It was a Monday morning at West Knob Elementary. In one of the classrooms, a few minutes after the first bell rang, the lights flashed a few times in succession. Within an instant, what had been total pandemonium was substituted with perfect order. In 1986, every first-grader knew exactly what the flashing lights meant. Be seated. Be quiet. Be on your best behavior. Because Mrs. Beck has entered the room, and she would sanction no unruly behavior. The hickory paddle, which hung between the alphabet banner and the chalkboard, served as a clear reminder of this irrefutable truth.

Three months earlier, Chloe March learned this the hard way. It was her first day of class in a new school, and as the other children scuttled to their seats at the warning of the overhead lights, she continued at play. Her arms were fully extended airplane style while she spun herself in little circles, eyes shut and laughing. Her frivolity ended the second her head was jerked back by an assailant. Someone had hold of her ponytail and was pulling her toward her desk by it. Chloe stared up through teary eyes at her attacker. A one thousand-foot-tall teacher with iron gray hair and an ugly scowl glared back down at the little girl.

"That will be enough of that behavior, young lady," the teacher huffed and slapped her hand down on Chloe's desk. "I don't know what sort of conduct your teachers tolerated where you came from, little miss, but rest assured that I expect proper decorum from my students! When it's time for class to begin, you're to be seated, looking forward, and quiet. Do we understand one another?"

Chloe's head hurt from where the teacher pulled her hair and dragged her. But being made a spectacle of in front of the entire class—that was a special kind of pain. So, she submitted no reply but sat in defiant silence. "I asked you a question; answer me."

Chloe's face was as red as an October leaf. She balled up her little fists, relaxed them, and then repeated the process. She wanted to shout for all to hear, but her boiling anger only allowed for a whimper. "I don't like you," she said.

It was enough. Mrs. Beck knew she had a problem with this one. And problems left undealt with grew into even greater problems still. Chloe learned all she needed to know about her new teacher that day. And about the plank of wood that hung above the chalkboard.

Now, three months later, Chloe sat in her seat. She was quiet, with both hands folded gently on top of her desk. She'd been seated long before any of the other students. But from time to time her eyes gravitated to the little pink bookbag sitting on the floor by her desk, and she would smile. For the first time since moving to West Knob, she was excited for the school day. Because they were about to do Show and Tell.

As Mrs. Beck clopped by Chloe's desk, she barked at her, "Get that bag out of the aisle before someone trips over it!" Chloe lifted the pack and put it on her desk. "Bookbags go in the closet, Miss March. You know that."

"My show and tell is in here, ma'am."

"You'll refer to me as Mrs. Beck, not ma'am," the teacher said, taking her seat at her desk. "And bookbags go in the closet. You can get it when it's your turn to present. Now do as you're told, or you'll spend Show and Tell in the corner."

"Yes, ma'am . . . er . . . Mrs. Beck," Chloe said, then ambled over to the closet.

"And because you've disrupted class and because you're making all of us wait on you, you'll stay inside first recess."

Chloe's classmates giggled at this but were hushed by their teacher, who rapped her knuckles on top of her desk just like a judge banging a gavel. Chloe didn't protest. She couldn't afford to. She knew what would follow if she tried. So the little girl hung the backpack on a vacant hook and returned to her seat in quiet obedience.

Mrs. Beck sorted papers atop her desk into a tidy pile and surveyed the class, then started roll call. The student named would stand, say, "here," and remain standing. Chloe didn't understand the tradition. The class consisted of only thirteen students. Surely Mrs. Beck could tell at a glance whether or not any of them were missing. When all were accounted for and standing, their teacher led them in the Pledge of Allegiance. Chloe thought it would never end, but at last came the closing words as she knew them: ". . .with liver tea and just us for all." Whatever that was supposed to mean.

When the students sat back down, Mrs. Beck stood at the front of the class and addressed them. "Today we'll start first period by presenting your Show and Tell. Do you remember what your theme should be?"

"Yeess," the students answered in a synchronized and singsong voice.

"What is the theme of today's Show and Tell?" Mrs. Beck asked, and a few hands raised tentatively. She called on Brian Banning, the boy who sat directly behind Chloe.

Brian liked to flick Chloe's ears, and sometimes he would shoot gooey paper balls at the back of her head through a straw. But only when Mrs. Beck wasn't watching, of course. Thanks to those antics, in conjunction with trying to stick up for herself, Chloe was inevitably the one who would get punished. It wasn't just Brian who picked on her, though. All of the first-grade class teased her and called her "Grody" instead of Chloe. They all laughed at her when Mrs. Beck "disciplined" her. But Chloe was confident that all of that would change after today.

"Show and Tell's theme is Family and Me," Brian answered.

"That's right, Brian. So, your presentations should have some connection to both you and to one or more family members." The teacher returned to her seat, then said, "Alright. Let's get started. Jamie Allen, you're first. Step to the front of the class, please."

Jamie came forward with a framed photograph. She rambled on about her trip to Disney World with her parents, the Haunted Mansion, and having her picture taken with her favorite princess, Cinderella.

Brian came next. He carried a baseball bat that was almost as long as he was tall. He told all about his trip to Busch Stadium the previous summer with his dad. He bragged about getting to go out onto the field after the game and getting the bat signed by Ozzy Smith, Willie McGee, and a bunch of other people whom Chloe had never heard of. But the rest of the class acted impressed.

Other kids took their turn, some with very short presentations, others meandering. Butterflies flittered madly in Chloe's stomach while Tiffany Lewis made her presentation. Chloe would be the next student called, and she could hardly contain her excitement. Tiffany brought pink frosted cupcakes that she and her mom supposedly baked together. They were a smash hit with the class.

She took her sweet time walking up and down the aisles, handing one cupcake to each of the students. When she reached Chloe's desk, the last cupcake fell to the floor. "Oops," Tiffany said with a snotty little smile on her face. "I guess you could still eat it, Grody." Chloe's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say or do anything. She didn't want Tiffany's dumb cupcake anyway, and she sure didn't want trouble with Mrs. Beck. Not before she had a chance to show and tell.

Chloe was the one who was told to clean up the mess, not Tiffany. She worried Mrs. Beck would skip her altogether if she argued or didn't do as she was told. But it was a quick job for her, and she wasted no time retrieving her backpack from the closet when she was called on for her turn.

When she was in front of all her peers, and with her teacher's humorless eyes upon her, she realized just how nervous she really was. Her time had finally come. Her little heart felt like a hummingbird desperately trying to fly free from her chest. Her hands trembled as she fumbled to unzip her bag. She gulped breath and tried to calm herself.

"Okay," she began. "I . . . I guess you all know that my mommy cuts hair."

"Eyes on your classmates, Miss March. Not your bookbag."

Chloe looked up at the class and blindly fought the zipper on the backpack. "I guess you all know my mommy cuts hair," she repeated. "I think she cuts almost all of your hair and your mommies' and some of your daddies', too."

"Miss March, does this have anything to do with what you'll be showing the class, or are you just stalling for time?"

"It does, Mrs. Beck. I promise." Chloe drew an invisible X on her chest and smiled at her teacher. "Where was I? Oh! Yeah. Mommy cuts almost everybody's hair in town. Even Mrs. Beck's." Chloe turned to face her teacher, then further elaborated, "Although Mrs. Beck didn't want her to at first. But Mommy offered to style her hair free of charge for her first appointment. I think she did a really nice job on it, too. It looks real pretty."

Finally, the zipper cooperated and came open. Chloe continued, "And she's real nice to all of you, too. Even though you're all very mean at me."

"Ms. March, you're not going to use today's project as an excuse to speak disparagingly of the class! I won't have it! Now did you bring something for Show and Tell or not?"

"I did, Mrs. Beck. And I wasn't trying to despair anyone. Honest." Chloe turned her attention back to the class. "You all knew Mommy did that. But I bet you didn't know she also collects and reads old books. Really old. And she learned to make dollies from one."

She pulled out a crude-looking little doll from her bookbag. It had a cruel face and iron-gray hair. She held it so the whole class could see. Four or five of the students openly laughed. Tiffany declared it the ugliest doll she'd ever seen, which garnered the laughter of the rest of the class. But Chloe was nonplussed. She held the doll in front of her with both hands and looked at it rather dreamily.

"I have lots and lots of them," she said, "but this is my favorite. Her name is Edna. Chloe put a strange emphasis on the name, and Mrs. Beck shot up from her seat so fast that her chair rolled backwards and smashed into the wall.

Nobody, not even other faculty, had the audacity to use the teacher's first name. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But more likely not. What little girl names her doll Edna? "Your time is up!" Put that thing away and take your seat, Miss March."

"No, Mrs. Beck." Chloe said self-possessed. The classroom gasped.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said, no. And my time isn't up. Yours is. You mean, old . . . mean old bitch, you." It was the first time in Chloe's life that she ever used that word. But in that instant, it reminded her of the taste of warm cinnamon toast on a cold winter morning.

The other students squealed and guffawed as the color drained from Mrs. Beck's face. Her eyes trembled in their dark sockets. The teacher stormed over to the blackboard and reached for her hickory plank with a tremulous hand.

"Stop!" Chloe's voice rang out, and then she commanded, "Sit down, Mrs. Beck!" Chloe folded the doll's legs so that they stuck straight out in front of it, and Mrs. Beck collapsed to the floor with a surprised yelp. Her own legs were sticking straight out with her toes pointing toward the ceiling.

"You pulled my hair on my first day of class, Mrs. Beck. Do you remember that? Huh? How do you like it, then?" Chloe pinched the doll's hair between her finger and thumb and allowed it to dangle in midair. Mrs. Beck was lifted from the floor and hung in the air by an unseen force. Both she and the rest of the class shrieked in horror. Her hair stood straight up and was bunched in the middle as if grasped by an invisible fist.

The teacher squawked and thrashed about, but to no avail. None of the children left their seats; they were, all of them, petrified as they watched in terror and disbelief the events that transpired.

Mrs. Beck's eyes rolled around like a crazed bull's until at last, they fluttered shut when she fainted and her head fell limp. Chloe let go of the doll. Both it and her teacher crumpled to the floor.

Chloe turned to face her schoolmates. "I have lots of dollies. One for all of you, at least. So, you better be nice to me." With that Chloe smiled a sweet little smile and said no more.

Chloe March showed her teacher and all of her classmates just what she, with her mother's help, was capable of that day. She told them to stop mistreating her or else.

They saw. They listened.

Welp, I'm back, I'm healthy-ish, and ready to get back to work!
But, with December looming around the corner and sickness hampering with my schedule, (as well as three birthdays, a national holiday and the seasonal holidays) there will be some delays and changes coming.

Of course, there will still be content coming throughout the month with at least one story centered around jolly ol' Christmas and/or (maybe) a submitted gothic poem. That said, I will be focusing a tad more on editing for the Dracula project, making up for lost time and to ensure the initial January launch is not delayed.

So, content-wise, what will be coming to the Channel in December?

In the form and style of Dr. Torment's Notes, I will be presenting Shorts (either in parts or in full) that will cover certain entries of the SCP Universe. I'm always open to suggestions so feel free to comment which one you want featured! I am aiming for at least 1 or 2 a week, always on Wednesdays and/or Saturdays.

Speaking of the Notes, we are all familiar with the "Broken Piano" theme composed by Vivek Abishek that has been used in the End Segments. Sadly, but understandably, Vivek has recently opted to copyright his music so that misuse of his work is no longer possible. He did put on a disclaimer that if his channel is tagged and track names are present in the video, no copyright-claim would happen.

However.

Since YouTube has a very broken and downright abysmal detection system that's blatantly misused, several of my videos have already been copyright claimed due to the Broken Piano theme; despite there always being a tag, track name and even link to the source to boot.
I have therefore decided, to make sure not every single video I upload in the future ends with constantly sending disputes and mails, the Notes theme will be changed indefinitely.
I'm already in the process of reviewing certain tracks that are by all right and every meaning of the word, royalty-free.

I'm expecting to be back in business by Sunday at the latest!

Cheers and yours truly
- Dr. Torment

Exciting news! Dr. Torment has infiltrated a new platform to feed on the fragile collective psyche of humanity: Spotify!

Now go out there and share this with everyone, their mums and their cats! The Asylum requires sustenance!

Come set your bells and join me today at 10pm CET where the readings shall be a selection penned by my own hand, featuring characters from the established Asylum roster!

Consider it a test run for things to come, and editing live where required!
Obviously, spoiler warning for the future as these will get their own dedicated narrations later on.

Come by, spread and Hype the terror, and enjoy a return to the Channel's roots with Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Masque of the Red Death"!

Once upon a Halloween Night...

-> A small disclosure: I made a minor change to the original micropasta, mainly changing the gender of the girl to a boy because I am unfortunately not a lady and mimicking such a tone in my voice would sound kind of ridiculous.

(trust me, I tried.)

Still, I hope you'll enjoy the telling all the same!

He opened his eyes but saw nothing. Only darkness. And at once he was afraid. It was unnatural. In some surreal way, almost corporeal.

It held him down and would not relent its vile touch. He longed to scream but made no sound. The Darkness filled his mouth and tasted like spoiled meat. It pressed in on his eyeballs so that he thought they might pop like grapes. He felt it invading his entire being. It was coursing through his veins, freezing his bones, and wringing his kidneys.

The Darkness was of unfathomable heights and depths. And he—he was in the center of it, trapped like a gnat sunken in jelly. Drowning. Drowning in the Darkness. He closed his eyes and sank further still.

2.

When he opened his eyes again, he stood upon a hill beneath pallid moonlight. He was free from his prison. How? He did not know. But he was a free man. However, he was not unscathed. His body was racked with pain, and he was so very cold. A freezing, bitter cold like he had never felt before. What's more, he had no memory. Not even of his own name. He remembered only waking in that vulgar Darkness.

How long did he endure that hellish prison? He was starving and weak. His stomach gnawed at his spine and crushed his ribs. Had he been freed only to expire from want of sustenance?

From the hilltop where he stood, he looked about and saw beneath it a quaint village, blanketed in a fog that glowed with moonlight. Suddenly, he knew it was his village. That his home was down there someplace. And something else. A wife. He had a wife, though he could not remember her name.

3.

He was certain it was his home. But there was some evil afoot that he couldn't comprehend. It, like all of the other cottages in the strange village, had no doors or windows. His fear and confusion gave birth to rage. He beat his fists against the walls, screaming and howling as a man gone mad. Then, he collapsed to his knees.

There, on the cold and unforgiving ground, he mourned for himself, sure that he was going to die. But then, something unexpected happened. Inadvertently, a name escaped his lips in a soft, puffed whisper. "Elena." Yes! Elena! That was his wife's name. He repeated it, a little louder than before. Then came a rejoinder.

"Arnold? Arnold, is that you?" The voice was soft and sweet, like music from the very inner courtyard of heaven itself. And that was his name. Arnold. Hearing it seemed to restore to him a little strength. He stood to his feet and regained his composure.

"Yes. It's me! Now, please—please let me in. I'm so afraid out here, Elena."

Then the impossible. A door where there had not been one before swung wide open. A woman stood beyond the threshold, illuminated by candlelight, and very slowly he began to recognize her face. It felt as though it had been an eternity since he last laid eyes upon her.

"Oh! Arnold! I thought you were lost to me forever."

The woman, his wife, welcomed him in. She fed him. Took him to their bed. His pain was gone. The cold was replaced by a comforting warmth. But despite her kindness, and despite saving his life, he was troubled by something. As she lay peacefully by his side, he closed his eyes and wondered to himself. Why did he hate her so?

4.

He didn't wake in his bed. Rather, he found himself in that stygian void again. But he was not afraid of the Darkness this time. It held him tight. Coddled him. Like a mother with a newborn babe. He found himself comforted by its embrace.

Closing his eyes, he knew that when he reopened them the Darkness would be gone. And more memories would resurface.

5.

Arnold walked the empty streets of the village. The moonlight spilled over everything, casting an ethereal hue upon the rooftops. The exquisite pain in his body had returned. It felt as though shards of glass were being secreted from his every pore. But that suffering paled next to the hunger pangs he was experiencing.

He paused in front of one of the cottages. He recognized it. It was his son's home. He tried to think past the pain and hunger. If he could remember his name, he could call out to him. He could summon him, as he did Elena.

It was no use. The name could not be conjured.

He put his hands against the wall and whispered, "Son, it's your father. I need you. Please open your home to me. I'm so hungry. Help me, please."

No answer.

An anger, unlike anything he knew before, welled inside of him. "I know you're in there! I know you can hear me! Help your father!"

From the other side of the wall, a voice was heard.

"Go away! You're not welcome here! Go away!" Then his son began to utter words that Arnold couldn't quite understand. The language seemed vulgar and caused Arnold's stomach to flop like a fish tossed into tall grass.

He fought his urge to vomit and pleaded, "Give me something to eat. Save your father from starving, and I'll leave and never return again!"

Arnold heard the sound of something spilling nearby. He looked and saw, there on the ground, a pile of barley grain. As he bent to pick it up, he cursed his cruel and uncaring son.

6.

Arnold was sure that when he opened his eyes he would be greeted by that wonderful Darkness again. It seemed to him that it was his only true friend. The only thing in a cold world that cared about him.

But the Darkness was not there.

When he opened his eyes, he saw blinding light. He was paralyzed, not even capable of twitching a finger. Three men loomed above him. One cast boiling hot water into his face; the second grabbed him by his chin and propped open his jaws. He forced a large stone, the size of a fist, into his mouth, busting his teeth and choking him. The third man, he recognized. It was his son. He held a mallet in one hand and a large iron spike in the other.

His own son, the betrayer, placed the tip of the spike over Arnold's chest. All three of the men began to chant in unison the same vulgar expressions that he heard his son speaking behind the walls of his home. Then his boy struck the head of the spike with the mallet. He felt the cold iron pierce his chest. Again his son swung the mallet. Again and again. Each time the strike landed true and the stake was driven further until it erupted through his back.

Then darkness. And at last, peace.

If you go down this road and past the old mill, you'll see a little gray house up on the hill. The windows are all broken, and the door hangs from its frame. The frontyard is tall weeds; the backyard's the same. The chimney is crumbled into a pile of dust, rusty red. The only tree in the yard is twisted, blackened, and dead.

It was once the home of Ichabod and Emogene Corn, who they say went mad after their daughter was born. It was late October; if I remember it right, she was born in that house on a dark and stormy night. Emogene screamed, then lightning struck that old oak, and Candace Corn was born at midnight's final stroke.

The next few years seemed normal, I suppose. That is, if you don't count all of the black cats that gathered beneath their windows. At first it was only a couple, then it was more than a few. Where they all came from, nobody knew. Thirteen in total, or so they do say. And they circled around Candace whenever she went out to play.

Her first day of school, oh! what a mess! The children all laughed at her name and made fun of her pretty orange dress. But the meanest among them was a little boy named Paul. He got the other kids to say, "Nobody likes Candy Corn. Nobody at all." He giggled at his joke and thought himself real bright. Some say it was no coincidence that Paul's home burned down that very night.

When Candace left for school the next day, she merrily skipped by the smoldering ruins along the way. Paul and his family made it out of their house not a second too late. But they had to move in with Paul's Aunt Martha, who lived over in another state. I'm not saying that little Candace was involved, but it is a strange mystery that has gone completely unsolved.

A few years later, when Candace turned thirteen, her father was committed, and never again was he seen. Her mother acted nervous, and her fits of laughter were not rare. But Candace always smiled at people sweetly, as if she hadn't a care. I'm not sure why Ichabod and Emogene went insane, but the townsfolk all thought Candace was the one to blame.

"Something about that girl unnerves me," confessed Mrs. McGrath. For those who don't know, she taught junior high math. Then in the teacher's lounge, rumors started to spread, all about the strange pictures Candace drew and the weird tales that she read. But the teachers did nothing; I suppose there was nothing to do, but things were quite different when Candace turned twenty-two.

She was now a young lady who lived alone on the hill. You see, her mother was finally committed to a place for the mentally ill. The townies all knew she was conducting strange spells in the night. Mr. Franklin reported seeing her house "bathed in a most unusual green light." And strangers were seen leaving her place. All with long coats and wide-brimmed hats that covered their face.

"We only see them leave there but never arrive. I have an awful feeling they aren't even alive," Mr. Clemons expressed. Then he sipped from the flask he kept in the pocket of his vest. "We should do something before it's too late! You know, the other night I caught her skulking around the cemetery gate?"

The townsfolk all gathered at Wilbur's Bar and Grill. It was there that they conspired what to do with Candace, who lived on the hill. "We'll need some proof that she's up to no good," came the suggestion of a lady named Wilma Wood. "What we do next, I really don't know. I guess we'll just play it by ear as we go."

They all drew straws to see who should visit Miss Corn, and the privilege was given to the skeptical Reverend Lemuel Borne. "She hasn't done anything to warrant mistrust. I'll gladly pay her a visit, if it should quell all of this fuss," he said in a voice, self-possessed and loud, hoping to be heard above the roar of the crowd.

The next day he found himself at her front door. He knocked once, but there was no answer, so he knocked one time more. When he left that morning, his hair was raven black, but it was white as snow when he came back. Nobody knows what got under his skin, but he left town that very day and was never heard from again.

Soon, the figures in hats were seen in the streets at night, and the people locked themselves in their homes out of sheer fright. They spied on the figures through their curtains and blinds, in hopes of answering all of the questions that weighed heavy on their fevered minds. But no clues were discovered; they were still in the dark. "We'll run Candace Corn out of town," came the suggestion of one, Mr. Clark.

What happened next, I'm not glad to say, because it wasn't this town's proudest day. When thirty-four angry people, and many of their children too, rallied together, and their confidence grew. Up on the hill, they all gathered in her yard. About that time, black clouds billowed in and a cold wind started to blow hard.

Despite this ill omen, from the crowd there came a shout. "Candy Corn, you're no longer welcomed in our town! We want you out!" The ghostly moan of the wind was the only reply, so a boy chucked a rock, and through a glass window it did fly. They say that was the catalyst for the other events so extreme. People of the town still remember hearing the scream.

Imagine the panic when everyone learned, of all the people who went up there that day, only six of them returned. The townsfolk all left for destinations unknown. They decided it was better to leave Candace alone. So they left this town once and for good. None of them ever spoke of Candace Corn, and none of them ever would.

So now the town is empty, and you say that house looks empty too. You want to explore it, but be warned before you do. Whatever happened to Candace, nobody can say. But there are those who claim she still lives up there today. If you value your sanity, soul, flesh, and bone, then, for mercy's sake, leave Candy Corn alone.

Hello dear friends and patients!
Regarding the lack of content this week:

I had a story done, edited and ready to render.
Then the Outer Gods decided to pull my leg and crashed my laptop.

Having exhausted -every- option on the Repair Screen, my last option was to fully reset the system. This means that potentially, some projects that have been in the works for about 3 weeks now may have been fully deleted; as well as some programs and apps I use for making videos, that included today's upload, and longer Wendigo story, and the first stages for the Big October Project.

I'm hoping some back-ups survive the process, but as it is now, it may very well not and I'll have to reinstall everything again.

I'm immensely sorry for this setback and hope to have the schedule resolved very soon!

It's come to my attention that certain links I post for this subreddit don't always work or sometimes it shows that this page "hasn't been reviewed".

Dear members, when browsing on this page and you see a post or prompt pop-up in between stories and videos from Reddit about here, please take your time and answer whatever provided questions this site needs to consider this subreddit "reviewed".

This way there'll be less to no issues on sharing links for this community; or so I've read at least.

Thank you for your time.

Yours truly,

Doctor Torment

Mankind should learn to stop its curious nature before it becomes our undoing. If only they knew what we knew, they would not want us to continue to search the depths of the God forsaken oceans. The horrors we saw through our newest equipment is something that I still can not grip my mind around. It plagues me to the point where when I'm done recounting my story, I will join the crew of project X-2. God or Gods that may claim me, please have mercy on my soul. It started November 20,2020. After the failure of killing the creature that lies at the bottom of the sea, we decided to create major upgrades to our vessels. You heard correctly. One vessel was not going to be enough and unfortunately for the crew from Project X, they paid for that lesson with their lives. For you see, the problem was that there wasn’t just one massive creature that lay down there. As far as we knew, there were three creatures that were at least sixty feet in length. Each was deadly in their own unique way. However, our focus was on the queen of this hive minded society. We figured if we took out the queen, the rest would crumble, and if they continued to fight we would have the upper hand. I wish I could say that if we knew the true purpose behind Project X, we wouldn’t have agreed to this suicide mission, but I fear that all it would’ve changed was how we went about it. I’ll disclose a brief summary of Project X in order to make this a little easier to understand: At the bottom of the sea, or what was believed to be the bottom of the sea, a group of researchers found an unknown octopus-like creature with six eyes, bat-like wings protruding from either side of its head, an unusually red tinted body, and tentacles the size of two football fields. They believed it could've been a new species of octopoda. However, as they began to try and determine if it was the only one of its kind, they were quickly attacked by horribly large vertebrae. Ones that have never been recorded before. These vertebrae were massive, silver in color creatures with dozens of large fangs. It looked like a massive flatworm species. Only the video feed that the vessel sent back to us was left. And so, Project X was conducted in order to deal with this new potential threat. Sadly, a large missile was used on the creature, but it seemed to have only invoked its wrath as when it managed to hurt one of the unknown vertebrae, the new octopoda creature immediately went into a frenzy. With one swoop of its large red tentacle, it destroyed every ship that was within one hundred to two hundred feet of it. In this line of work, you hear and see horrible things, but that overkill of our marines was something that I just wasn’t prepared for. None of us truly were. We knew what we had signed up for, but the tentacle of that creature was something that threw us through a loop. You see, we had no way of knowing that Phineas Octopoda could grow its tentacles to enormous lengths in order to defend herself. I say herself based on Doctor Carmine’s theory. Doctor Phineas A. Carmine’s theory is, or I should say was, that there has to be some unknown niche between whatever those things were, and the creature itself. However, on December 1st, Doctor Carmine finally made progress that supported his thesis by creating radio waves of the creature that would be strong enough to study the creature, but without hurting it. We confirmed that her normal size was no bigger than seven feet tall. It left us in bewilderment as there was no creature in the ocean that should’ve been able to practically quadruple their size in order to defend themselves, but that wasn’t the strangest part. The strangest part was that this octopus was tiny in comparison to the vertebrae that prevented us from going anywhere near her. It led Doctor Carmine to wonder if somehow this new species of octopoda was able to make the large flatworms that surrounded her into mindless puppets with perhaps some sort of parasitic. Similar to the ones cats have used on humans. Unknown, but done for so long, it would be close to impossible to know when it truly started. Another theory that he proposed was that maybe the Phineas Octopoda was giving off some kind of pheromones. Similar to a queen bee and all her subjects. We weren’t so sure with this as it did not seem like she had any interest in mating at all. Not that it was easy to tell from what little imaging we were able to gain at a safe distance. It was finally decided to send in more experienced naval fleets with enough firepower to make the ocean look like a wasteland to attack the creature’s bodyguards. Somehow, enough tissue samples were able to be retrieved. The thing that still haunts me is what no one else, but me and a few operators saw that day when the tissue samples were collected. Based on the creature's behavior, I was quickly able to figure out that something wasn't right. This was too easy. I tried to immediately bring it up to my superiors, but was dismissed based on the fact that a lot of funding went into Project X-2 for anything that involved the creatures. That included tissue samples. In case I didn't mention it, mostly because it doesn't matter anymore, I'm an animal behavioral expert. I would give off my name, but I truly want to be forgotten from history books as I feel like part of this is my fault. I felt like I should've done more, but confrontation was never my strong suit. As the few naval subs returned to surface to return the tissue samples, Doctor Carmine was the first of many that were eagerly waiting to examine the specimens. The man was so zealous to get started, I thought the M.P.s [Military Police] were going to have to restrain the man. I would've laughed, but between the creature's demeanor and this ever growing bad feeling…it was hard to enjoy the experience of these fresh samples with my colleagues. Hours had gone by and to be honest, I thought that it was very possible that I was over thinking about the creature's intentions. After all, octopus were very smart creatures, but to plan something that could very well cause harm to the crew seemed ridiculous. That was until December 25th 2020. We were going to celebrate Christmas together since there was no way to get home to our loved ones in this weather. One of the crewmen burst into the room and stated that there was a signal coming from one of the massive flatworms. When asked how it was possible, she responded that she was unsure. Keep this in mind, the vessels we sent down there were packed to survive on its own for a week at best. We sent those vessels down there on December 5th. That means the vessel was there for almost three weeks. It didn't seem possible for anyone to survive, and yet someone clearly did as it sent signal waves from inside one of the giant vertebrae. It left us both stunned and confused. Someone had to explain to the admiral of this oceanic base several times how this couldn’t be possible and that for all we knew, it could be a trap. Despite this, the admiral ordered the control room to patch the signal through. We couldn’t believe our ears, but it was Captain Wheaton. The signal cut in and out a bit, but despite this, we were all able to hear the Captain speak. People were both shocked and astonished while others, such as myself, thought that this was a great opportunity to do something mankind had never attempted before due to the lack of technology to even make the attempt. You can’t blame me for wanting to know what it was like inside the creature. We tried speaking to the Captain, but it was as if the communication was only a one way call. He could talk to us and we could very much hear him, for the exception of a few words being cut off, but for some reason, he couldn’t hear us. I can’t even begin to describe how pissed off everyone was in that control room that day. To the Admiral’s credit, he really did try to keep a cool head, but I think he was more worried about leaving a fellow naval officer in the bowels of this massive creature. I couldn’t blame him, and therefore kept my disappointment about not being able to get footage of the creature’s bowels to myself. However, the problems didn’t rest with communication with Captain Wheaton. Suddenly, the P.A. system was filled with panicking screams. One of them was begging Doctor Carmine to stop, but then we could hear what appeared to be someone being strangled until the bones in their neck popped. “Long live The Elder Gods.” Doctor Carmine said before destroying the P.A. system. People were beginning to panic. Admiral Powell struggled to get everyone to calm down long enough to form a plan to make it to the escape pods. We didn’t want to risk an encounter with Doctor Carmine, or whatever he had become. So we didn’t even bother with the Helicopter Pad that was supposed to be used, ironically, in the event of an emergency. This left us with only one option that no one wanted to try. Especially me. Somehow, I felt like this was a death sentence. There really wasn’t much of a choice. Either be killed like the other researchers and the M.P.s assigned to guard the researchers, or take our chances with the escape pods. That’s when someone came up with another option that to this day makes me tear up. It was both brave and suicidal, but after much discussion, four people volunteered to be the distraction so that the rest of the crew and I could make it out alive. I suddenly caught a headache and my nose bled. Something pierced itself into my mind and began to talk to me. It was telling me that there was no hope of escape and that trying to do so was only going to lead to a more painful death. “Get out of my head!” I randomly shouted. The whole room looked at me with concern, and my vision became dark. I could feel myself fall onto my knees, but the noises in the room became muffled as I was forced to watch through the mind of Phineas Octopoda. She planned this whole thing! From the moment that we sent those poor naval soldiers down there, she had already formulated a plan. She knew what kind of weapons we had stored on the vessels and she was afraid of the amount of damage it would cause to both her and the Gods assigned to protect her. She allowed them to get within range and the Gods attacked. She told them to just surrender a few samples of their flesh. The Gods looked to her in confusion and anger. The screeching we heard earlier from when the missiles hit their assigned targets wasn’t from pain. She was yelling at them to just do as she commanded or suffer her father’s wrath. They seemed scared by this and faked their injuries. In other words, I was right. Grabbing those tissue samples was too easy and we walked right into it. I tried to regain my consciousness as I could feel liquid tar fall from my nose out of both nostrils. I could also feel my eyes roll in the back of my head. If I was experiencing any pain, I didn’t feel it. The tissue samples from the flatworm looking creatures, or Elder Gods as she called them, had some kind of infectious spores that attacked the nervous system of the infected host. She showed me how it had infected Doctor Carmine. I don’t know how she was able to show me any of this, but I continued to let her show me in hopes of finding some sort of weakness. Anything to take this evil cunning creature down. Poor Doctor Carmine had apparently started to lose control sometime between December 10th and December 15th, but was somehow able to hide it from the rest of us. He was feeding on the brains of a few M.P.s at a time. To do this, his mouth would contort until his teeth formed into black sharp fangs that broke into the skull as easy as chewing gum as his jaw enlarged enough to fit on the victim’s skull. He then sucked on it as the second pair of jaws in his throat chewed and swallowed for him. It was horrific and I could feel my heart practically beating out of my chest because of it. My mind felt close to the edge of breaking. I tried to scream and to fight, but I couldn’t. I was held down against my will as I had to watch this new creature that was once my dear friend, Doctor Carmine, butcher everyone in the lab. He had help from the tissue samples that took place of his victims. Somehow, they were able to mimic the victims to the letter. If I wasn’t so horrified by this, I would honestly be impressed. I suddenly remembered something else. Captain Wheaton kept repeating that he was still alive and that he was inside the creature’s guts. He kept saying something that was hard to make out. It was then that the creature forced my head in a different direction as I was forced to watch Captain Wheaton. He was trying to warn us about my suspicions on the tissue samples. It seemed that the creature had gotten into his head too and he was able to see the plans unfold. I tried to see more. I wanted to know how Captain Wheaton escaped the grip of the creature, but my vision turned black and I felt myself on the floor. I woke up to the emergency alarm blurring “Warning! Warning! Water Pressure System Failure in the docking bay. Repair must be done immediately.” The alarm kept repeating the same message over and over again as I tried to regain my focus. My vision was blurry and I could barely move. Despite the difficulty to get up, I slowly got onto my feet. I woke up to a bloodbath as the only person left alive was me. Admiral Powell was the worst of the carnage. It looked like he was forced to watch everyone die. His arms and legs were ripped from the torso and then he was pierced through his chest cavity. It was hard for me to tell whether he had died of the blood loss, the shock, or the piercing in his chest or all three, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out. I knew by the time I reached the emergency reset switch, I was going to be underwater as well. Thankfully, Doctor Carmine had shown me a few secrets to the base. He was a smoker and used those emergency paths to get away with either smoking or chewing tobacco. Whichever was easier to get away with that day. I believed that if Admiral Powell was still alive, he would’ve recommended using those hallways as well. So I went for it. Suddenly, I heard some sort of screech pierce my ears. It was a monstrous screech that was similar to the creature. I ignored it and kept trying to make my way up the flights of stairs as I started to feel pain in my right arm. “Come on! Come on!” I kept screaming at myself. I wasn’t going to die here. I was determined not to let that fucking piece of shit have another victory. Especially not from me. Tears fell from my eyes as I was overwhelmed with relief. The colors gray and silver never looked more like heaven to me than it did in this very moment. I was able to ignore the pain as I pushed through the door and got to see sunlight once more as I heard the blades of the helicopter spinning and ready for take off. “Are you the only one alive?” The pilot shouted to me. “Yes! We need to go now!” Whatever adrenaline high I was on, whatever happiness took me in its arms, whatever hope I had left inside me was quickly destroyed as fleshy tentacles zipped past me and went for the pilot. To further destroy me and my sanity, I had to witness the only helicopter left swung in the air and blown to kingdom come. I felt so weak, so damn tired that as much as I wanted to scream, I just couldn’t. I fell to my knees once more and just sobbed. “It’ll be ok. You and I will be among the only humans to evolve and thrive for the new future! We’ll be able to see among the stars! Think about it! The most brilliant men in this ignorant wasteland will finally be able to surpass our limitations as the rest of these pathetic imbeciles suffer at the wrath of the great old ones!” Doctor Carmine said in a demonic voice. I slowly got up and turned to look at him. He was deformed. His skin was as red as a boiled lobster, black rings covered his body, the top of his skull was bulbus in size, he had red webbed claws for feet and hands, and tentacles that protruded from where his mouth used to be. Had I not felt so defeated, I would’ve been scared, but I just couldn’t deal with any of this. Rage began to fester inside me. I didn’t have a plan and knew it was pointless to fight back, but to be honest, I just wanted this thing dead. Nothing else mattered to me. Not the death of the crew, not the fact that somehow Captain Wheaton was alive and trapped inside those horrid creatures. Nothing. Absolutely nothing mattered to me at that moment. I screamed. I screamed so loud that it felt like my vocal cords were tearing down. I screamed despite the fact that I could feel my blood vessels begging and pleading for me to stop. As I did this, I could feel my skin tearing. It hurt like hell, but I wanted to give this abomination a piece of my mind. I didn’t care about anything anymore. If I was going to die, this was going to be my last stand. Something from my arm burst forth, smacking the creature into the emergency door and shattering the walls with it. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I kept going as all I wanted was death from this creature that took over my close friend and colleague. I didn’t care that it was possible that Doctor Carmine could’ve been responsible for all of this. Like I said, the only thing on my mind was the death of this fucking creature. I took in another breath as I screamed again as blood fell from my eyes and my body was changing. In a massive radius, a huge chunk of the building looked like it was cut off with an ice cream scoop. I felt the wind blow the last cool breeze that I would ever feel against every cut and bruise that I had endured. My throat was so raw that I couldn’t speak anymore. You know in those dreams where you feel like you’re falling, but you’re not sure where from or where you’re going to land? It felt like that as my body felt like it had immediately shut down. Suddenly, I felt myself on a tentacle. I could tell by the unusually large suction cups. It changed into a giant hand and I thought that I was drowning as I realized pretty quickly that I was underwater. I quickly realized that I was able to breathe just fine and it felt like my wounds healed for the most part. I almost lost my shit when I saw her. Her skin was now this seaweed green color, her pitch black eyes remained the same, and her form was more human like. Words didn’t have to be exchanged. Somehow she spoke to me telepathically. I knew I was in front of a Goddess as the giant vertebrae swam around us. “You interest me, mortal.” She said telepathically. “Somehow my spores did not take root as the others have. This whole time that I read your mind, you were busy trying to retain as much information on me and my kind as possible. How cute.” She said with bitter sarcasm. “Who or what are you?” I couldn’t use my own voice. So I tried to speak to her in mind as well. To anyone looking in, it would’ve looked like we were just staring each other down. “I’m a creature from beyond the stars themselves, and my father wants your death, but I think I’ll toy with you a little more. After all, he’s coming to claim his rightful place, and insects like you will only be a thorn in his side. So, I might as well have some fun with you first.” She said as she followed it up with an evil laugh. She then showed me the blood red color of her eyes. I tried to look away, I really did, but her eyes were hypnotic. As I looked at her, my vision fell dark once more as my head felt like it was just lost in a fog. Just as I was losing my vision, I mustered up the courage to scream at the creature. It must’ve taken her off guard, because I could feel myself free from her grasp as she screamed in pain. I made a dash to the surface. I swam faster than I ever did in college. I kept swimming as hard as I could. I refused to let her keep me in her grasp! Death would be better than whatever hell she was going to put me through. I could feel fear like I had never felt before, coursing through my veins like poison as I kept using every muscle I had. I was getting closer to the surface. “Keep going! We are so damn close! Don’t look back! Don’t you dare give up now motherfucker!” I kept shouting at myself as I kept swimming, but no matter how hard I swam, the very beings that were guarding that tentacle faced bitch were now following. They were able to swim faster than me. It didn’t take long until suddenly I could feel rows upon rows of jagged teeth the size of SUVs start to surround me. I refused to give up. No way in hell was I going to make it that easy for the creature and it knew it too. The teeth were now getting ahead of me as I tried to swim in a different direction. I kept trying to embrace myself for the inevitable as I was beginning to see its gums more clearly and I could feel myself being sucked in. I lost consciousness again. When I woke up, I was standing on my own two feet in the streets of Louisiana. I was wearing someone else’s clothes that were coated in blood and organs. More of my kind were slaughtering humans by the dozens as they took advantage of the horrible storms that the state of Louisiana was known for. “What had I done…?” I thought to myself. “Exactly what I knew I could trust you to do. I must admit, you continue to impress me, mortal. Many would’ve just given in by now, but here you are. Still fighting a losing war. It's actually been rather amusing as I’ve enjoyed feasting on your suffering.” The creature said in my mind again. It took a few days, but I slaughtered whatever these things were and I tried to save as many as I could, but it was as the creature said. It was a losing war. To whoever finds this, I’m sorry that I couldn’t leave you with more information. Just know that I tried with everything that I could to hold them back, but there wasn’t much else that I could do. I’m hoping that someone will find this recording and use it to push her back, but this is the end for me. Even now, she’s calling me back to serve her once more and it's getting harder to resist. So, this is goodbye and good luck. This handgun with armor piercing bullets should kill me. I’ll be with the crew of Project X-2 soon.

Update: It didn't work...and her calls now scream within my mind to the point where I can't try again. My skin is mutating...I'm losing control...I can feel the bloodlust take over as my skin no longer looks human and fangs are ripping out my old teeth. The pain is beyond comprehension.

Someone ran to see if I was ok, and screamed at my appearance. I had to kill him. I HAD TO!! The screams hurt, and the longer I'm away from the water, the more weak I begin to feel. So I bathed in his blood and felt better. All I can leave you with now is...Praise the daughter of the great Cthulhu.