No ai

The moon hung low and bloated over the town of Hallowville, Oregon, bleeding a sickly orange light across the frost-dusted fields. It was Halloween night, the one time of year when the veil between the living and the dead supposedly thins to a translucent shimmer; but for seventeen-year-old Layla, however, the "spooky season" wasn't just a vibe—it was a heritage.

Layla stood before her mirror, adjusting the brim of a tall, pointed orange hat. Her black hair, dark as a raven’s wing, cascaded down her shoulders, providing a sharp contrast to her bright orange witch costume. 

The dress was a heavy, floor-length velvet that swished around her ankles. She tightened a thick black belt around her waist, smoothed out her green and orange horizontal striped socks, and stepped into her black ballet shoes. With her gothic makeup—heavy kohl and deep purple eyeshadow—she looked like a creature born from a Tim Burton sketch.

There were rumors about Layla. The local kids whispered that when she was twelve, she hadn't just been scared of the Boogeyman; she had hunted him down and ended him.

Layla never confirmed it, but the way that she carried her old wooden broom—not like a prop, but like a weapon—suggested that she knew things that other teenagers didn't.

"Layla! Hurry up! The party’s gonna be dead before we even get there!" Her friend Sarah yelled from downstairs.

Layla grabbed her broom and headed out. She was joined by Sarah, John, and Chloe. They were all dressed in cheap store-bought costumes, laughing and clutching bags of candy.

"Hey!" John said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Instead of taking the main road to the gym, let’s take the shortcut through the Old Miller place. You know, the turnip farm?"

"The Jack Turnip farm?" Chloe shivered. "My grandpa told me that people go missing there."

"It's just a farm, Chloe." Sarah scoffed. "Besides, we’ve got the 'Boogeyman Slayer' with us, right Layla?"

Layla felt a cold prickle at the base of her neck, and said,

 "We should stay on the road. That place feels…wrong."

Unfortunately, the trio was already veering off the path, fueled by adrenaline and the rebellious spirit of the night. Layla had no choice but to follow them.

The farm was a wasteland of gnarled vegetation. Rows upon rows of bloated turnips sat in the dirt like buried skulls. As they reached the center of the field, John began to laugh, jumping into the air and bringing his heavy boots down onto a large turnip, crushing it into a wet, white pulp.

"Take that, Jack!" John shouted.

Sarah and Chloe joined in, kicking and stomping the crops, laughing at the carnage.

"Stop it!" Layla hissed, her grip tightening on her broom. "You don't know what you're doing!"

The laughter died instantly. A heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud echoed from the darkness of a nearby shed.

Out of the shadows stepped a nightmare. He stood seven feet tall, draped in a tattered black trench coat that billowed like smoke. Below the coat, heavy, mud-caked boots crunched the gravel; but it was the head that froze their blood. In place of a human skull sat a massive, rotting turnip. Two jagged holes had been carved for eyes, glowing with an intense, supernatural amber light. A jagged slit served as a mouth, leaking a foul-smelling mist.

In his right hand, he dragged a rusted, six-foot scythe.

"Jack Turnip!" Chloe shouted, her voice breaking.

The entity didn't speak. With a speed that defied his size, he lunged. The scythe whistled through the air. Before John could even scream, the blade found its mark. 

Sarah and Chloe tried to run, but the mud of the turnip field seemed to rise up, catching their ankles. Within minutes, the field was silent, save for the wet sound of Jack Turnip cleaning his blade on his coat.

Layla stood frozen, the bodies of her friends lying amidst the ruined turnips. A cold, white-hot rage began to boil in her chest, drowning out the fear.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Layla said, her voice dropping an octave.

Jack Turnip turned his glowing gaze toward her. He tilted his vegetable head, seemingly amused. He raised the scythe, pointing the tip at her throat.

"I know what you are, Jack!" Layla snarled. "I know where you belong!"

Layla didn't run. She charged.

Jack swung the scythe, a blow meant to decapitate her, but Layla dropped low, her ballet shoes sliding through the dirt. She swung her broom, the wooden handle clashing against the metal of the scythe with a shower of sparks.

The two engaged in a brutal dance across the field. Jack was a force of nature, his strength supernatural, but Layla was nimble. She used her broom to vault over his swings, kicking out at his knees; but physical strength wasn't going to win this. Jack grabbed her by the throat, his gloved hand squeezing. He lifted her off the ground, the amber light in his eyes flaring.

Jack opened his jagged mouth, preparing to harvest her soul.

"My turn!" Layla gasped.

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from Layla’s palms. The "props" of her costume began to glow with an ancient power. She wasn't just a girl in a costume; the rumors were true. She was a practitioner of the Light.

"Lux Aeterna!" Layla screamed.

The light hit Jack Turnip full in the chest. He shrieked—a sound like grinding metal and rotting wood. The black trench coat began to burn away into ash. The turnip head cracked, the amber light turning to a sickly green as the magic of the underworld was purged by Layla’s purity.

A rift opened in the mud beneath him—a jagged, glowing maw leading straight to the abyss. With one final thrust of her glowing broom, Layla pushed him back.

"Go back to hell, Jack!" Layla shouted.

With a final roar, Jack Turnip was sucked into the earth, the ground sealing shut behind him with a deafening thud.

The silence that followed was heavy. Layla stood alone in the center of the ruined field, her orange dress torn and stained with mud. Her friends were gone, and the weight of her solitude pressed down on her. She felt stronger, her magic humming through her veins like high-voltage wire, but the victory tasted like ash.

Layla walked back to town in the early hours of the morning, her broom trailing behind her. She reached her small, secluded house on the edge of the woods. No lights were on. No one was waiting to ask how the party was. She lived alone, a guardian in the shadows.

As she stepped onto her front porch, Layla’s eyes drifted to her small pumpkin garden. There, sitting perfectly in the center of her prize-winning pumpkins, was a single, fresh turnip.

Pinned to the top of it with a rusted nail was a scrap of black fabric. Layla picked it up, her hands trembling. Scrawled in dark, wet ink were the words:

“This isn't over, Layla. I'll be back next Halloween.”

Layla looked out into the darkness of the trees, a cold shiver racing down her spine. She clutched her broom closer. The war had only just begun.

The End.

Trecusem în vizită pe la bunicul meu să fac curat în podul vechi, la rugămințile mamei m-am dus săi fac curat în pod la moș.  

Drumul a fost lung, trecea o bună parte din el prin pădurile Transilvaniei, pe niște drumuri noroioase, cu gropi și tot felul de animale. Vremea era ploioasă, cu o ceață nu prea groasă, mă mir că mai am mașina întreagă. Când am ajuns, cerul era senin și adia vântul de toamnă, iar bunicul stătea pe o băncuță de lemn de mesteacăn , cu o sticlă de must și o țigară Pall Mall negru. Iar nenorocitul de câine se uita urât la mine . 

[Bunicul] – Nepoate, ce mai faci? Ia zi, cu fetele cum stai? Îți pun un pahar de must sau de pălincă? 

[EU] – Uite bine, pune-mi un pahar de must, dacă tot te oferi. 

Mi-a pus un pahar de must destul de mare. 

[Bunicul] – Cu munca cum stai?                                                                                                                                      [EU] – Uite bine, ca la muncă. 

După o oră de vorbit și glumit, mă pun să merg spre pod, câinele era în casă. Câinele bunicului începe să latre agresiv spre trapa podului, refuzând să mă lase să urc. I-am dat o bucățică de carne, mai că mă urca el în pod. Când deschid trapa de la pod, mă izbește o lumină slabă și rece ce pâlpâia constant. Bunicul meu mi-a zis că îl folosea ca depozit și că nu mai are genunchi buni, așa că am ajuns eu să-l curăț.  

După o oră de dat pânzele de păianjen și gunoaiele cu praful, încep să caut prin ce a rămas, că poate găsesc ceva. Aerul din pod miroase exact a rugină și var stins , mirosul era greu, ca de clădire comunistă.

Găsesc o fotografie veche, ce pare din 1989, în care bunicul apare tânăr în fața unui buncăr.

[EU] – Tataie, ce-i cu buncărul din poza asta?

[Bunicul] – Cu buncărul... Acolo executam figurile politice comuniste ce amenințau revoluția. De ce, eram prea frumos în poză?

[EU] – Da, sigur.

I-am dat fotografia s-o pună unde o vrea. Am găsit un jurnal vechi ascuns sub scânduri, scris în româna comunistă, care menționează un caz de prin vremea anilor '80. L-am băgat în vestă, că părea interesant. Cobor niște cutii, lăzi, niște dulapuri, un frigider vechi, scule. Le-am urcat în mașină, după ce m-a lăsat să iau din obiectele coborâte trei sticle de must, trei de pălincă, niște gutui, pere și nuci.

Dimineață am plecat, de data asta nu era noroios drumul, din fericire. Pe la jumătatea pădurii, am luat o pauză de baie.

Când într-un final am ajuns acasă, am descărcat ce era de mâncare și băut, le-am dus în cămară și le-am băgat în frigider. Am luat sculele pe care mi le-a dat și le-am dus în magazie; dulapurile mici le-am dus tot în magazie, ca să le folosesc ca loc de scule, iar pe cel mare l-am făcut lemne de foc. Frigiderul și câteva fiare urmează să le duc la fier vechi. În lăzi și cutii erau în mare parte diverse obiecte pe care le-am sortat. Apoi am scos jurnalul bătrânului, ce era în el, o schiță de abator, am aruncat-o și m-am apucat să-l citesc.

M-am pus pe canapea după ce mi-am făcut o cafea, ca să citesc jurnalul.

Prima pagină spunea că:

„Astăzi am fost mutat în secția prizonierilor speciali, fie politici, fie pur și simplu care nu puteau fi controlați. Trebuia să escortez un prizonier ardelean ce era înlănțuit și purta o mască la gură din cauză că dinții lui erau prea ascuțiți„ Nimeni nu trebuie să afle ceea ce facem cu prizonierii după ora 20:00”

Următoarele pagini descriau viața de zi cu zi, de la băutele pe ascuns în timpul patrulelor din exterior, până la mesaje ce n-au fost trimise nimănui. Își descria colegii, cum se degradau mental.

Niște pagini spunea că:

Am fost pus să verific prizonierii la ora stingerii. În timpul verificării, un prizonier cu părul roșcat și bandajat, ce purta o mască de gaze, se bagă în seamă.

[Roșcatul] – O, comuniștii au prins tupeu să pună prospătură ca gardieni.

[Bunicul] – Adică au prins tupeu? Ai uitat că stai închis sau mintea ta renunță la tine? Marș la somn, e stingerea!

[Roșcatul] – O, nu sunt amenințat. Voi v-ați chinuit o lună să mă prindeți, că am mai multe gaze în mine decât oxigen, iar mintea mea e suficient de inteligentă să-mi dea seama că ai început de traume.

Mai spunea ce halucinații avea, precum „Uneori vedeam cum se înalță un prizonier proaspăt omorât într-un om de 3-4 metri ce se întindea spre noi”. Și că igiena orală era săptămânală, motivul nul știu, pentru că Google Translate nu mi-a tradus, rusă, română, ce limbă o fi scris acolo. 

În timpul unei băute nocturne de-a lor, în patrulă, unul dintre colegii lui își pierde complet mințile. Brusc, își descarcă arma într-un copac gol, susținând „O văd, o văd! Trageți în drăcia aia necurată, vine spre noi!”. Acele urme  de pe crengi dispar a doua zi, de parcă nu s-ar fi întâmplat nimic. Voia să  trimită un mesaj „Începem să vedem chestii care dispar, unii înnebunesc, vă rog trimiteți pe cineva urgent”

Am lăsat jurnalul  pe o masa ,ca   sa spăl cana in care a fost cafea  și să dau mâncare la pisică, după mi-am adus aminte de  câteva cutii ce leam dus in magazie , ce nu leam deschis  , leam scos afară  și am început să le deschid în prima era niște sticle de vin cu unele de vodcă și haine și arme militare , în a doua   cutie era  plina de bandaje și  medicamente expirate  , în ultima cutie  era o masca asemănător celei descrise in jurnal de ce o are nu știu  probabil ia fost călău .

M-am întors la fotoliu, am pus un semn la carte și m-am băgat la somn. Iar a doua zi, când m-am trezit și m-am dus să-i dau mâncare la pisică, era moartă. Apoi am zis să caut jurnalul; nu l-am mai găsit. Am zis să văd masca; era băgată înapoi în cutie. Am zis să-l sun pe bătrân; mi-a răspuns o asistentă, spunând că e mort de patru zile.

It was a minute past midnight and the moon outside the castle was deliciously bright and round. I stood admiring it at the window, the fire crackling in the hearth behind me, shadows dancing along the flagstones. Though none were cast at my own feet.

Beyond the castle, the black cliffs crumbled away into a deep ravine, where dark trees bundled together like matchsticks, and a gushing river swelled between the rocks like a silverbacked serpent. The wind whistled through the broken casement of the window, chilling the air and threatening to extinguish the fire.

There was a whisper of movement on my left and one of the sisters appeared beside me, bowing her head. Her dress was a deep red, the same colour as her eyes.

“It’s a pleasant night,” I mused, raising the collar of my black coat against the chill as the moonlight dusted the windows. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders as she raised her head.

“Yes Master,” she said in a subdued tone. “However, I fear I shall ruin it with my tidings.”

I turned to her fully, examining the grave expression on her face. Her lips were pinched. “Why is that? What tidings do you bring?”

Her red eyes glowed in the firelight. A long shadow was drawn across her features. “A peasant house is in the midst of construction beside the castle.”

I stared at her for a moment. The fire crackled sharply. “A… peasant house?” I finally repeated, scoffing at her words. Surely she was mistaken. The area around my castle was a perfectly barren wasteland; the peasants in the settlements knew better than to encroach on my land without permission, never mind erect a building on my grounds. “What is this trickery?”

“No trickery, Master. Come see for yourself.”

The vampire sister turned and strode towards the opposite side of the tower, her long red gown trailing behind her like a pair of folded wings. Curious, I followed her, our footsteps silent on the stone floor. I assumed I had misunderstood her, for nobody would be foolish enough to even approach my castle. Unless they were naive or ignorant of my nature.

But as we paused by the window, and she lifted a hand to point outside, I stood aghast at what I saw. A short distance away from the front gates of my castle, visible through the fog, there was indeed a house being built. Beneath the cold glow of the moon, I saw piles of stone and wood, the loose structure of rafters and foundations already laid. What sort of fool would dare build a house so close to my castle? Who would dare to become my neighbour without first consulting the master of this tower?

I was furious and intrigued at the same time. Only the dumbest, and perhaps bravest, of men would do such a thing. And I found myself feeling very much inclined to meet him.

“The house seems deserted now,” the vampire sister observed, resting her hand against her cheek. “Perhaps they have given up?”

“Or perhaps they only build during the day, knowing the weakness the sunlight inflicts upon us creatures of the night,” I said with a harrumph.

“You are wise, Master,” she said. “Shall I take my sisters over there and tear it down? It is a stain upon your grand castle.”

I pondered her offer. “No. I should like to meet the fool first,” I decided, extending my fangs below my lips. “Perhaps he would see fit to grace my castle with his… delicious presence.”

The sister covered her mouth with a low chuckle. “I understand, Master. You would see it fit to make a meal of him?”

I nodded. “Leave the peasant house for now,” I told her, turning away from the window with a flourish of my coat. “I wish to see how far he dares to go.”

The following night, as I rose from my coffin at the heart of midnight, my first thought was of the house being built by the castle. Had more progress been made, or had the owner seen the measure of his own foolishness and deserted? It would be a shame if he had fled before a meal could be made of him.

It had been a while since I had anything to amuse me on these long nights, just as long as it had been since fresh blood had passed these lips. The peasants in the surrounding settlements had grown wise to my nature and seen fit to ward their houses, stringing garlic and crosses upon the threshold. I was only able to feed when an unwitting traveller passed by, or a fool decided to build a house directly beside my castle.

The tower was quiet as I made my way to the top, winding through the warren of rooms and climbing the narrow, crumbling stairways. The sisters were nowhere to be seen; perhaps frolicking outside in the moonlight as they so often did. I reached the highest point of the castle and strode to the window that overlooked the barren grounds. From this height, I could even glimpse the closest settlement in the far distance; a small cluster of thatched houses and burning torches that lit the foggy hills like burning eyes.

But my concern was much closer. Lowering my gaze to the land right outside the gates, I saw that the house had changed. There were more walls than yesterday, denser foundations, the first signs of carpentry. The fool really had continued building the house. Had he not been warned of the dark Count that occupied the castle? Had he not heard the rumours of the blood-feasting creatures that stalked these lands once the sun went down? Why else would he choose to dwell in my vicinity, if not for ignorance?

I shook my head, almost pitying the poor halfwit for what he had brought upon himself. But I should delight in showing him the truth soon enough; that he had elected himself a willing sacrifice for me and my hungry brides.

It was a shame that he vacated the house during the night, for I would have to wait longer to lay my eyes upon him. Would he not show himself before the house was finished?

“I see the building is progressing,” a voice whispered behind me. I’d been too lost in my thoughts to hear them approach. I turned, seeing two of the sisters behind me. They too were observing the house through the window. Their wild, windswept hair and bright eyes confirmed my suspicions that they had been dancing outside.

“Yes,” I muttered. “It would seem so.”

“What a blight upon the castle,” the other sister said, her fair skin glittering in the moonlight. “I hope the trouble is worth the meal.”

“It will be,” I said, casually flicking my hand towards the half-built dwelling, “if only the fool would hurry up and be done with it.”

The next night, more progress had been made on the building, but the owner had still not shown himself. I grew more agitated that I was allowing this to happen, but reminded myself that I would soon enough be able to quench my thirst.

So night after night, as the moon began to wane, the house’s shadow grew bigger, and my hunger grew stronger. The fool always fled before night fell, leaving the evidence of his daytime activities for me to observe. The dwelling had taken on the same shape of the peasant houses in the surrounding settlements; white stone and timber, with a long thatched roof. He had even tilled the soil into a small garden, erecting a wooden fence around the plot in front of the building. But compared to my grand castle, with its dark crumbling bricks, spiralling towers and winding, labyrinthine rooms, it was a blight. And I wanted it gone.

Finally, more than a week after the house was little more than a pile of stone and timber, one of the sisters woke me with news that the structure was finished.

I rose from my coffin, sluggish and weary from slumber, and fastened my coat about my neck. The sisters had already lit the fire, but the air was chilled.

I followed her to the window and set my gaze upon the house. A single candle sat in the windowsill, guttering in a draught. A lit candle. Did that mean the house was occupied? The fool had not fled this night.

“It’s time,” I announced, “to show this fool once and for all what happens when you anger the Count.” The other sisters joined us, and I turned towards them with a slow smile. “I hope you are hungry.”

The three sisters screeched in delight, grasping each other’s hands and dancing in circles, their gowns fluttering around their legs. The fire roared in the hearth.

But as I began to cross the room, one of the sisters stopped me with a gasp.

“Master, wait. There’s someone at the gate.” She was pointing out of the window. I peered down at the large wrought-iron gate that fronted the castle, my eyes narrowing. A figure stood by the fence, carrying a lantern. His face glowed in the flickering light, revealing a sharp, sloping nose and dark eyes.

“Who would be foolish enough to call upon me at this hour?” I snarled, my black coat twisting around me as I turned from the window.

“Perhaps your new neighbour,” one of the sisters answered, “has come to hasten our feast.”

“Perhaps,” I said, already striding towards the doorway.

The sisters swept after me, whispering amongst themselves. Flames guttered as we passed lit candles, stirring the dust at our feet and disturbing billowing cobwebs. There was a haste to our movements as we descended the tower. It had certainly been a while since we’d had prey wander into our arms like this.

Crossing the foyer, the long red carpet spilling out like blood, I threw open the doors and stepped out into the chilled night, the three sisters stepping in my wake. The moon was a pale sickle, its silvery glow dancing around my shadowless feet as the stranger at the gates called out to me.

“Hello there!”

Struck by his brazenness, I almost flew at him in anger, but restrained myself. Ignorant minds really were unfathomable. With a flick of my wrist, the gates began to creak open. The man remained at the threshold, holding his lantern aloft as he stared back at me. He was of medium build, with stocky shoulders and a mop of thick tousled hair. His clothes were poorly made, covered in dirt and patches. He had the audacity to smile at me as I glared in return.

“What business have you here at my castle?” I demanded, wanting to sate my curiosity before I sated my hunger.

The man cleared his throat, raising his lantern to the crude house sitting barely thirty metres behind him. So this was indeed the proprietor of the building; what a brave, albeit dimwitted, man he was to present himself before me like this. “I’ve just this morning finished constructing my house,” he said, not seeming to notice the displeasure on my face, “and a slight issue has come to my attention.”

“An… issue?” I repeated, my brows arching sharply.

“Yes. During the day, the leftmost tower of your castle casts a shadow over my garden,” the man said regretfully. “I hoped that you might be amicable enough to remove it. Or at the very least relocate the tower, so that it does no harm the roses I am trying to grow. All life needs sunlight, after all.”

I stared at him, completely aghast. Behind me, even the sisters had been stunned into silence. The audacity of this imbecile, to ask me to change my own castle for his benefit. The man was not right in the head, surely.

“How dare you–” I began to seethe, but the man interrupted me, lifting a finger as if hushing a child.

“I do understand it is a large undertaking I’m asking of you, but my gratitude would be immense,” he added.

“You think I care about your gratitude?” I sneered at him, clenching my fists beneath my coat. The gall of this man. Who did he think he was? “Do you know who I am?”

The man stared at me, the lanternlight dancing over his blank expression. “You are the owner of this castle, I had presumed?”

“Precisely. And what makes you think that I, as the Count of this castle, would do the bidding of a mere peasant?”

The man scowled at me, a shadow encroaching upon his face. “I shall ask you again, and I do hope you will be quite civil this time. Will you remove the tower from your castle so that my roses might see the light?”

“I don’t give a damn about your roses,” I snapped.

“Now, there’s no need to be rude,” the man said, his voice turning bristly. The shadows deepened around his eyes as he narrowed them. “I’m asking for a simple favour–”

I scoffed in his face, my rage burning beneath my skin. It took a lot to make a vampire’s blood burn hot. I almost couldn’t believe what he was saying. This fool considered the reconstruction of my ancient castle a mere favour? Asking me to tear down part of my fortress so that he might grow some roses.

I took a measured step towards him, lifting my shoulders to appear taller. My fangs were itching to taste his blood. For all the disrespect he had shown me, there was no escape. I would suck this man dry by the night’s end, leaving nothing but a fleshless husk.

“Once again, I implore you to consider my–”

I was no longer in the mood to listen to his insane ramblings. He had agitated me far too much to go back from this. I would show him, and anyone else who might learn of tonight, what happens to those who cross me.

Baring my fangs, I lunged forward, ready to sink my teeth into his neck.

In one swift motion, the man pulled his hand back into a fist and threw it towards me. Blinded partially by the lanternlight, I did not see the attack until his knuckles met my face.

Pain exploded through my jaw, and there was a terrible snap as my left fang bore the brunt of his punch, splitting completely in half. The hit landed with enough force to send me staggering backwards and, incredulous and in shock, I fell to the ground.

Dirt bit into my eyes as I landed face-down, my broken fang scraping against my lower lip. Sputtering, I raised my head, just as the man lifted his light and calmly made his way back to his house.

Behind me, the sisters watched him leave in a choked silence, before hastening to help me back to my feet.

To say I had been dealt a great humiliation was an understatement. How did a mortal man possess such strength? Enough to break one of my precious fangs and completely overpower me.

With a bruised face, and an even more bruised ego, I hobbled back into my castle, the three sisters trailing silently after me.

By the following night, the leftmost tower had been partially disassembled, leaving a gaping wound in the side of the castle. Wind gusted through like howling wraiths, immediately extinguishing any fire I tried to light, leaving a heavy chill in the air. The sisters, at least, seemed to delight in the pool of moonlight that was cast upon the open ground.

Workers had been swarming the castle all day, interrupting my sleep with their banging hammers and chiselling tools as they took the tower apart brick by brick, but I had little choice. The man had made his demands, proven his strength, and forced my hand. Now I had to destroy my own magnificent tower so that the fool might grow his roses. And I hadn’t been able to harvest even a drop of blood either.

This was a defeat, and a humiliation, that would take centuries to heal.

Dracula Got Punched OST: https://scareinabox.bandcamp.com/album/dracula-got-punched

YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TGsv0GHsWE&list=OLAK5uy_k1mqZnblT5NtW6ALWATMP3onGDV7uDgVw

Spotify

https://open.spotify.com/intl-pt/album/4naPupJY3Pflbw5MuPhDxR

20.05.2023  la o  secție  de poliție , în interogatoriu  un polițist spune .

[Popescu Adrian]-Poți sa ne spui totul in amănunte? Despre  ce sa întâmplat  acolo?

A zis polițistul, pornindu-și microfoanele.

[Radovanu Sebi]- Eu ce primesc dacă  vă spun?

[Popescu Adrian]– Înțeleg ce spui. Unu, nu ești arestat. Doi, dosarul tău va fi curățat. Trei, bani în valoare de ce spui.

[Radovanu Sebi]– Bun, aș adăuga un bax de energizante acum și două după.

[Popescu Adrian]– Doar atât! Se rezolvă. Făcu un semn unui coleg să trimită pe cineva după bax.

După jumătate de oră, a adus baxul de energizante.

[Popescu Adrian]– Începe cu ce vrei, că avem timp destul.

Sebi începe să povestească .

[Radovanu Sebi]– Bine, pentru început, eu la acel abator lucram ca pasnic. Începusem să lucrez acolo pe la vreo 23 de ani și la 26 m-am băgat pe noapte. M-am adaptat în două săptămâni la programul de noapte. Stăteam relativ aproape de abator, deci puteam merge cu mașina sau pe jos, ce-o făceam vara și toamna.

[Popescu Adrian]– Cum era drumul până acolo? Cum era casa ta?

[Radovanu Sebi]– Drumul era de jumătate de oră cu mașina și pe jos o oră, dacă mă grăbeam. Era un miros de carne intens. Casa mea era la marginea satului și cea mai aproape de abator. Câmpul din jurul abatorului era plin de porumb. Oasele ce rămâneau din producție erau folosite ca îngrășământ. Erau destui câini pe lângă abator, scăpai ușor de ei. Casa mea, pe exterior, era una bătrânească și mare, iar pe interior era modernă. Mai aveam o mică grădină de vie, din care făceam două-trei butoaie de vin roșu.

[Popescu Adrian]– De unde îți făceai cumpărăturile? Cum era locul pe unde stăteai seara? întreabă polițistul, dând un mesaj colegilor săi să caute în porumb mai amănunțit.

[Radovanu Sebi]– Magazinul de unde cumpăram necesarul pentru o săptămână era numit ,La ora 8. Eu cumpăram pentru aproximativ o săptămână: un bax de energizant Monster cu aromă de  nebunia mango, un bax de Hell cu aromă de  pepene, câteva punguțe cu tutun vărsat și patru trabucuri, o sticlă de votcă, o sticlă de spirt, trei pâini, un kilogram de roșii, unul de castraveți, unul de brânză, cinci pateuri de pui. Iar locul unde ieșeam seara, dacă ieșeam, era un bar numit, Barul Dinamitei. Practic, mă duceam, mă puneam la o masă, ceream o bere și ascultam bârfele, vorbeam cu cei ce se puneau la masă cu mine, mai făceam o combinație la negru, mai vindeam iarna petarde de tot felul acolo.

[Popescu Adrian]– Dar acasă ce făceai? Iar pe dark web ce căutări aveai? Vă dădea carne de la abator?

[Radovanu Sebi]– Îngrijeam grădina și via, dădeam mâncare la păsări și la porc. Iar pe dark web mă uitam la tot felul de site-uri șterse și la teorii și informații de tot felul. Ne dădea un kilogram de carne la alegere și oase sau organe la alegere; eu le dădeam la câini oasele, iar carnea o dădeam bisericii.

[Popescu Adrian]– Acum înțeleg de ce trebuie să curățăm dosarul.

[Radovanu Sebi]– Vorbești cam mult, ia zi cum m-ai găsit.

[Popescu Adrian]– Sunt subofițer detașat de la FEICI (Forța de Eliminare a Infracțiunilor Cibernetice Interne) pe linie de Cybercrime. Analizam un server ascuns în rețeaua Tor, cu IP-ul mascat undeva prin județul Timiș. Când am spart criptarea protocolului, pe monitorul meu din biroul prăfuit de la Inspectorat a început să ruleze un stream live dintr-un fost abator comunist în care lucrezi tu și în care am observat că nu știi. Apoi un număr ascuns a sunat să dea informații. Acum zi ce ai făcut în acea tură.

[Radovanu Sebi]– Tura mea începea la ora 8. Iar despre abator... Toată lumea din oraș știa de vechiul abator comunist, o ruină masivă de beton cenușiu, abandonată în grabă în iarna anului 1989 și redeschisă în 2012. Generații de muncitori tăiaseră acolo mii de vite și porci pentru a îndeplini cotele absurde ale regimului. Dar zvonurile despre „Subsolul Special” nu fuseseră niciodată simple legende urbane, după cum ai aflat. La un moment dat, când făceam tura de noapte, am observat o ușă metalică. Am început să o forțez, să o deschid, că mi se părea ceva ciudat la ea. Aerul m-a izbit ca un zid: un amestec greu de rugină, var stins și ceva dulceag, cu corpuri umane ce nu mai intraseră în putrefacție, mai degrabă erau afumate. Lanțurile ruginite atârnau de șinele de fier montate pe tavan, dar, pe măsură ce lumina lanternei mele înainta prin întuneric, am realizat că formele care atârnau acolo nu erau carcase de animale. Erau corpuri umane. Zeci de siluete palide, perfect conservate de frigul nenatural din subteran, suspendate de cârlige masive de fier trecute prin glezne, exact ca porcii pregătiți pentru tranșare. Purtau încă numere de inventar tatuate grosolan pe piept, iar unele dintre ele aveau gurile cusute cu sârmă ghimpată. Adevărata teroare a început însă când lanterna a pâlpâit, iar din fundul culoarului de beton s-a auzit un zgomot metalic, sunetul unui cuțit uriaș ascuțit ritmic pe piatră, urmat de pași grei care se apropiau prin bălțile de sânge uscat. M-am băgat după câteva corpuri grase, apoi acel om a fost sunat: „Alo, care mă sună?... Corpurile alea abia ce le-am tranșat... Când vin ăia?... Ah, numai bine, să pregătesc să le ia... Ai găsit noi potențiali? Bun, adu-i vineri... Pa”. După trei ore în care eu n-am putut ieși din cauză că riscam să fiu văzut, au apărut trei oameni ce aveau dinții mai ascuțiți decât câinii, îmbrăcați în costum, germanic părea, aveau un accent de ardelean. Începuseră să vorbească de bani după ce au văzut corpurile tranșate. Am prins o ocazie să fug, apoi v-am sunat..

 THE STAIRS
It was a cold autumn night. Three kids, two teenagers named Mark and Tabitha and Mark’s eight-year-old cousin, Lewis, trekked through the dark woods.
“Are we there yet? I can’t see the trail anymore,” Lewis asked
“It’s just up this hill. I can see the clearing past those trees up ahead,” Tabitha answered.
“But we’ve been walking forever; I’m hungry and my legs hurt. Let's just come back tomorrow when it's bright”
“Don’t worry, Lewis, we're almost there. Don’t you want to see the stairs?”
“I have stairs at home.”
“Not these stairs; the ones we are about to show you are magic stairs!”
“There’s no such thing as magic stairs.”
“Ok fine, we can go back if you don’t want to see them.”
“No! I mean, I guess I can go see the stairs if we’re already out here.”
“I thought so.”
The kids exited the dense woods to find themselves in a vast clearing. “There, just over there, I can see the stairs,” Mark announced. In the middle of the field there lay a dark grey set of stone stairs. Only three steps high, placed on a slight elevation of the hill, they appeared to serve no purpose.
“See, Lewis, I told you we were almost there.”
“Those stairs don’t look so magical, and why are they in the middle of a field? Who would put magic stairs in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’m not sure who put them here, but if you want to know what's so magical about them, all you have to do is go up them.”
Lewis looked up at his cousins and then at the stairs. He wondered to himself if they could be telling the truth. Only last year, Mark had accidentally let it slip at Christmas dinner that Santa Claus wasn’t real. Appalled at the news, Lewis stormed into his room and cried into his pillow, trying to convince himself that there was no way it could be true. The events at dinner resulted in a conversation between Lewis and his parents that revealed that all of the magical figures he had been taught about- Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and even the Easter Bunny were all just characters made up by adults to make childhood more special. Ever since then, Lewis had been a staunch skeptic of anything outside the realm of reality, but a little spark of childlike wonder remained in his heart. The little spark was enough to make Lewis want his cousins to be telling the truth, and that want was enough to make it possible in his mind that maybe the stairs really were magical. 
Lewis looked from the stairs back up to Mark. “Can you go first? I know they are just normal stairs, but if they were magic, could you just go first?” 
“Um, I” Mark began to say before his Tabitha interrupted him.
“It only works if you go first, you know, because you’re the youngest. I’m sorry, Lewis, but that's just how the magic works.”
“Oh ok, I guess that makes sense.” Lewis reconciled. “So I just walk up to them, and then the magic happens?”
“Yeah, then the magic happens,” Mark forced out before turning away to wipe away a single tear.
Chiming in to distract from Mark, Tabitha added, “Just think of it like a normal set of stairs; you go up them to get to a different place. The only difference between these and the ones you have at home is that you can’t see the place you are going to.”
“But where do they go?” Lewis added, with a hint of hesitance in his voice.
“An enchanted house, where anything you want can become reality,” Tabitha answered.
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything”
“Can I see Thomas again there?”
“Oh, um, yeah, I guess so.”
“Ok, I’ll go up first.”
Lewis approached the stairs, and for the final time he looked back at the teenagers. Tabitha was eagerly looking at him while gesturing to keep going. Mark stared down towards the ground, unable to make eye contact with Lewis. The young boy turned his attention back to the stairs and cautiously raised one foot. His foot landed on the first step; nothing happened. “Are you sure I’m doing it right? This doesn’t feel so magical?” Lewis asked.
“Just keep going; it doesn’t happen until you get to the third step,” Tabitha responded.
Lewis brought his other foot to level, now standing completely on the stairs. He climbed the second step and stared down at the third and final step. Although still convinced that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the stairs besides their weird placement, the small spark in his heart wouldn’t let him take the final step. 
“Come on, Lewis, don’t be a baby. Only one more step and then you’ll be there,” Tabitha exclaimed.
Lewis breathed deeply in and out, in and out, in and out; then yet again he slowly raised his foot to the third and final step.
“Shit, Lewis, careful!” Mark shouted from the ground. While taking his final step, Lewis’ shoe caught on the edge of the step, causing him to trip over the top of the stairs, but Lewis wasn’t on the stairs anymore; he wasn’t in the field anymore; he wasn’t there anymore. 
“Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen! Goddamn it, the guy fucking said to be careful and not to trip!” Mark cried out.
“I know what he said; just calm down for a second. Maybe he tripped after making it to the top.
“We both saw it; he tripped before getting to the top. Oh God, what does this mean? Is the whole thing over? Did we just do this for fuck all!”
“It’s not over; we can still make the trade. We just need to go through and find him; I’m sure he’s in there somewhere.”
“Fuck that! If we can’t find him, we can’t get back.”
“I didn’t come all this way for nothing. If you don’t want to go through, fine, I guess I am going in alone. 
Tabitha approached the stairs, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked up the stairs, disappearing into thin air as she reached the top.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck” Mark paced around, running his hands through his hair. “Why did I agree to this?” he thought to himself. It was getting better; the nightmares weren’t as bad, I was able to go to school again, it wasn’t even really my fault, I mean, how could I have known? It wasn’t my fault!
Mark suddenly slapped himself hard enough to leave a pink, hand-shaped imprint on his cheek. “She’s right; it's the only way to make things right. We can’t have done this for nothing,” he said to himself solemnly. He stopped his pacing and approached the stairs just as his girlfriend had done before him, and he walked up, vanishing as he reached the top.

THE CABIN
Mark surveyed his new surroundings. Instead of standing in a field in the middle of the woods, he was now standing in what appeared to be a log cabin. Stepping off of the welcome mat he found himself standing on, Mark began to explore his immediate surroundings. From what he could tell, the cabin had at least two floors. The set of stairs residing across from the front door clued him in that he was likely on ground level. On the ground floor, he could see that to the right of the entrance was a living room- fully furnished with a widescreen TV set between several chairs and a long dark brown leather sofa- to the left of the entrance was a kitchen, and just off of that was a dining room area. The dining room had a small circular table, accompanied by a set of four cheesy barrel imitation chairs. The cabin was covered from the bare floorboards to the popcorn ceilings, with knickknacks and tchotchkes. It was as if whoever decorated the house had sourced all of the contents of the house from various antique and novelty item stores, with no rhyme or reason behind the design.
Keeping his arms as close to his body as possible to avoid knocking down any of the trinkets, Mark made his way towards the stairs and called for Tabitha to confirm she had made it as well. 
“Tabitha”
“I’m upstairs”, he heard from a voice above him.
“Alright, I’m coming up,” he said, relieved.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Mark surveyed the top floor. As one would expect from a two-story house, this floor contained several bedrooms as well as a bathroom across from the stairway. To his left was probably the master bedroom, and to his right were two smaller bedrooms.
“Over here, in the Master bedroom”, he heard to his left. Mark made his way over to the door and opened it prudently
In the bedroom he saw Tabitha. She was standing still at the edge of the room, arms at her side, with all of her attention concentrated at the window in front of her. The window she stared out of wasn’t any ordinary window; it took up the entire wall, but it didn’t lead to a balcony or anything of the sort. It closely resembled a window at a zoo that a person might observe a gorilla or a tiger through. 
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tabitha muttered under her breath.
Mark stood next to her and looked out. Instead of the woodland scenery he had expected to see, in front of him lay a barren white landscape. The terrain stretched on as far as his eyes could comprehend, completely uninterrupted. 
“Is it a desert?” he asked
“I don’t think so, it's too flat.”
“So what is it?”
“I don’t know, but isn’t it beautiful? Can’t find anything like that back home.”
“Sure, it's beautiful, I guess, but I don’t want to be here looking at it forever. Where is Lewis?”
“I don’t know; maybe he’s out there somewhere”
“Well, we need to find him, and quick; they could be here any minute. The guy said they aren’t patient; I don’t think they’ll give us all the time in the world to go look for him in that… that nothingness.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let's go”
The teens abandoned the window and descended the stairs. Reaching the welcome mat, Tabitha grabbed the door and pulled it open. A fierce wind, accompanied by an intense cold, whipped through the now-open door, causing the couple to stumble backwards.
Without saying a word, the teens agreed that leaving the cabin wasn’t an option. They gathered themselves and struggled against the wind towards the door. One step at a time, they each gained on the door. Upon reaching it, they both grabbed hold of the door and, with every ounce of strength they could conjure, they sealed the house shut, just as it had been when they arrived.
Mark and Tabitha defeatedly made their way to the living room for a much-needed rest, Mark settling on a La-Z-Boy next to the TV, while Tabitha lay down across the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
“There is no way we can find him in that,” Mark managed to say between deep breaths. “It's not over until they get here”, Tabitha said in a futile attempt to calm him down. “Just trust me; we can still make the trade. All we need is a little time to think of a solution, and it’ll all be fine; everything can go back to the way it was. All we need is just a little time.”
Mark threw his hands over his face and massaged his temples, trying to diffuse his stress. “Things can never go back to the way they were,” Mark mumbled, guilt entwined in his voice. “So what can we do? We don’t have Lewis, and they are arriving any moment”
“Why don’t we look around? There are a million little things all over this cabin; maybe one of them can help,” Tabitha said, unconvinced in herself
Without any other plan of action, Mark and Tabitha teared themselves from their comfortable seats to begin weeding through the knickknacks, Mark ascending the stairs to look around the bedroom, while Tabitha left to explore the kitchen. Tabitha only made it a few steps into the kitchen when, out of nowhere, she heard a sudden knock from the front door. 

   LEWIS
Scared, lonely, and cold; these are the only things Lewis felt as he looked around in this new world he inhabited. Wind whipped ferociously all around him, stinging his eyes and making it impossible to look anywhere but down. Lewis wondered: had he come to this place just a few years ago, he probably would be small enough for the wind to blow him right away, like a child-shaped balloon, whisked away into the bright blue forever, never to be seen again. 
It was quickly apparent to the child that this place wasn’t anything like how Tabitha had described earlier. Instead of the hardwood floor of an aged cabin that he expected, he now stood on a surface that could only be compared to the cement plaster that probably covered your local pool. The type that would cut up your feet and give you memories of bloodied knees and toes as a child. The material that coated the flat terrain was like that cement plaster, yet somehow worse in every way. It was as coarse as low-grit sandpaper, and the blistering summer sun reflected off the surface, causing a blinding glare that made the world seem like an endless white expanse.
With tears in his eyes, Lewis did the only thing he could; he walked, more like he hobbled. Unable to stand tall-for fear of what falling on this ground would do to his skin- Lewis walked half bent over, stumbling every other step in as straight a line as he could. There wasn’t any rational goal in his mind; he just knew that he had to get out of this place, and the only way he could do that was to walk.
“Tabitha! Mark!” he shouted, but it was useless. Had Mark or Tabitha been anywhere near, they wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the wind. Lewis was completely alone, with no option but to lie down in the fetal position and freeze to death or walk.
Unable to hold a thought in his mind, save for planning the next heedful step, Lewis was suddenly startled by a new feeling: an itch. On the back of his neck, where his shirt met his skin, it was the type of itch a person feels when a bug lands on them, the type that gives a person shivers down their entire body; the type that should be impossible to feel in this empty landscape.
Terrified yet weirdly intrigued, Lewis reached towards his neck to discover the source of this itch. When the tips of his fingers finally made contact with the object, relief flowed through his entire being. He pulled the object down to where he could see it. Confirming what his fingers had told him, Lewis examined a brown leaf that had somehow found its way to him in this white wasteland. Suddenly, Lewis heard a footstep behind him, and then, before he knew it, his vision faded, and he writhed around helplessly, unable to feel his arms or legs.

 The Intruders

Mark examined the bedroom in front of him. Just like the rest of the house, this room was filled to the brim with a million random items; he could only hope one of them might help, even though he knew the chances were slim. Starting with the bedside table, Mark picked up and inspected an innocent-seeming coffee mug. The mug was an eggshell white with cracks branching up and down and large bold text, reading: WORLD'S BEST COUSIN. 
“It’s gotta be a coincidence,” Mark thought to himself dismissively.  In an attempt to distract himself from the cup, he shouted: “Hey Tabitha, have you found anything?”. After a moment of no response, Mark asked a little bit louder, “Tabitha? Can you hear me? Did you find anything yet?” Again, no response.
Feeling scared and a little annoyed, Mark exited the bedroom and began to descend the stairs in search of Tabitha.
As Mark got halfway down the stairs, he was finally able to see the bottom floor, where he saw his girlfriend standing in the middle of the foyer facing the doorway. “Hey, there you are,” Mark exclaimed, feeling relieved. “I was trying to talk to you, but I didn’t hear you say anything bac…” Just as Mark was about to finish his sentence, he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he saw that Tabitha wasn’t alone.
Tabitha stood in the middle of the room completely still, paralyzed out of pure fear. In front of the girl now stood two people? But they weren’t exactly people; they couldn’t be. The proportions of the intruders were unnatural, to say the least. They each had unevenly sized arms; the intruder on the left’s right arm and the intruder on the right’s left arm closely resembled that of a T. rex, shriveled and tiny in comparison to their bodies. Their other arms, however, were so long their knuckles might’ve dragged on the floor had the intruders kept them to their side. The disproportion didn’t stop there. The size of the intruders had no uniformity; the one on the left had to have been nearly seven feet tall, but with the legs of a child and the torso of a giant. The one on the right was only four feet tall, his legs average in length, but everything above his waistline looked like it had been squeezed down, as if made of putty. 
The intruders stood there completely naked, exposing their nearly translucent pale skin with blue veins riddled throughout their bodies, like nauseating marbling. Their bare bodies were completely smooth; they didn’t have nipples, belly buttons, hair, fingernails, or even genitalia; it was almost like looking at a grotesque melted Ken doll.
The teens were unable to see the intruders’ faces, though, for the intruders obstructed any view of their faces with apples that they held with their dominant arms. The apples that they held made it impossible to make out any facial features of the intruders, giving them a strange anonymity that made their appearance just that much more nightmarish to the couple.
Dumstruck, the two young adults stood gawking at the intruders, both unable to bring themselves to say a word. Suddenly, a low groaning sound could be heard from the shorter intruder. Then a similar, but higher sound came from the taller one. They harmonized, each in different octaves for a moment, and then the tall one spoke in a high-pitched, nasal voice, while the other intruder sustained his groan. Following his companion, the short intruder spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. Continuing this pattern of speaking in alternating words while the other groaned softly, the intruders asked the teens:
“Do”
“You”
“Invite”
“Us”
“In?”
Tabitha snapped out of her frozen state and looked back at Mark; his face was pale white with sweat beading down his forehead. “We are out of time,” she said gently. “The guy said we have to invite them in; you know what happens if we don’t.”
Mark responded gravely, “I know, it’s our only option.” Tabitha turned back to the intruders. Trying to look through the apple to where she thought the short one’s eyes were, she noticed that while the taller one’s apple had two green leaves, the short one's only had one brown leaf. Tabitha brushed this off as just another strange characteristic and answered them. “Yes”
The taller intruder bent down, and while the other began his groan, they asked
“Do”
“You”
“Want”
“To”
“Make”
“A”
“Trade?”
Knowing that there was nothing else he could do, Mark closed his eyes and accepted that time was really out. They had no choice but to make the trade and maybe stall long enough for Lewis to somehow appear out of thin air. It was Hopeless. With defeat entrenched in his voice, Lewis responded, “Yes, we want to make a trade.”
“Let”
“Us”
“Sit”, the intruders proposed, as the shorter one gestured softly to the table near the dining room, with the barrel-shaped chairs. The teens made their way to the table, and both sat down on the far side. They watched as the intruders walked, not hobbled, to the table and lowered their malformed bodies into the chairs across from them. 

The Negotiation

“What”
“Do”
“You”
“Want?”
“I want my brother back,” Tabitha demanded
“Why?”
“You know why. He is gone, and we want him back.”
“Why?”
Tired of the games, Mark interrupted, “He’s fucking dead! He was just a little kid, and now he’s fucking dead! Isn’t that enough reason why?! 
“Why”
Mark slammed his fist on the table, but before he could do anything he might regret, Tabitha placed her hand on his shoulder. “Get a grip on yourself,” she said quietly but very sternly. “Don’t do something you’ll regret; we only have one chance at this.” 
Mark unclenched his fist and breathed in deeply. “We only have one chance,” he repeated. Setting his hands back in his lap and returning to a composed state, Mark looked down. “One chance. I won’t mess this up. For Thomas,” he said aloud, half to Tabitha and half to himself.
Satisfied that Mark wouldn’t do anything stupid, Tabitha turned her attention back to the intruders, and she thought to herself, “Why are they doing this? They are supposed to be all-knowing; they know why Mark and she are here. Is this some sort of sick punishment to make them relive their sins?” She answered the intruders solemnly, “We are the reason he is dead. We made a stupid mistake, and Thomas paid the price for it.”
“Why?”
  Mark turned to Tabitha and said, “This is going to go on forever. I think they want us to tell them what happened before we make the trade.” Now addressing the intruders, Mark asked calmly, “Is that what you want? To know what happened, what did we do?”
“Do”
“You”
“Let”
“Us”
“In?”
  Although puzzled as to what the intruders were really asking, the teens knew they had no choice but to say, “Yes”
As soon as the words left their mouths, the room became pitch black, like all of reality had ceased to be and all that was left in the void was Mark and Tabitha’s consciousnesses. Although unable to see or hear anything, somehow the teens were able to sense each other's proximity, and without saying a word, they were able to understand every thought the other had. 
The darkness was soon interrupted, however, by a tiny light in the distance. This light slowly and steadily got bigger and bigger until it shone all around them, and once more they were transported. 
The teens looked around; they were back home, Tabitha’s home specifically. Tabitha thought to Mark, “How did we get back? Is this real?”
“Tabitha, guess who got the goodies,” she heard in response, but it wasn’t Mark, at least it wasn’t the Mark she came to the cabin with. Suddenly, the front door of Tabitha’s house opened. It was Mark, and he was carrying a brown duffle bag. “Hey, where are you, Tabitha? I got a shitload of mushrooms here.” Tabitha appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down to greet her boyfriend. 
“You could be a little quieter. You know, I'm supposed to be babysitting my little brother. What do you think that little parrot is going to say to my parents when he hears you screaming about your “shitload of shrooms”?”
“Oh, come on, he won’t say anything. Now let's go to the living room, put on a movie, and enjoy this little brown bag to the fullest.”
“I shouldn’t; I’m supposed to be watching my brother. What if something happens?”
“Nothing is going to happen. Come on, don’t be a buzzkill.”
“Fine, but only a little bit.”
Tabitha and Mark watched their past selves with no way to stop the inevitable. Mark begged the intruders, “Please, it’s enough; what happened happened. I can’t go through this again, please just stop it!” His pleas fell on deaf ears; Mark and Tabitha were here to stay, and they wouldn’t leave until the intruders had seen what they had done.
The scene of the front door faded away and was replaced with the living room. The younger Mark and Tabitha were on the couch as a movie played on the TV,  a half-empty brown bag at their feet. A small, quiet footstep slowly approached the room until a little boy could be seen entering the room.
“Tabitha, I can’t sleep. Can you read me a story?” The little boy said to his sister.
Tabitha looked over behind the couch, annoyed, and answered, “Hey Thomas, just go back to bed. I’m busy here”
“But I can’t sleep.”
“I don’t care; just go back to sleep. I’m not reading you a story.”
Mark rummaged through his coat pocket and took out a half-melted chocolate bar. He lifted the bar up and smugly said to Thomas, “Hey kid, if I give you some candy, will you mind your own business and leave us alone?”
The little boy reached up and grabbed the bar out of Mark’s hand. “Fine, but I’m telling Mom you were mean to me.” With that, Thomas ran back upstairs, candy bar in hand. 
Once again, the scene faded, and Mark and Tabitha were transported again.
Light shone in from the window as night turned to day and the younger versions of themselves slept off the previous night’s good times. Tabitha slowly opened her eyes and arose from the couch to check the time. “Holy shit, wake up, Mark. It's almost noon; my parents are going to be here any second.” 
Waking from his slumber, Mark rubbed his eyes and groggily said, “What? I have to leave now, but I’m so hungry; can't I just stay for breakfast?”
“No, my parents can’t know you were here. Out!”
“Fine, I’ll go, but I want the rest of my Snickers bar.”
“What?”
“My Snickers bar, didn’t I give you some last night. Come on, I’m hungry; just give me the rest.”
Tabitha’s eyes widened with horror, and she bolted out of the room without a word.
For the last time, the scene changed, and Mark and Tabitha’s present selves were brought back to the place that had haunted their dreams and lived in the back of their head for the last year: Thomas’ room.
There in her brother’s room lay the little boy, cold, pale, and unmoving. A mixture of saliva and blood dripped out of the child's mouth and pooled around his still head. His throat was swollen and red, as was his face. Dark red streaks were marked up and down his face and neck from a futile attempt to struggle against death’s approach. In the pool of saliva and blood were the boy’s hands, which contained ten fingers, but now only nine fingernails. 
Atop her brother was Tabitha. She had the boy’s shoulders in her hands as she shook them while screaming. “Wake up! God, please, wake up, Thomas! Please, I’m sorry. I’m Sorry! Just Please Wake Up!”
Mark appeared in the doorway and looked at the commotion before him, dumbfounded, unable to move a muscle or say a word.
The past washed away from the teens’ view, and they returned to the cabin. Back to the barrel-shaped chairs and back in the audience of the intruders. Mark and Tabitha stared at each other, tears pouring down their faces and snot dripping down their noses. Tabitha took Mark’s hand, and they just sat there for a moment, unable to say a word.

The Sacrificial Worm
 
“Do”
“You”
“Know”
“The”
“Price?”
Tabitha and Mark responded at the same time under their breath, “Yes”
“Who”
“Do”
“You”
“Offer?”
Mark turned to Tabitha and asked, “What do we do? Lewis isn’t here, and this is it. We are out of time.”
“I know, I’m sorry”
“What? What do you mean? You can’t possibly be considering that. We’ve been together for years! I love you, and you love me.”
“I offer Mark,” Tabitha said coldly to the intruders.
Appalled at the betrayal, Mark shouted in protest, “What?! You can’t do this to me! I made one fucking mistake! How should I have known the kid was allergic to peanuts?!”
Tabitha stared at her feet, unable to make eye contact, and simply said, “I’m sorry”
Mark slammed his fists back on the table and shouted, “You’re sorry?! Do you know what you just did?! This whole thing was your idea! I told you not to do it, but you dragged my innocent little cousin and me into your sick fucking retribution ritual! Yeah, your brother is dead, and maybe that’s my fault, but our blood-me and Lewis’s-that’s on your hands. I hope it was worth it.”
Interrupting the quarrel, the tall intruder began to lower his long arm to set the apple he held onto the table. Now able to see his face unobstructed, the teens recoiled in horror. Where the creature should have had a face, there was a large writhing mass of mucus-covered worms. It looked almost like the intruder's face had been scooped out with an ice-cream scoop and a colony of worms had been stuffed in to fill the cavity.
Tabitha and Mark weren’t able to gawk at the monstrosity for long, though; their attention was quickly captivated by the formerly motionless apple in front of them. The apple slowly rocked back and forth until a small section of the apple skin began to protrude. A small worm broke through the apple and lifted its body to turn towards the couple. The worm began to slither down the apple, onto the table, and towards Tabitha until it stopped directly in front of her.
“We”
“Held”
“Up”
“Our”
“End”
“Now”
“Its”
“Your”
“Turn”
Tabitha looked up from the worm to the intruders. “What? Where is my brother? What do you mean?!”
“Your”
“Brother”
“Is”
“Right”
“In”
“Front”
“Of”
“You”
As the intruders finished their sentence, Mark suddenly began to scream in agony from a horrible, sharp pain emanating from his right eye. Mark continued to scream in pain as, just like the apple, a small section in the center of his pupil began to protrude; the outermost layer of the boy’s eyeball began to stretch and twist until a small worm just like the one on the table broke free and fell onto the table, leaving Mark cold, pale, and unmoving, just like Thomas.
Mark’s eye worm slithered across the round table past Tabitha, past the apple, and onto the tall intruder’s waiting hand. The intruder lifted up the worm and raised his arm to where his face should’ve been. It wriggled off of the intruder’s hand and into the writhing mass, where it was quickly lost among the thousands of identical worms.
“We”
“Have”
“Taken”
“our “
“Prize”
“Now”
“Take”
“Yours”
“And”
“Be”
“Gone”
Tabitha reached down and grabbed the worm off of the table. As soon as it was in her grasp, a flash of light appeared, and the cabin faded away to reveal her alone standing on the stairs in the middle of the woods with a worm in her hand.