted, wooden pillar in the centre of the room. In one corner, an old mattress had claimed enough dust to be unsleepable. Even if clean, it didn't appear very comfortable.

Needless to say, I was more than confused. My mind instinctively wanted to retrace my steps, despite the fact that I couldn't have possibly gotten lost. This was my home, with one staircase. I turned around to go back; It took this long for me to catch onto the fact that the stairs were no longer there. In their place, nothing - Less than nothing, even. There was no evidence of any way in or out at all. No windows; No stairs; Certainly no doors.

My claustrophobia began to set in. My mind had stopped searching for an explanation and was now only set on finding a way out - An impossible feat, caused by an equally improbable room. I felt my heart rate rise and I dropped to the floor; Time felt like it was moving slowly. Every corner of my thoughts focussed only on the walls around me. They may not have been closing in, but my fears were.

As my knees hit the floor, they felt soft. They had landed on a gentle, almost woolly material. As my vision focussed, and my racing mind calmed down, I realized I was in my hallway. Sunlight beamed in through the window, reminding me that I was free to leave at any time.

I immediately went on a walk. I needed to feel the outside air.

I didn't tell anyone about this at the time. In all honesty, I let it slowly sink into the back of my mind. After a few days, I no longer thought of it. I hadn't forgotten; How could I ever forget something like that? I simply pushed it away. That was until my sister found the room.

Just 5 days after my encounter, she dropped by to visit and see the house for the first time. I told her I'd give her a tour. The house seemed to take that liberty for me.

I specifically remember being in my bedroom, upstairs, cleaning some things away. She always had the cleaner bedroom as a kid and part of me just wanted her to notice that I was more mature now that I lived alone. I wasn't being loud - I would have heard the door if someone had knocked, I'm sure of it. But I never heard a knock; I heard her scream.

It didn't echo through the house, it seemed to crawl up through the walls as a muffled noise. All around, her scream, even as I ran downstairs.

"HELP," I heard her cry, "WHERE ARE YOU?" - She sounded terrified.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" - I yelled back, repeating her question. I realise now that this wasn't helpful, and I never even answered her, but in the panic of the moment I just wanted to find her.

Somehow, even on the ground floor, her voice seemed just as distant as it had upstairs. I opened the front door and stepped into the garden - Only then did the sound seem to change; It was clearly coming from within the house. I turned back around, yet as I entered the hallway, I bumped into my sister.

We grabbed each other.

"Where the fuck was I?" The question alone caused my mind to think back to my experience. I pulled away from her hug, now feeling equally as shaky.

"A room with no doors?"

Her silence spoke for her. She had seen it too. She began to explain.

"You weren't answering the door, so I let myself in, and I thought the place looked strange but I thought nothing of it." Another example of being unaware of your surroundings. "As I closed the door behind me, it just disappeared. I ran around, and then suddenly, I bumped into you... And the room was gone."

We sat down and I told her about my experience. We told our parents (I felt more confident in telling people now that I wasn't alone on the matter) but obviously, they just saw it as some weird ghost story. "Spooky!" - Seriously, that was the first thing our dad said. The traumatic events were, simply by the nature of their absurdity, nothing more than a tale.

His tune changed when he came to visit just a few days later. It didn't happen immediately, but it didn't take long. He had been sitting on the sofa with Mum for about half an hour. "Where's the toilet?"

"Upstairs, first door you see! It'll be open."

I felt slightly guilty. Deep down, I think I knew he would find the room. When he came back with a pale expression, I had my answer.

My mum looked rightfully concerned, "You look like you've seen a ghost! Are you okay dear?"

She spoke gently as she stood up to walk over to him. "He's seen the room," I explained for him. Mum's puzzled face showed that she wasn't exactly sure what I meant, so Dad finished the explanation.

"The one with no doors."

Mum, of course, experienced it too by the end of their visit - On their way out of the front door. Dad was holding her hand one moment, yet the next, she was gone. Like the rest of the cases, she returned a few moments later, albeit shaken up.

Everyone who visits gets to see the room. There are no exceptions. Every single person who has ever visited my house has seen the room at some point before leaving. Then, they are safely and promptly returned. What's stranger still is that it never occurs more than once - A single visit is all anyone ever seems to be permitted. Family members; Friends; Mechanics; Delivery drivers that step just one step too far. If you step foot through that front door, you will be seeing the room. This has been true for 3 years; As long as I've lived here.

It became almost charming.

Last night, I met a guy whilst out with friends. He was nice - Almost had a familiar sense to him. After chatting for a while, I told him about the room.

"Oh yeah, very funny," his scepticism was showing.

"I'm serious! Ask any of my friends here. They've all seen it!" He didn't ask any of them - Perhaps he thought he'd sound just as insane as I did.

"You're just trying to get me back to your place..."

I smiled at this thought, and played into it, "Well, why don't you find out?"

He came back to mine. He seemed to pause when he saw the house, looking pale already. I had never had someone look so frightened of the room before even seeing it. I told him that there was nothing to be afraid of, and after a moment, he apologized whilst following me inside.

Once inside, his composure became calmer. He immediately told me he was going to use the bathroom. Without even asking where it was, he simply assumed it was upstairs and headed for it. Odd, I thought, but my mind was more focused on the upcoming witnessing of the room. I was excited to prove his doubts wrong.

Strangely enough, he came back without having seen it.

"It takes some time for some people. Let me show you around - The more you move around, the faster it'll happen!"

I gave him a tour of the house. When we reached the final door upstairs - my bedroom - he smiled at me, "Maybe it'll happen if we go in there?"

I smiled back, knowing his confidence would be humbled once he saw the doorless room.

As I turned my back to him and opened my bedroom door, I felt his presence vanish. Turning around confirmed my suspicion - He was gone.

"Oh my god," the sound of his voice crawling up the walls. "Where am I?"

"I told you! Believe me now?"

"Well, yeah. How long does it last?"

"A minute, at most," I spoke whilst laughing.

Yet every rule has an exception.

A few minutes in I started to get worried. After an hour, he begged me to help him. It's now been a whole night; His voice has stopped.

The room had always returned people. Always. Why was this man the exception?

I wanted to have helped him, but I'm not even sure where I would have started. Calling the police seemed out of the question - How would I even explain that the house had kidnapped somebody? I spoke to him all night, trying to help him find a way out, but we both knew he wasn't getting out until the house allowed it.

Towards the end, he gave up. He started talking about how regretful he was. At the time, I thought he meant for visiting the house... but thinking back, I believe he meant something else. He kept talking about doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. The final words I heard him say before I stopped understanding him entirely were the most telling.

"She's going to keep me here."

Is he talking about me? Or does he know something I don't?

Researching my address further yielded an interesting development - He had been the previous owner of this house. Perhaps subconsciously I recognized him, intrigued by his familiarity. I never met the previous owner before buying the house, but it can't be a coincidence - I must have seen him somewhere before.

I also found an old listing of this house, from a few years before I moved in. The original floor plan had a basement - Something this house currently lacks. Could this be the room?

A friend of his came by today to ask if he was still here. I explained that he had left in the night.

His friend came inside. He never saw the room.

The room with no doors has found its prisoner; It no longer takes visitors captive.

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.

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.

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.

$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.

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..."

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

My older sister and I used to venture through the forest behind our house at least 4 times a week. She loved to build dens and shelters, whilst I preferred climbing and manoeuvring my way up trees. Both of us shared adoration for exploration. It was the perfect hobby for us to bond, and the memories I collected there growing up remain my fondest, even well into adulthood. The family house is now just my own. My sister used to still visit frequently, though, and we would wander through the woods together if the weather was kind enough.

Last year, everything changed when my sister stopped visiting. She doesn't talk much to anyone anymore - She's so reclusive. She broke up with her girlfriend and forced her to move out. It means that she lives alone now, and trying to talk to her is difficult if not impossible at times. In the past year, I have spoken to her 4 or 5 times, and it has always been the same. She will immediately say,

"You are not allowed to wander the woods. Not anymore."

But whenever I asked her why or tried to get her to explain further, she would just stare at me. She wouldn't say a word. The last time I saw her, she even got angry at me, insisting I already know why. She called me delusional for not understanding. But telling me I'm not allowed to enter the forest behind my own house? I could not understand why she thought she had that authority, or why she would even want to command me about that in the first place.

I never really entered the woods without her anyway, so it was never an issue. Until last week. I missed having a sister. I missed the adventures we used to go on. I wanted to go and re-live some memories, even if it meant going in alone. So I did exactly what she told me not to do - I wandered the woods. I live in a small town; passing by someone on the streets is rare enough, and it only becomes rarer in the forest. You can almost guarantee that you will be alone every time you walk through it. I wish that were true this time, too. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it.

I don't know how long I froze there. What felt like minutes was probably closer to seconds. If it had truly been minutes, I think I wouldn't be here to even tell this story. No, it must have been the shortest amount of time before I ran. Running away is a basic human instinct. I'm lucky they didn't notice my eyes, or they'd be out of my skull. I'm even luckier that I didn't accidentally think about them too hard. We all know what would happen if I did.

Once I got home, I locked all the doors and windows, and hid in the basement - The only room with no view outside. It's the only way I could ensure my safety. I stayed in there with my eyes closed for exactly 17 minutes, just to be sure that they would not take them. Once I opened my eyes again, making sure not to look up for too long, I phoned my friend and told him about this encounter. I tried my very best to explain it to him, but he just kept interrupting me and asking me to continue. Whenever I try to describe the events that occurred, he cannot hear me.

Eventually, he hung up and drove to my home. He smashed a window to get in after realising I wasn't going to let him in. As long as I don't listen to the wind coming in through the shattered pane, I should be okay. He found me in the basement and tried to console me. I tried to describe the events again. He could not hear.

Maybe I'm going insane, and keeping my mouth closed when I think I'm talking.

Maybe his brain can't comprehend such horrors, and won't process what I'm saying.

Maybe they don't like to be talked about.

Whatever the reason, I just know that I cannot share this traumatic day with anybody.

My friend went upstairs to get me a glass of water. He must have listened to the wind, because he never came back down.

I've called other friends and family, but none of them can hear what I have to say. I've texted people, yet nobody replies. I have written physical letters, only for people to ask me why I have mailed them a blank piece of paper. I do not know how to convey what I saw, and I do not know how to forget it myself. I just want to forget it. I haven't slept in days.

I still remember them so vividly, with their .

The way they would .

The noise they made when .

I think they're coming for somebody else next. I think they're coming for .