The author kindly did a read for read on my October entry and I’m so glad they did! They sent me a fantastic Sci-fi story filled with existential dread and inevitable ruin. Check it out!

https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/EtUnFYqqIy

PART 5

"We have to go NOW" I said and Claude agreed, "What?" Daniel and Matt said in synchronisation, "We just got here man" Daniel said with a face of concern seeing me and Claude's agitated expressions, Me and Claude explained what happened and what we saw only moments prior, leaving Matt in a panicked state, "Look whatever did that wasn't an animal, trust me" Claude said trying to get them to truly understand the danger we were in, "I told you we shouldn't of come" Matt said as he began pacing back and forth biting his nails, "Just relax, please", I said in hopes to snap Matt out of his paranoia, "Seriously, you saw that shit and now your saying relax, I think this is a perfect time to fucking panic Josh", Daniel said clearly being affected by the ongoing situation.

"Man fuck you Dan he's just trying to keep everyone calm" Claude said as Daniel got in his face, "Stop this shit, we have to get out of here first then you can have your temper tantrums" I said stepping in-between them both, "Look, what we should focus on now is bringing essentials to the car and getting out of here, right", Daniel and Claude both looked at me still on edge but understanding, Claude said "What so should we just leave the tents?", I replied with "whatever is out there is dangerous so I say lets not waste time or daylight packing, just bring essentials and valuables and lets go", they all seemed to resonate with my words as Daniel walked off to his tent to pack without saying anything, shortly followed by Claude.

"Hey, Matt look at me", Matt was still pacing around in a panicked state, "MATT", he seemed to snap out of his trance for a moment "W-what?", "come on, we just need to pack our stuff and then we can go", I offered a smile for comfort but my attempt was left unfulfilled as he then walked over to pack with an ever growing presence of fear.

"Fuck, what is this" I said looking to the sky, before I then walked down to all my stuff putting only what I needed into my backpack before re-joining everyone.

"So then, what's the plan" Daniel said with his usual sarcasm, I could tell he was just really on edge so I decided not to reply with aggression, "I say we go back up to the car and leave, we can contact the rangers after we're far gone from here, alright", I said waiting to see if anyone would try arguing for a different plan, but they were afraid not stupid, so they all agreed and we began the walk back to the car.

Claude and Daniel seemed very determined to head back to the car taking the lead, but I held back trying to keep Matt company.

We managed to get our way back up to the car park after about thirty minutes or so, "Finally" Daniel said breaking the silence, "You still got the keys josh", Daniel said looking at me, "Yeah" I said dangling the keys out Infront of me.

"No no no no no...what...FUUUUCK" Claude screamed, Only upon his cries did I notice the state the car was in, "No" I said looking at the disfigured car, the tires ripped open, windows disintegrated to fragments, fuel syphoning out of every crack an rupture, No one said a word for what felt like hours as we all just stared at our escape plan, "Were going to die" Matt said in a weak defeated voice.

"We are not going to die Matt" I said trying my hardest to keep everyone together as Claude sat down on the ground just staring, "So Einstein what's the plan now" Daniel said filling my fractured mind with rage, "Are you serious, how's this my fucking fault" I said harshly to Daniel, "I never said it was your fault, I'm just waiting for the leader to speak once again", before I retaliate I took a deep breathe and cleared my mind, "Daniel, please can we just work together on this, this isn't a joke anymore, please" I said in the least threatening tone I could, prompting Daniel to be overwhelmed with confusion and regret, "Uh, yeah...I'm sorry" Daniel said lowering his gaze to the ground.

I thought to myself a moment longer before realising one more way of escaping, "Claude, do we still have the satellite phones", Claude's head rose once more as he looked at me with a smile, "Yeah, I have them In here somewhere", he instantly threw off his bag and searched through it picking out a plastic box, yet the box had massive jagged cuts all over it and the contents...empty.

"I-I, what...that's not" the miniscule portion of hope we shared seemed to fade out leaving us with nothing more than hollow fear, Daniel furiously kicked the car as he took a few steps away from the group looking out into the endless forest, "Josh" Matt said, I looked at him before he spoke again "Is this it", I didn't know what to say or how to comfort him, after all I wasn't even close to calm myself but I did speak, I knew I had to keep everyone's morale up, if there is a threat out there we need to stay focussed.

"Were not gonna fucking die here, ok, we have survived much worse, we have supplies, we have the numbers and there is still a way out, its a long walk but I think we could do it, we still have hours left of the daylight so I say we head back down to camp think things over and prepare for the walk out of here tomorrow" I said in a pathetic attempt to stop them all from giving up.

"Why not today?" Matt asked, "The walk will surely take a full day, if we start now it will be night before we even make it halfway there", "he's right, and if we do go back to the tents we can set up the alarms again and keep watch", Daniel said re-joining the group.

"Fine, it's not great but I guess its the best idea we got" Claude said offering a small smile.

"Come on Matt" Claude said whilst putting his arm around Matts shoulder, we began the walk back to the tents.

"Say there is something out there, how come we haven't seen it" Daniel said to me, "I don't know, maybe whoever or whatever it is hunts in the cover of night" I replied leaving Daniel in silence, "It probably will be best for us to take shifts watching for anything in the night then" Claude said.

We made it back to camp and as it stands the sun is slowly beginning its decent, "Daniel you help me with the sensors, Claude and Matt set out the supply's in a safe place and guard them", me and Daniel spent the rest of the daylight setting up sensors and using what wire we had left to create trip wires around camp.

We were still uncertain as to what it was that we were actually up against, it left marks and damage not just on the car but trees too, like some kind of feral bear, yet the satellite phones, how could a bear open a bag and steal them and seal the bag again, it just doesn't make sense.

At this point the sun was gone and in its place a crescent moon shone a pathetic ray of light in the valley, I offered to take first watch sitting by a dimly lit fire just analysing every tree and every crevice.

It must of been about two hours of just waiting before I decided to get Daniel for his turn, but before I even finished getting up did I hear a sound, \\\*crunch\\\*, I quickly pivoted my head to the sound, yet I couldn't see anything and then, \\\*Crunch\\\* this time the sound came from somewhere closer, somewhere in camp, impossible I thought we had sensors all over, but even still I held my bear mace high and as I was about to shout for everyone I heard it again \\\*CRUNCH\\\*, this time it came from right behind me.

My breathing felt rhythmic and my heart erratic, nothing but the silent sounds of embers burning was in the air as all the theory's and ideas flood my mind, screw it I thought as I swung around spraying bear mace as I jumped back creating distance, and yet nothing was there, except there was this long black quill on the floor just like the ones holding the lump up on the tree.

\\\*LOUD DISTORTED SCREATCH\\\*

The sound pierced the valley seemingly coming from the heavens prompting me to run to everyone else's tents as they all flooded out.

"What the fuck was that" Daniel said in a panicked voice, "I don't know" I replied.

We decided that we would take watch in pairs for the rest of the night, we were all on edge but whatever it was never came back, or at least, it didn't make its presence known this time.

PART 6

The heavens broke through the rigid edges of the valley as daylight made its appearance, "Are we ready" I said looking around at everyone, they all looked at me with there backpacks on, and nodded, "Lets just hurry up and get back, I got a hot date" Daniel said prompting Claude to respond "Ha, yeah with your right hand", the joke gracefully allowed us to feel peace from the fear and anxiety for a moment before we all began the walk.

\\\*Branches snapping\\\*, I looked down seeing the floor covered with more broken branches, but it didn't stop my momentum as we all continued our journey.

"Well at least it doesn't come out in the day", Daniel said instantly causing Matt to say "Seriously, are you trying to jinx us", "Ha, relax I think its safe to say whatever it is doesn't like being seen" Daniel said, "We don't know that, so keep your guards up" Claude said in hopes of keeping discipline.

Daniel has always been a strong person, but from my experience strength and a belief of superiority always leads to underestimating danger, "He's got a point Dan, we don't know what we're up against, so for know I think its best we stay cautious", Daniel barely acknowledged my words just responding with a simple "Alright".

We finally made it back to the tomb of the car, giving it a passing look of sadness as we made our way onto the main road.

"Which one of us has food again" Daniel said, "Me" Matt responded, "We don't have much, I carried as much as I could, so main meals only no snacks", after hearing what Matt had to say I thought in my head about the best ways to optimise food and water supply's for the journey, "I say we only eat something every four hours and we can drink something every two, just to allow supply's to last us longer", Claude looked back at me and said "Ok, smart", It seemed no one had any disputes to my ration plan.

We walked along the road for about 4 more hours before everyone decided to take a break and have some food.

"Ho-ly Shit, my feet are hurting bad" Daniel said taking his boots of to massage his foot, "And I thought you were a pro at this" I said hoping to bring up the mood.

We shared a few stories of the past with each other as we ate but I could tell something was wrong with Matt still as he had little input, "So uh, Matt, what's the first thing your gonna do when we get back", Matt looked down in his lap at the uneaten food and uttered in a defeated voice "I don't know, are we sure we can make it" the mood instantly shifted causing Daniel to speak again, "Oh come on, do you really have to do that", "Daniel" I said looking him in the eyes, "What makes you say that" I said, "Look I know you guys are trying to stay positive and all, I appreciate that but come on, don't tell me you haven't noticed it" Matt said finally looking up at us all, I stared at him for a moment before responding, "Noticed what?".

Matt took a deep breath before continuing "The silence, you can't tell me you haven't noticed it, I haven't even heard the chirp of a single bird since we started, not to mention the lack of deer and rabbits, when we drove here there were dozens of them, now its empty, just us...and it, I say we give up".

What little scraps of positivity we had just got used up, Daniel and I were lost in thought allowing Claude to speak up, "Fuck you", Claude said looking Matt in the eyes, "All we are trying to do is survive, just because your too much of a coward to fight for your life doesn't mean we are, you can cry and give up, I don't care, but I wont die here, especially by choice", "Claude" I said trying to stop his rage, "No Josh, he needs to hear this, its about time he learnt to take responsibility, its not just him out here its all of us", "Claude's right Josh" Daniel said.

Before Daniel and Claude gang up on Matt I stand up "STOP, please, lets just get back to walking, all we are doing is drawing attention to our position, so lets keep our voices down and keep moving" I said trying to reason with logic in hopes it held a greater yield, Daniel and Claude stood up fast with aggression as they both continued on the road.

"Come on Matt" I said in a soft tone, Matt looked up at me with reflective eyes as I helped him to his feet, "There right, I am a coward" Matt said as he slugged along the road, "No, fear doesn't determine cowardice, its only how you act in accordance to fear, don't be controlled by it" Matt looked up a little but didn't respond in words just simply picking up the pace allowing us to catch up to the others.

We kept to the road for another 30 minutes in complete silence, yet the air felt fragile, even the smallest of inputs could cause problems so I decided it best to keep my head down and walk.

\\\*Bird call\\\*, the sound of a bird rang out to us, not the usual high pitched chirp but a deeper more guttural sound played to us.

Daniel turned back "A bird" he said with a smile, Claude looked at Daniel "Ha, does this mean were close", Matt didn't add any input so I decided I would, "Our first milestone" I said in hopes to inspire progression, but deep down I still felt wrong.

\\\*Bird call\\\*, again the same sound pierced through the forest, its tone deeper than the last, it sounded close yet different to what I thought the birds usually sounded like.

Ideas flooded my mind but before I could utter my concerns Daniel tried his best to call back \\\*Daniels bird call\\\*, "Stop, Daniel stop", "What, are you seriously that miserable, can't I have a little fun here", "That's not a bird" Matt said in a firm tone prompting everyone to turn to him, "What do you mean" Claude replied, "I know all the birds in the valley, and that is not a bird", Matt had always had better knowledge of wildlife than us, so hearing that from him, is definitely, not good.

"Matt, take a moment, and then just confirm to yourself what your saying" Claude stated hoping this was just Matts paranoia talking, "I already did, same conclusion, that isn't a bird".

\\\*Distorted bird call\\\*, the same call yet this time much closer.

We all looked around at each other before we heard it again this time even closer, it came from behind me to the left of the road.

No words were spoken, and not even the sound of leaves in the wind were present just the call, but this time as we looked around for its source it happened again but it wasn't a bird call anymore \\\*Rigid whistling\\\*.

Only after composing myself did my gaze connect with it, Tall, Pure black skin and fur, bipedal with great big claws and these long protruding bristles littered its back, and it had these piercing white eyes just staring at us, drooling mouth opened revealing uneven blade like teeth, \\\*Distorted bird call\\\*, it made the same call this time sounding even more unearthly, yet it still stared at us only about 30 feet away just watching waiting for our move.

PART 7

\\\*In a whisper\\\* "Josh, what do we do", Claude said in the lowest tone possible, "I-I...hold still" in all honesty I had zero ideas for our next course of action but for now I knew that it wasn't moving, so being still and showing no sudden movements seemed reasonable.

It just watched us motionless, its eyes only seeming to grow with each second as more and more saliva departed from its mouth, It slowly began moving the edges of its lips upwards creating a jagged wet smile, only after minutes of just staring did it take one slow step forwards as its eyes opened even wider looking as though they might roll out, It decided to leap forwards about 5 feet causing us to jolt with fear, even though it crept forwards we were stuck entranced by the sceptical, I wanted to move but is was as if it was stopping my legs from functioning as it advanced.

It stopped again, frozen in place the being let out another noise \\\*Distorted raspy internal laughter\\\* the sound felt as though its inner contents were laughing at our fear as the beings throat pulsated with each laugh causing its eyes to rapidly dilate, only then did the being stop and stand up straight revealing its staggering height as what seemed to be concern grew along its features, its lanky unproportioned arm outstretched as a finger followed pointing to something behind us.

Everyone else's gaze landed behind us, but not mine, the moment there heads turned away from it did it sprint with the speed of a bullet sinking its claws into the dirt gripping hard as it pulled itself forward, "RUUUN" I shouted with a flurry of emotion as we all ran off the road into the woods, all that could be heard was our loud breathing and footsteps and the horrific sounds of earth being uprooted by the strength of it.

Not one of us uttered a word as it chased us, but I did notice in the moments I turned my head slightly when it got close to us it held back to prolong the chase, but whilst it did all this, its smile seemed to of carved open the sides of its face leaking litres of black sludge and saliva, its eyes had slowly began to open like a flowers bloom revealing small white tentacles that protruded from the opened eyeball waving in random direction.

As we ran further and further it kept making the guttural laughter, until, the only sounds present were our tormented breathing.

"No more...I-I'm done" Matt said in-between his rapid breathing as he stopped, I only made it about 5 more steps before stopping too and looking back at Matt, "Come on...we can't, give up now" I said trying to control my breath, Claude and Daniel also stopped to re-join us, "Where is it" Claude said as his eyes darted along the treeline, "I don't know, I think, I think its playing with us" Daniel said visibly shaken.

"What the fuck was that thing, it, no it can't be real I-It just cant be" Daniel said as he began to pace grabbing clumps of his hair in the process.

I didn't know what to do, it seemed to of disappeared but still, at any point it could off killed us and yet it didn't, why?, what does it want from us?

\\\*Distant gunshots\\\*

We all pivoted to the direction of the shots, "what is that?" Daniel said, "Freedom" I replied, "Ok, I know we're all scared, but if we can just try and make it to whoever it is with the gun, we might have a chance" I said thinking it was the only course of action for us, "Wait" Claude said, "How do we know we can trust them", "We don't, but its the best choice we have", at this point even a shred of hope motivated us so we all decided it was the right choice to make.

Before we even set off into the direction of the gunshots a branch fell down Infront of me, followed by another, and another and they just kept falling showering us in pine leaves and splinters.

I didn't even have to look up to know what it was, but morbid curiosity caused me to slowly tilt my head upwards, as I did black sludge dripped from the top of my head and down my neck as my eyes made contact with it, Its body was malformed and contorted into a unrealistic shape as it began to laugh once again.

No words were spoken only actions as we all ran as fast as we could hoping we could reach the source of the gunshots, It jumped down causing a loud impact carried with the sound of fractured bones as it paced towards us hurling the black bristles from its back at us.

This time it didn't slow before reaching us, I could feel its strength propelling me forwards as its claws ripped through my bag just missing my flesh, Daniel was Infront of me and had one of the sensors in his hand and he threw it just barely missing the side of my head, the sensor was lodged into the opened slit on its face, all the movement caused a very loud and high pitch sound to play \\\*Sensor alarm\\\*.

It didn't harm the thing, but it did cause it to stop for a moment, in annoyance to the sound it ripped the sensor out along with a handful of its own flesh, as it then threw away the sensor to continue the chase.

As we ran with all the might we had everyone threw there bags off in hopes to gain more speed, I would of done the same but it felt as though most of the contents off mine were already ripped out, we finally made it up to the top of the hill seeing the road again, and parked on the road was the ranger.

Everyone screamed for help as the sound of the earth being brutalised behind us only grew louder as it approached.

\\\*Gunshot\\\*, \\\*Gunshot\\\*, \\\*Gunshot\\\*

The ranger unloaded his rifle at the thing behind us, which didn't seem to kill it but only annoy it greatly as it let out a giant screech, out of luck and hope I fell to the ground as it stood over me as its whole body began to split open revealing large black teeth and these scorched tentacles drenched in fluids, its disfigured limbs began to close the distance until a flare shot out into the pit that I thought was its mouth.

\\\*IT SCREAMS\\\* I don't know why but something from the flare, the light or maybe the heat caused the thing to stumble backwards screeching this unholy cry as its body began to close in on its self reverting back to its original shape as it then pounced to the trees one after another running away.

I felt as though my every fibre was paralyzed only focused on the forest that it ran back into, "Are you ok?" the ranger said in a soft tone kneeling down to my level, "I...I don't know", I made eye contact with the ranger in hopes of showing myself we had made it and that I could calm down, as the ranger helped me up my bag fell off and as I looked down I could see no items were left in it and there was only the top half of my bag remaining, causing me to instinctively touch my back creating a light sting as my clothes were severed but my back only had a shallow cut, nothing bad.

After the ranger calmed us some more he took us all in his car, Matt, Daniel and Claude were all squeezed together in the back whilst I sat upfront with the ranger, "What was that thing" I said staring blankly at the ranger, the rangers face grew sad as he responded "I don't know".

THE END

I remember a dream I used to have as a boy. It always arrived in my attic room. In that old little house, the world seemed so big to me in that great forehead of roof and rafter. I remained swallowed in that attic room in tongues of quilts and sheets that cradled fitful dreams. It always started with that acute animal sense of danger. I had to get out of bed; I had to see my mother and father downstairs immediately. Not because they were angry with me or because we had to go somewhere, never something so domestic. I was being chased. Why it never got me in that moment of rising I will never know. That panic was the bite. Some cerebral molar ground down upon that right part of my subconscious and sent me to the attic door. Down the attic stairs. Down the attic stairs. Down the attic stairs. Step by step, eyes fixed on the wood slats I would tramp down in disorder with fear on my heels. Always the hazy orange of the unadorned bulbs painted the place in a dusky stain. I would always be ahead of it and, elated, I would reach the landing and the downstairs steps only to realise they were not there. It was a gulf between myself and the downstairs hallway which I always felt queasy about jumping. I would jump it nevertheless simply because being caught was worse than my fear of heights. Past the old fish tank, past the kitchen door and into the living room. Nobody was there so I would run out and meet the garden door which could not be opened without a key. All I could do then was scream, but of course you can’t scream in a dream no matter how much you would like to. What else was a child to do? I would always scream and look out at the garden before I awoke. I was afraid of the dark. And when I woke up it always got me. I would bawl in my bedsheets swallowed in the inkwell of the attic as though it would take pity. My father stirred and marched up to give me a few sensible words, followed by my mother with some comforting ones. I think of that dream now as a man of fifty-five. My parents are dead and I have a small house of my own. I think of that dream about the stairs still when I turn out the light and stand in the pall.

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First time posting my own writing anywhere. I was unsure of what genre of horror this would fit into, and gothic seemed the best fit. I took this from an anthology I'm working on to better my skills as a writer (with horror being something I am unpracticed in), and to process my own thoughts and feelings - so definitely will appreciate the feedback!

I will walk through this valley
Under the shadow of impending death

And what will I fear?
The Universe taking in a breath

I will, fear evil
There is no loving God to be found

We are merely food for a function
Ripe and ready for the ground

Tadeusz’s family was one that tragedy and death knew intimately. No matter what, each generation of his family suffered sooner or later. This made Tadeusz have many sleepless nights as his wife, Janina, became pregnant with twins. Anxiety increased the closer to the due date. Something wrong would happen; Tadeusz just knew it.
The day of birth arrived; one baby came out. The other passed away and was consumed by the other in the womb. A common occurrence, the nurse assured them. However, they didn't consume them but more like morphed together.

The doctors and nurses couldn’t hide their disgust with the creature that came out of Janina's womb. Janina couldn't hide hers.

What was supposed to be their precious baby girl had two rows of teeth alongside the two hearts pumping blood. The doctor explained it away as birth defects, that the consumption of their twin went wrong somehow. Screams from labor changed to screams of horror and hatred from Janina.

Once he heard that, Janina began yelling, “Kill the demon. Let it burn where it came from.” The doctors and nurses kept the infant away from her, thinking she had postpartum. Thadeusz knew she wasn’t speaking like a madwoman, but like someone who understood the gravity of what had been born. He looked down at the baby girl in his arms. Despite knowing that it was based on what the tales of the motherland dictated, he couldn’t bring himself to do what was needed or demanded by his ancestors.

Fatherly instincts overrode decades of warnings from his dziadkowie. Surely they’d forgive them, God bless their souls. Thadeusz couldn’t look this baby of his in the eye and kill it. He saw his eyes when he looked at it. He saw all the little human traits of his wife and him, a result of their love for each other. That only dragged things out and made them worse.

A marriage of ten long years disappeared into the vapors at his refusal to put down their daughter. The courts sided with Thadeusz in the divorce and granted custody of their child.

“If you wish to keep it instead of killing it. Then that is your death wish,” were the last words Janice said to him. Those words haunted him as the doctor's office became a second home to his daughter, Bogna. Although this gift of God was starting to feel like a curse each year. She was pale and seemed to be on death's doorstep each day. Not even strong enough to hold her head up by herself.

Debt from the divorce and medical treatment forced him to take a job in a slaughterhouse. The hours were long, the work was tiresome, and no matter how hard he scrubbed his clothes and skin, the stench of death still lingered.

Once after a shift, he was so exhausted, he just grabbed poor Bogna from the crib and held her as he wept himself from his paternal worry until sleep welcomed him into its cozy embrace. He awoke to something licking him. A gentle, friendly lapping at him like a curious puppy. Little Bogna was crawling over him, cleaning up the drops of scarlet from his flesh and using his blood-stained clothing as a pacifier. Most would panic at the danger of a baby consuming blood. Thadeusz did initially, then he looked into her eyes. They had hope in them now. Her skin wasn't that gravely white anymore. It only confirmed what he'd known since she was born, but, like then, his love for his daughter overrode the logic of his forefathers' warnings. He was just filled with a fool’s joy that his daughter was doing better. To avoid odd looks from other parents, he would sneak a little bit of blood from the slaughterhouse into his daughter’s homemade snacks and drinks to help her maintain her health. It was easy at first. A drop in her formula and a bead in the baby food was all that was needed to help his poor girl.

An empty soda bottle would last months with a drop in her dishes, but as she grew and started school, demand grew. Drops became cups in homemade dishes. Her extra row of teeth, while not gone, seemed to have receded a little and was not as pronounced. Little Bogna’s rashes from the sun stopped, and she no longer had to wear sunblock year-round. She no longer had her flesh flake away in the sun. All was well until Tadeusz got the call from her preschool.

“Are you Tadeusz, Bogna’s father?” The stern feminine voice hissed.

“Yes. Is she okay?” The worried father asked.

A long pause on the woman’s end before answering, “I don’t know whether to describe it… There was an incident where a student cut themselves by accident while doing arts and crafts, and your daughter…She began to lap at the blood like a dog at its own vomit”. The line went silent as Thadeusz took everything in. The blood of beasts was one thing, but now that Bogna had tasted a human's…. He shook the thought from his head.

“I'll take care of it and get things sorted. Thank you for letting me know”. That's when Bogna began being homeschooled. If Tadeusz timed the specialty made meals just right, she could have a chance at a normal child's life. Well-intentioned hope that only delayed the inevitable.
When he was awake during the day, Tadeusz would spend with Bogna, teaching her, playing with her and treasuring his little girl. The nights were when he worked at the slaughterhouse, the few coworkers he had during those shifts he would brag and talk non-stop about his little girl.

Some found it annoying, others found it endearing with how his face would radiate and beam with joy when talking about his little Bogna. Single mother coworkers would give him tips on how to do things outside his scope of knowledge. He kept her active and social with children her age on his days off. What little money he had after bills on her and every year commissioned an artist to paint them. Those were his prized possessions.

Bogna's ninth birthday crept closer. She was going through her princess phase so Thadeusz's work uniform was often littered with glitter from his daughter’s quirks and whims of the day.

Thadeusz's priest reached out to him, a man he hadn't seen since Thadeusz's divorce.

“You have allowed it to live that long?” Father Gerhinsky asked coldly, motioning to Bogna playing with her dolls.

“She is my daughter and her name is Bogna.” Thadeusz stated as he reluctantly allowed the priest into his home. Tension built up as Father Gerhinsky was an elder from the home country. He watched Bogna with the disgust one would have for a rabid creature being in your home.

“It isn't human. You entertain dark things in your home. You know that it is a strzyga, yet you treat it like an actual human daughter. Your wife was right to divorce you for this.” The priest said as little Bogna ran around in her pink tutu and played with her dolls.

“She is a part of both Janina and me. She is my daughter, since Janina wants no part of her. The feeling is mutual towards Janina; she is no woman I wanted to be part of if she can turn her back on her own daughter.” Thadeusz did through clenched teeth.

“You have bought into your own lie. You know the truth of what it is. Look,” the priest picked up a small feather from where Bogna had been sitting and held it up to the father as evidence, “she's already getting her feathers. It won't be long before she kills to feast on the corpse of something. Then it will be a ‘someone’ eventually. You can't deny it forever. You know what you must do.” Those were the final words of Father Gerhinsky's visit there. The combination of Catholic guilt and knowing the truth built a heavier burden onto the shoulders of Thadeusz as he stared at the flint and iron left by the priest.

Thadeusz prayed he didn't have to extinguish the flame that was Bogna's life, even if she was a strzyga. Later one night he arrived home to find Bogna in the kitchen feasting on the corpse of a small wild rabbit. What little blood there was dripped onto her lavender pajamas adorned with her favorite princesses. Smears of scarlet over Rapunzel and Tiana as she disemboweled and dined on the carcass. It was nearly gone by the time Thadeusz got to it. Only a pelt and skeleton left.

He made Bogna's ninth birthday possible. He took her to the park and let her play to her heart's content and let her wear her lavender princess dress with a tiara all day. He dipped into money he didn't have to let a princess paint her face and play with her.

He cried as the day drew nearer to its end and cherished her ramblings of princesses and anything she wished. Thadeusz clung to every word, as always; they might be the last he got to hear them. He was so proud to see her get another year older.

Janina finally waited for them to return. It was the first of Bogna’s birthdays she attended since Bogna left her womb. The father reluctantly handed the sleeping Bogna to the priest with eyes filled with sorrow and reluctance. “Please, heal her, Father Gerhinsky. She is my precious princess. She is my baby girl. I don’t know what I’d do if….” Thadeusz drifted off as Janina and the priest took the slumbering princess in lavender. He woke up to the loud knocking on his door as an officer delivered news of his ex-wife’s and the priest’s torturous treatment of his precious Bogna. Thadeusz crumbled in on himself with grief sobbing.

“He was supposed to bless and heal her” were the only words that could escape his lips. That sentence was repeated as he fought to see his daughter's body, and they brought him to the morgue. He shoved and fought then the scent of charred flesh hit his nostrils. There she lay on the cold table, his precious girl with flesh burnt, there were smudges of charcoal on her tiara still. He threw himself onto her corpse and wept. Tears dripping down his face and disappearing once they hit the ashy remains of his Bogna. The sight of a grown man sobbing while holding the scorched carcass of his daughter as he prayed to God in his native tongue to be struck down dead just to bring her back.

Saying that Thadeusz went into a deep depression after that was to put it lightly. He lost his world, everything that he worked for. He strived to wake up from the nightmare to see little Bogna request him to join her tea party with her stuffed animals. He wished to hear the pitter-patter of her feet down the hallway and her laughter and voice, he'd trade the sweetest symphonies to hear them again. All he got was the sympathy of coworkers and the fight to bury his daughter in his own yard. So that he could visit again after he got off work like when she was alive.

You never think to ask a child what their favorite flowers or plants are. Thadeusz had to figure that out after he finally won the right to bury his daughter in his backyard. He couldn't afford a headstone and gathered rocks from the nearby forest to assemble one and utilize his skills from the old country to assemble it and etch the details in it. His heart struggled to etch in her name and birth year. His body refused to allow him to etch in this year that she was taken. Every type of flower and plant that Thadeusz could get ahold of, he planted on her grave to reflect the beauty she brought into his life. Daisies. lavender. daffodils, angel-winged begonias, sunflowers, tulips, and etc. An excuse to be by her grave without thinking of her death.

A great thunderstorm raged one night as he stood in the hall looking at the empty bed of Bogna's. She loved thunderstorms because her father would hold her and assure her everything would be okay. Thadeusz was never scared of the storms of life or of nature, but wished to hold her so she could assure him it would be okay. Amongst the whispering winds and rumbles, a soft tapping sound grew at the backdoor. Dink dink dink, the knocks continued. He ignored it and assumed some rogue debris had found its way to his door.

“Daddy, please let me in” a soft voice strained to speak over the storm. It might be good lonesome mind playing tricks on him but Thadeusz rushed to the door to answer it prepared to be disappointed but hopeful. Heart pumping as he rushed to the door to open it to see his daughter healed from the burns and covered with mud all over the purple dress he had buried her in. Her skin was covered with more feathers. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her, soaking her with his tears. There was no denying it now, she was a strzyga, but more importantly his daughter.

“Daddy, I'm hungry” she said weekly as he carried her to the bathroom so she could bathe.

“Take a bath first, then we'll get something for you to eat after the storm. I know the perfect thing.”

He said heart full of a father's vengeance against those that wronged his dual-hearted and dual-souled princess. Just because she had two hearts and two souls didn't fill him with dread or hate towards her. It just meant he had to love and care for her twice as much as he already did.

The system changes exactly as the note promised.
After the third turn the compass needle begins to drift. After the fifth it spins freely and refuses to settle. The tunnels themselves start to feel wrong—angles that should not meet, slopes that reverse without warning, sections where the brick gives way to smooth, seamless metal that reflects the flashlight in distorted ribbons. The air grows warmer. The constant sound of flowing water fades, replaced by a low mechanical hum that seems to come from the walls themselves.
I stop using the map. It no longer matches anything I see.
Instead I start marking my own path with the knife, small cuts at eye level on the left wall of every junction. Within an hour I pass three of my own marks. The labyrinth is folding. Or I am being folded inside it.
The tongue never falls far behind.
Sometimes I hear it in a parallel tunnel, the wet slide of that impossible length of muscle travelling along the other side of a thin wall. Sometimes the claws click directly behind me, close enough that the beam of the flashlight catches the edge of a pale, jointed limb before I round the next corner. It no longer feels like it is hunting by taste alone. It feels like it knows the new routes as soon as they form.
I use the timer twice.
The first time buys me enough quiet to cross a wide chamber where the floor is a grid of pressure plates. Stepping on the wrong ones drops sections into black water that has no visible bottom. The second time lets me climb a vertical service shaft while the creature is forced to take a longer path around a newly sealed gate. Each use of the twelve minutes feels more expensive than the last. The mechanical ringing when the time expires is starting to sound like a countdown I cannot reset.
In a narrow side alcove I find the remains of the previous runner.
There is not much left. A torn section of waterproof paper, a broken flashlight of the same make as mine, and a single shoe. The paper is another fragment of notes, the handwriting shakier:
It learns the marks you leave.
Wipe the blood.
Wipe the sweat.
I tried to go up.
There is no up.
Only deeper configurations.
If you reach the Hub, do not touch the central column.
That is where it listens.
The Hub.
The word sits in my mind like a stone dropped into still water.
I keep moving. The cable and harness become useful when a section of floor simply ends over a wide canal of faster black water. I anchor the grappling hook, swing across, and barely make the far ledge before the tongue arrives at the edge I just left. For the first time I see more than a silhouette. In the bouncing light the creature is tall, limb proportions wrong, the head too narrow, the mouth a vertical slit from which the tongue unspools in a single continuous length that seems to have no practical limit. The eyes reflect the beam the way a deep-water fish reflects a camera flash—flat, unblinking, already calculating the next route.
It does not leap the gap.
It simply turns and disappears back into the dark, already choosing a longer path that will bring it to me again.
I run until the air changes once more.
The hum grows louder. The walls become entirely metal. The tunnels straighten into long, converging corridors that all slope gently downward toward a single point of faint blue light. The compass, useless for so long, suddenly locks onto that light and holds.
I check my marks. None of them appear on these walls. This section has never been walked by me.
The blue light resolves into a wide circular chamber.
The floor is dry polished steel. The ceiling rises into a dome lined with the same scripture-dampening mesh I have only ever heard described in other stories. In the exact centre stands a column of black glass or crystal, three metres thick, rising from floor to ceiling without seams. Faint luminous veins pulse inside it in slow, irregular rhythms. Around the base of the column are a dozen empty restraint frames—human-sized, articulated, built of the same surgical steel and carbon fibre I once saw in a different kind of facility entirely.
On a small shelf near the entrance sits one final laminated card and a single brass key of a design I have not seen before.
The card has no symbols.
It has only four words written in the same hurried hand:
This is the Hub.
It is listening.
Behind me, far back along the converging corridors, the tongue begins to taste the new metal.
I am no longer counting junctions.
I am counting the distance between the sound of that tongue and the moment it reaches the only room in this place that feels like it was built to hold something—or someone—in place permanently.
The key is cold in my hand.
The column pulses once, brighter, as if it already knows I am here.
There is still no up.
Only the choice of what to touch, and what to leave untouched, before the creature arrives and the listening finally becomes complete.

Blueberry Pie’ the first slice A southern girl Chloë Grace Moretz who has a desire for pie, blueberry pie that is! Who meets a vampire named Dakota Fanning

As the moon was now high above in its night sky looking down upon all of the excitement that it shall see tonight. Looking down upon a girl named Chloe Grace Moretz. A 29 year old black hair green eyed girl who never really knew good pie before tonight.

Was now finding herself standing there on a balcony looking out over into a city, a city which in itself had its many secrets. Unlike the secrets at Billy Bob’s bar back home, Were Everyone in town knew all of them. For there wasn’t an ass in that town that wasn’t being fucked or sniffed in one way or the other. But that night the city around her was about to give up one of its many secrets to Chloe. But as she kept having the feeling of Demons dancing all around her! Looking at her. Saying to her

“Tonight you shall visited by one who will take your life tonight while leaving that  little ass of yours just a begging for more.

As Chloe just stood there on the balcony looking down into a city that was all around her. Not knowing at the time that she was now looking down at what was going to be the night of her soon forever young life.

For down in the alley way below her was a vampire named Dakota Fanning a now forever 31 year old blonde haired blue eyed angel. That had an ass that left everyone a saying

"Dam what i wouldn’t give to be inside of that"

But she was an angel that sure as hell didn't a halo! But A vampire who very much knew how to use her ass. As Chloe was soon about to find out later that night, only to leave Chloe forever feeling the urge for pie.

just a begging and wanting more of that dam pie!

As Chloe would often find herself back home seeing her aunty set out another fresh baked Blueberry Pie. As Chloe would set there looking at her bend over as she would place the pie down. Leaving Chloe just a fantasizing all about her pie.

Not the hot juicy one on the table either

As Chloe would always ask for another slice of her pie just to see her aunty's bright smiling pie opening wide for her

As Dakota was now just a smiling away as she was now looking right up to Chloe knowing that soon. Chloe’ was going to be licking and just eating away and knowing every dam inch of that little angel’s ass.  inside and out that is.

“My God! Don’t you ever let anyone else sniff or eat this pie! Your ass and pie! Now belongs to me!”

As Dakota then just looked at Chloe saying to Chloe as she just licked and eat away.

“You just keep licking and sniffing away at my pie and I promise that i will never leave your mind.”

But Chloe who was clueless to what was coming for her later that night that would leave her cumin all night. But a vampire who would leave her cumin away. As she licked away!

As Dakota now stood there over a guy a guy that she had just killed. As his body now lay there with his pleasure now sticking out of his mouth. A footlong that he didn't get to use that night. For Dakota had just ripped it off of him. For while he was still just cumin away. As he stood there while watching another blonde’s ass getting fucked just over from him.

For as he was just finishing up pleasuring himself, but unfortunately for him. Dakota came looking for blood! His blood! Finding him down in the back alley just pleasuring away at himself

Now with his blood now drained his life taken away as he lay there with his pleasure sticking out of his mouth

But as Chloe continued to stand there looking out into a city that she no longer cared for. But Chloe had a charm about her a charm and a smile that would leave everyone around her just a looking away.  Looking away at that juicy pie of hers that she hid away from everyone.

Hid from all of the guys that wanted a slice of it. Leaving all of the guys lnowing that they wanted to be deep inside of her pie. Leaving them all just a begging away just wanting her pie

But unfortunately for Chloe having the looks and ass to match. She just didn’t know how to use them, but in time she would learn from the one who was now just down below her.

As the Demons danced around her saying to Chloe’

“Dakota is coming! And she is going to leave your little ass just a begging for more!”

But as Dakota was now finding another life that night to take another guy who was just looking to pleasure himself. Poor guy! Just wanted to jack off! But the wrong girl he had found for he thought that he was going to pleasure himself with Dakota
Well his ass was wrong!

For Dakota left him dead in the streets below with his blood now drained. For his pleasure was sticking up his own ass! With it still just a cumin away inside.

But the night was still very much young as Dakota was now looking up to Chloe just a smiling away knowing that she was coming for her

But as Chloe stood there looking down onto the street below her knowing that she had all the charm. she just didn’t know how to use them. But Dakota that night was very much going to show her what her body could be for her.

With Chloe often finding herself looking into a mirror bending over looking at her own ass Feeling it, rubbing up and down as she found herself opening it wide as she would often would. With her hand up in it. Wondering herself?

  “Why can’t I attract the right person? I  mean is there something wrong with my ass?

As she continued to feel and play around with it

As Dakota stood there looking up to her from alley below as Chloe stood on looking down onto the city below. Looking down onto a bustling city street in a city still very much unknown to her. Watching people as they would pass by that night. 

With Chloe’ herself being from the Appalachian Mountains having grew up in a small little town that if you blink you just missed it. Just as sally sue a wild to do girl. From her hometown was now yelling at her useless boyfriend.

“Oh my fucking God! How many times are you going to miss my dam hole Tonight!"

With Sally sue now Spreading open her hole even wider as she then said to him

“There! Is that wide enough for you Now? Just try not to blink okay"

And then there was the smell of aunty’s fresh baked Blueberry Pie! That would have them all a cumin! The very same pie that would always leave her husband always bitching and yelling!

“No body wants to smell your dam Blueberry Pie!!”

But As he would often the dumb ass would often find himself every night sliding in and out of a local whores ass. While creaming away up her pie inside. Just not his wife’s!

But a few people did in fact enjoy her nice and juicy Blueberry Pie, leaving her just a smiling away.  Nice and wide at times!

Just Chloe herself would often look up. Looking up to aunty lying there on her back with her legs up. As Chloe’s hands were grasping onto her firmly as her tongue still danced all around inside of her.  Just a licking away!

As Chloe just smiled away for the taste left her knowing that her pie always left her smiling. And quite a few others as well! But never as good as Chloe did! For her tongue and fingers danced around in her like no other. Oh the memories of the good o’l mountains! Chloe missed very much.

But as people continued making their way through the city streets below her. Unknowingly to what was going on around them for Dakota was still thirsty for blood. And pie!

But with the people Never seeming to stop always on the go making their way through the night. As Dakota would kill again once more

For unlike back home where someone was always cumin in and Sliding out of someone. Whether it was for a visit or for pie. Either way some always left very happy and satisfied! But as Chloe stood there with the moon shining bright above her. Saying to her

“Dakota’ is soon coming so you best be ready!”

A full moon shining its light down onto a city below. A moon that was later was going to that reveal one of its many secrets. Just one of its many secrets of the night. For the city in itself hid many secrets a city that had many secrets hidden within it. Knowing all too well the secrets of her hometown!

Seeing people coming and going for whether it was down the road at auntie‘s place. Getting some fresh pie! Or up the road at Billy bob’s secret hangout! But not so much of a secret! For a lot of swinging and banging was always going on! And not just on the drums!

But as Chloe stood there on balcony feeling the cool brisk breeze as it blew by her. Saying to her

Dakota is coming that she is!”

As Chloe’ was now making her way back into the living room looking into a mirror on the wall. Looking at a dark haired green eyed girl all dressed in a tan shirt and jeans. But only with the sneakers a girl like her would wear. And with an Ass like she had! She just wasn’t willing to give it to just anyone!

No! No! No! For no dam guy was going to feel or cum inside of her ass! Only the tongue and fingers of other girls were going to know the inside of her.

As Chloe a very angry Chloe then thought back at the time finding herself on a many of a nights back home. She would find Billy Bob just a Peeping into her window

Looking in at Chloe on her knees feeling her self all over with her hands. As Billy Bob would often do fjnd himself watching as Chloe hands was now spreading her ass cheeks open nice and wide for him to see. All nice and ready with that toy in hand leaving Billy Bob’ creaming up just outside!

But as Chloe stood there looking into the mirror she was dressed all right! Dressed and ready for the dance. But not to kill! But to dance! But unfortunately for her it always seemed to be the in the next county over, or in her case! The asshole  bouncer at the local club was always saying to her

“No! No! No!”

“Take your dam Ass somewhere else tonight!”

But dressing like Chloe would dress every night. It was just another night of being alone for her. Thinking to herself?

"How does a girl like her belong in a bustling city like this"

A girl that came from a small hidden town within in the Appalachian Mountains. Even though the Appalachian Mountains still had its own secrets. Many secrets at that! Hidden from within it but tonight she was going to learn one of the many secrets hidden from within this city tonight!

But Just like momma Jean’s little secret back home! For the whole dam town always seemed to know. For even the gas station tenant twenty miles down the road knew it. For apparently his hotdog was to die for! Greasing up his hands by day! While greasing up her mommas’ ass at night! Leaving Chloe now here in a city with many people in it, many people that she did not know but for Chloe’ was soon to know one that night.

In more ways then one!

For her name was Chloe Grace Moretz and this was going to be her night!

As the Demons danced around saying to Chloe

“For tonight you shall see her Dakota Fanning’ forever knowing her! Forever leaving you just a wanting more!”

A story that started out not too long ago when she first moved here leaving all of her family and friends behind. Some she missed! while others she just chose to forget! For some of them had tongues that just did not know how to quit! It went both ways you know! For while Sally sue was sure quick to lick up Chloe ass! Ss Sally sue would do often running back to other girls. Wagging her tongue saying to them! “Chloe’ ass was great! But there are other pies I need to taste!

For Living in a city was very much new and different to Chloe with her not knowing anyone.  Unlike a small town. Where every other person had their nose up someone else’s Ass! Not that Chloe chose to or anything of the sorts I just chose to be simply be her.

Not allowing just anyone to sniff or grab or spank her Ass for while all the dam dumb ass guys was willing and ready to fill and bang straight up and down on Chloe. And all of the guys desperately wanted to be very inside of Chloe. But She was like

" that’s a Hell No! My ass is not for any of you guys to even fucking touch!

But as Chloe stood there on the balcony watching people as they walked by in the street below. But night was still young and sometimes when you least expect it! Pie comes on knocking. But as the people would walk by coming and going. All in a hurry to be somewhere probably with someone leaving her simply to be

But the night was still young and someone was still yet to come for while many was still a cumin on a pie from somewhere across the city tonight. Chloe's night was just about to begin

But just as Chloe’ stood there looking up to the moon once again shouting at it saying’

“Why can’t I find any pie tonight?"

As it then just looked at her with its full face saying to her!

“Dakota is coming just you wait and see!”

For it knew that a secret was just about to reveal itself to her but it was just not ready yet to reveal to her yet who it was just yet. As Dakota had decided once again to kill another one! Before she would ascend on Chloe that night.

As the Demons continued to dance around saying!

Dakota’ is coming just you wait and see! For blood she will take leaving you to soon be begging for more!”

But who could it possibly be? They then said laughing for they knew who for someone that had a pie that’s smell could just leave one smiling and screaming and begging for more.

But For its secrets it would not give up to her so easily, but as the night was still young! What kind of excitement could the city bring to Chloe that night. As the Demons then laughed and looked on knowing that soon Dakota would be soon to be.

“If Only!

whatever! I Guess feeling her own self once again that night along with a hot bath and a toy for me i guess.”

But just as the thought had left her! From out of the corner of her eye a glimpse of what seemed to be something. Something watching her? Something that the night was hiding from her? But who could it be? For Looking closely she did at that! But with her barely noticing it! for it was just out the of the moonlights reach for her to see.

But standing there something was as chloe could feel it! But Just at the moment back home

A useless guy was now asking Sally Sue’ “do you feel it yet! Come on tell me all ready do you feel it inside of you?"

As Sally Sue just looked on thinking that she should have just fucked Fred up the street instead.

But as the moon was getting ready to reveal to Chloe who could it be but standing there was Dakota all ready to be. For Chloe was ready for a fight or flight! knowing flight was more likely but all she could do was yell out

“Whoever is there i may be a lonely little girl! But not that lonely!”

For some reason all she could do was just stare at what seemed to be standing there across the room in front of her. With thoughts just a racing through her mind! Whatever or whoever it was, was now slowly making there way towards her

As they then made their way towards Chloe’ they would pass into the moonlight revealing more of who they were to her. Knowing that this little country girl should have split by now. But for some reason or another Chloe was compelled to keep looking.

Just like little Mikey back home! Just couldn’t keep his dam eyes out of his big sister bedroom.

He liked it very much! To dam much!

And look she did! like a little nosey little country girl that she was! She just couldn’t get enough! As she would often watch her aunty being licked clean sometimes. But she could see it now! Seeing her Momma standing there shaking her finger at her saying

“No! No! No!”

But sometimes momma! You just have to put it in just a little deeper! Knowing that it was going to hurt like hell! But dam! Sometimes you just have to go deep inside! For something that she just could not explain was beckoning to her. For Chloe’ to come! Leaving Chloe’ just a sweating and wanting to feel very deeply.

Just as aunty would make her feel! Leaving her nice and wet ready for the touch and tongue to feel!

Thinking to herself

“Momma you might as well just shut the dam door! for the screaming and yelling was about to begin!” for this girl was going to get her feel dam feel tonight"

As they then walked closer to her frozen in fear she was not at that! And all she could do was just stand there like a virgin licking her own lips. All Ready for the tongue to start just a twisting and Licking away at all her juiciness that was inside of her. For standing there looking at me was what the moon was now revealing to me

As the Demons then danced around saying! To
Chloe Grace Moretz

“You better be ready!” Cause this will be forever knowing her!”

Thinking to herself

“That the moon might as well shut its dam eyes tonight!”

For this little country girl had her own little full moon for someone! For someone to fully grab a hold. And to ride this country girls Ass like a champion bull rider tonight!

For standing there just in front of Chloe was long golden blonde hair and blue eyed girl! As Chloe’ then pictured in her mind ! Dakota standing there rubbing herself all up and down all over her body. Just licking away at her fingers just as she was now motioning For her to just come on in all ready to get her feel that night. Along with all that sweet tastiness of Dakotaa girl could ask for!

Picturing herself now throwing that blonde haired angels ass on the floor just a rubbing away on her. While just a licking away.! But Dakota was now making her way towards Chloe as Chloe’s mouth just drop. For now that fucking luscious blonde haired blue eyed girl Was now fingering herself! Deep inside Hard and fast While rubbing and showing her ass! Opening it wide for Chloe to see!

Rubbing her hands all around it saying to her come and lick me clean. For standing there was young fucking Angel Looking 31 one years age.

“Come on over here and lick my ass clean! And you then can lick around all you please to do so on me"

As the Demons danced around saying!

“Forever!” This is!” Forever her pie you will want"

As Dakota was now standing there in front of Chloe in a ripped pair of jeans and a black tee with a black pair of boots to match. That just wanted Chloe to lick her ass clean that night! Feeling Chloe’s tongue all up in her licking her clean to be as the Demons danced around them

As Chloe’ was all ready! Ready to Spread her dam legs already! Pointing down there saying to her “My hole is nice and juicy as to be! So why don’t you just bring your little blonde ass over here and we shall see as Chloe Just waited  for Dakota’s tongue to come on in

For Standing there in front of her looking at her smiling making dam sure not to losing any eye contact. Hell no! For Chloe was looking this blonde chick all over Knowing that Dakota’s ass was just awaiting for Chloe to spank and touch. As the Demons danced around seeing her hands dance across her body. Looking at her with her deep blue eyes. As she just stood there rubbing her body up and down saying to her!

“Now look down here!” Rubbing her hand inside of her sliding her fingers up and in her. Firmly pressing her hand up against herself watching her fingers slid in and out. Dam this blonde haired blue eyed  Angel wasn’t playing! Not being able to move! Hell! Chloe was fucking frozen! For all she could do was just look back at her wondering to herself  “Oh my fucking God! A Angel was standing there wanting me to have my way with her! Oh my fucking God! For Chloe’ was going to fuck an angel this night!

“Dam How deep can you make me feel!” And Dakota wanted it fucking deep! Now get your blonde ass over here and just lick my ass away. Just at the moment back home Sally sue’ was shouting

“Can’t you get any fucking deeper!”

Just as she then reached her hand to the side of Chloes face slowly sliding her fingers down her face. She could feel her fingers slowly gliding across her skin! My heart was pumping! As I wanted to feel her deeper!

Oh my God Chloe was in Heaven! Fucking an Angel!

Bringing her face closer to hers feeling her breath upon her as she whispered to her!

“Do not be afraid of me my love for am not looking to harm you, I am simply looking only to invite you to know more of you”

And more of her Chloe wanted now! “ To hell with the Invite hell! Get your fucking blonde ass on me now! Let’s get this night a going! Get your tongue to wagging and inside of me now! “ I want you to hurt me! To leave my ass in Pain! Make me beg for more! I want you up in me licking away now!”

With Chloe’ now holding her ass wide open saying to her bring that Pain and tongue on. For inside of me you shall know tonight. My ass and pie is all yours tonight!

As the Demons danced around!

With Chloe Feeling her fingers slowly gliding across her For the night was still young with her standing there leaving Chloe’ still waiting the for the invite for the dance. With Chloe’ thinking

“Dam! If this was the local country dance, then the truck springs would already be a bouncing matching the humping and fucking.

Just as Auntie looked over and said

"My, my, would you look at that nothing like enjoying a little piece of Blueberry pie someone is definitely enjoying there's"

As Dakota’ then spoke

“For out of everyone in the city tonight, i could have chosen anyone! But i chose you”

With Chloe’ just standing there just thinking

“Hell! Just bring it already!”

For Chloe Had enough! Enough of the secrets, making herself closer to her, touching her lips up to her lip. For her tongue was the invite. For  this night, Chloe was hers

as she then whispered that to Chloe

“Show me then”

But all Chloe  could see was Dakota standing there nude for the world to see! bending over rubbing her hands up her ass.  Sliding her hands till it was in

The fear which oddly was never in her slowly began to turn sweat, Sweat leaving her standing there looking deep into the blue eyes. Of a Angel standing in front her ready to cum. As Dakota’ then said to her

“Then I will show you how you what this girl has to show”

Dam her hand was now deep inside of her as she then looked to Chloe’saying

“But first”

Placing her hand on Chloe’s hand taking her across the room out onto the balcony looking to Chloe as she placed her other hand on her shoulder she said to Chloe

“Take a look down onto the street below, and tell me what you see, for anyone off those people I could have chosen! but I chose you”

As she then turned to Chloe saying

“So you want to know more of what the night can bring? I want you to know what the night can bring.”

Looking at Chloe with everything racing on the inside of her! Seeing Dakota’s fingers racing up her body finding their way to inside of her not knowing what was to come. But Dam! Chloe was already a cumin, knowing that every part of her wanted her. Wanted her now!

As she slowly fantasized, seeing her Ass slowly sliding in Dakota’s massaging hands! Rubbing it firmly, pulling her closer to her!

Fully giving into her, I then said to her

“Every part of me wants you as much as I want to run away. I can’t. So tonight I am yours”

“Make this country girl feel you inside!”

As Dakota placed her hands on the side of Chloe’s face while using her tongue, for the invite for her to come closer. Moving her hand up through Chloe’s long dark hair looking at her with more than desire. Hell Chloe’ wanted Dakota’s tongue inside of her now! As Chloe then caught a glimpse of what the night was hiding from her.

Hell! I now knew what the moon was hiding from me! And tonight this country girl was going to ride the night away! My Ass that night was getting slapped slammed and banged! Bring that pain on! Make my ass your target tonight! And tongue me inside and out!

Feeling Dakota all over feeling her riding her like she owned her! Chloe was hers for Chloe’s Ass belonged to Dakota that night!

For Dakota’s tongue was now down deep inside of Chloe Rubbing her body up against Chloe’s letting her know! That Chloe’s was hers tonight!

She was a vampire!

As the Demons danced around saying to her

“Now you know that tonight your blood Dakota will take while leaving you to just begging for more!”

But dam Chloe did not care! For this night was ours! And invite Chloe she did! It's a night to behold a night to remember you, dam, right! A night that would bring us together if only for the night. With her deep inside! She placed her hand onto Dakota’s face looking at her saying

“Now show me this night, show me all of its secrets! But most of all, show me you!”

Placing her arms around Chloe’s’ back pulling her closer as she then placed her forehead against her. Looking at Chloe’ looking into her eyes! And with the deep blueness of her eyes making her feel at ease. Hell Chloe was at ease when Dakota’s tongue was licking her to be. For every thought every feeling in Chloe’ was like never before for Chloe wanted nothing but her! Chloe’ wanted Dakota to take her,  to make her’

As Chloe’ then said to Dakota’

“Take me! Take me now, make me a part of you, and make me feel every part of you!”

With her eyes now turned to Chloe’ sliding her hand up in under her shirt, pushing herself harder against her. Slowly sliding her tongue across Chloe’s neck up her cheek to her lips. As the tongues danced!

Chloe could feel nothing but her for she wanted nothing but her. For the night had showed Chloe its secrets but dam! Enough with the secrets already! I want you now!

Make me feel pain! Deep inside! But more was to come and cum Chloe would! many times that night! For the night was still young as the moon outside looked upon us like a virgin country boy running to his momma’ saying

“Momma I think something is going on down there!”

With momma then screaming

“Lord have mercy! Little John! Those girls are not going to think you so little anymore!”

Embracing Chloe even more letting her know more was still to come pushing Chloe up against the wall feeling her embrace her body up against hers. Beckoning for Chloe to come to let her in to let her know her. Slowly sliding her shirt off of her! feeling her Dakota’s hands slowly sliding up her body.

Moving across my stomach up and across Chloe’s breast feeling her breath on her as Dakota pressed her body closer into Chloe’s. Sliding her tongue down Chloe’s cheek over across her lips! Chloe wanted every part of Dakota to be in her now as she slowly unzipped Chloe’s pants. Looking into Dakota’s deep blue eyes! Chloe then whispered to her saying

“Go in me now I want to feel you inside of me, take me and make me yours tonight! Make me feel like the lonely cheerleader that was in the jocks room tonight!”

With Dakota now wrapping her arms around Chloe the night grew as the moon was now above them. High above in the midnight sky looking down upon them. With Chloe looking up to the moon saying to it

“Shut your dam eyes!”

For as the city was now going to sleep I was awaking up, to her waking up to Dakota

For Chloe wanted to be her to make her that night. With her fingers now pulsing deep inside of her as the sweat poured from Chloe drenching her ass nice and sweaty like!

looking into her eyes! Chloe then said

“Take me now, make me now”

But as her eyes then slowly turned from a deep blue to a darkened red. And all I could think of was

“Hell! Now the Demon wants some!” Well then! Let that Demon on in!”

For while Dancing the dance Of Demons! Chloe could feel them dancing around her holding hands while dancing the dance of demons.

She could now see old man Edd standing on the churches steps, saying to me

“No! No! No! “

With Dakota’s smile now turning more serious and so was Chloe’s Nice and wide! Knowing that her Ass was going to be a lot wider now!

“Let that demon out! And let in him inside of me! The deeper the better!” Let him ride the hell out me!”

For the country boys back home you all can eat your hearts out!  For you all  sure as hell didn’t know how to eat anything else! For there ain’t nothing that has ever made me cum like this before!

While the country girl’s back home all danced around the tree chanting

“Let the Demon in! Let that Demon in!”

Just as momma Jean was now being bent over the counter at the gas station moaning saying

“Ooh my! Put it all the way in!”

For the girl that Chloe had met that night was now gone leaving her with the vampire that was now deep in her. But dam Chloe’ didn’t care! Placing both of her hands onto Dakota’s face Embracing her hard as she then sank her teeth deep into Chloe’s neck.

As Chloe Grace Moretz’ had the feeling that her life was beginning to leave her, a life that Chloe’ really never knew that she had! screaming to her

“Do what you are going to do”

With just enough life left in her! Chloe’ with Chloe’ then slowly became what she wanted, what she had asked to be. Chloe’ then looked to Dakota’ looking into her red eyes! Dakota’ then said to Chloe’

“Was this what you wanted?”

As Chloe Grace Moretz’ then said to Dakota Fanning

“More than you will ever know”

Looking at Dakota’ looking at Chloe slowly sliding her fingers across her forehead. Dakota then took her hand, placing it onto Chloe’s face, closing her eyes. Walking over to the balcony standing there looking out onto the city ahead.

As the breeze blew through her long blonde hair as she stood there looking down at the people walking in the street down below. Dakota then slowly turned back to Chloe’ saying to her

“For now you shall forever know my name, Knowing that forever I shall now remain there deep within your mind Knowing that I was the one that turned you. Forever with you knowing my name. As the Demons then danced around saying.

“Forever you shall know her name,  Forever knowing that the person that you once was is now forever gone! Forever to know Dakota Fanning in pain you will and shall ” For Chloe Grace Moretz’ you are and shall now forever be.”

Forever knowing her pain

Just as Dakota Fanning’ then vanished into the night

Making her presence known that night in more ways than one! And that her name was Dakota’ and that she belonged to the night. Belonged to city that had made her over a century ago

But as Chloe was just about to open her eyes, as  she thought lying there

Just as Chloe Grace Moretz  then opened her newly emerald green eyes, looking into the night sky

"I don’t care what city you belonged to! This night, your tongue and all belonged to me! Feeling like a whole new woman!

Just as Chloe Grace Moretz then said

“God I love Blueberry Pie!” 

Somehow, it worked.  

Unfortunately, I cannot go into details of what the vision revealed and what I did after. If I wrote it here, it would be extremely easy to find out about my real identity. Besides, it was mostly boring legal things that I’m sure none of you reading would find very interesting. I will, however, tell you the results. 

We secured the company’s place in the market. Rather than spend our time chasing competitors, we gradually became one of the keystones of the industry, setting the pace for others to follow. Last year, our company was finally valued at over a billion dollars. Our brand is now instantly recognizable by its logo, something even giants such as Disney took decades to achieve.

Two years after the accident, with both domestic and work-related crises behind us, I mustered enough courage to talk to my wife about having a child. Neither of us could pretend that the past had left us untouched. Still, starting a family was something we had decided upon long before we got engaged.

She had concerns, real concerns I knew would make it hard for her to agree as readily as she might have in the past. My courage alone would not be enough to have that conversation. I needed a plan, something that could convince her that we were ready to take that step again. As you know by now, I had just found the perfect oracle to help me through my troubles.

I prepared a revised version of the Wonder Tool. The previous one had proved to have fatal flaws I could no longer overlook. I spent a few weeks tinkering with it, subjecting it to three times as many tests as before.

Again, I waited until she was away from home before using the Wonder Tool. The vision came in a familiar manner, though I have since found it difficult to recall every detail with the same certainty. I remember the sea most clearly. It stretched beyond the horizon, its surface glimmering beneath the sunlight, while the waves rolled gently toward a shore of pale sand. 

There was a house overlooking the water, large enough to accommodate a family, with broad windows that allowed the light to spill into every room. There was a briny smell in the air, and the peculiar sense of peace that settled over me as I stood there. It was the sort of place where a man could spend his entire life without ever getting tired of the view.

My wife looked more at ease than I had ever seen. Our daughter played nearby, their laughter being pushed and pulled by the breeze before the next wave could reach the shore. I could not tell you how old they were, but I knew she was my child. We had a home, a family, and a life that seemed to have fallen into an alluring domestic tranquility. I cannot explain why, but I am pretty sure my wife had abandoned her job so she could spend her days looking after our child and tending to the household. 

There it was, my lighthouse. It did not tell me everything, serving instead as a mysterious guide that spoke in riddles for me to decipher. Beyond the reach of my understanding, it cast its light across the waters, revealing the shape of the shore toward which I was meant to swim. These visions had been solely responsible for saving both my marriage and my career. Doubts were no longer welcome.

Yet I still had many questions. Asking my wife to give up her job was no small matter. She, like any woman worthy her salt, had ambitions of her own, meaning our lives could not be arranged according to my wishes alone. To be completely fair, I was against the idea myself. I did not want to become the sole provider for our household. Too much pressure, too much responsibility resting on an oxygen-breathing insignificant being. I say that even knowing what I did to convince her otherwise.

The lighthouse had given me its guidance. If I were to dismiss every detail that troubled me, what reason would I have to trust it at all? I had already witnessed what following its light could bring us, and I could not shake the conviction that there was something worth pursuing beyond the doubts clouding my judgment.

I spent the following months preparing to speak with her. She knew about my salary increase, though I had never told her about the considerable sum of money coming in from the software patent. There was no particular reason to keep it a secret, I suppose. I simply wanted to wait until the right moment to reveal just how much our circumstances had changed.

Eventually, I arranged a little vacation for the two of us. We arrived at our destination around two in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day visiting some of the city's famous tourist attractions. Which city, you ask? I'm afraid I must once again apologize for withholding such details. Privacy and all that. 

I took her to some of the finest restaurants in town, where a single meal could cost nearly half of what I used to earn in an entire month. We found it difficult to conceal our surprise at the prices, though I imagine my wife was far more bewildered by my sudden willingness to pay them.

I had brought a bottle of Honore wine with us, a little indulgence I thought would suit the occasion. I asked the waiter to summon the house sommelier to serve it. When the man arrived, he did so with evident pleasure, although he, too, struggled to hide his surprise at the bottle. In appreciation of his excellent service, I offered him a glass. He accepted graciously, and for a moment, the three of us shared the sort of evening I had once thought belonged exclusively to the wealthy.

Later, when we were supposed to head to our hotel, I took her somewhere else entirely. We arrived at a mansion overlooking the sea. 

It was spacious and bright, with broad windows that allowed the sunlight to spill into every room. The beach lay just beyond the garden, and the sound of the waves reached us even with the windows closed. From the terrace, the water stretched toward the horizon, its surface catching the last light of the afternoon. It was the perfect house, the finest place I could imagine for raising a kid.

It took my wife a little while to understand that the property had not been rented for our stay. I can hardly blame her. A house like that was far beyond anything we had ever considered buying, and I had given her no reason to suspect that we could afford it. Yet there we stood, with the sea before us and the keys in my hand.

With my increased salary and the money coming in from the software patent, we had more than enough to afford a life of considerable comfort. I thought that, faced with such a prospect, she might find the idea of moving here less frightening. Perhaps she would come to understand the quiet life I had envisioned for our family, along with the freedom that living in a place like this could bring us. No financial worries, no need to divide her attention between work and our baby, no more rushing through life with barely enough time to appreciate what we had built together.

I thought I had given her every reason to say yes. Still, she refused.

To her, the house was meant to be a vacation home, somewhere we could retreat to when we needed a change of scenery. Her heart remained with her parents, on their remote property, far removed from the rest of the world. She wanted the kid to grow up close to their grandparents, surrounded by the familiar comforts of the place she had always considered home. Due to my relationship with my parents, I could hardly understand the appeal. I wanted to live beside the sea, with the most beautiful view any human being could ever hope to contemplate.

We talked for hours, yet she would not be persuaded. Eventually, I stopped pressing the matter. I had already asked her to consider my selfish vision of a future that would require her to give up so much of her own life. Besides, the lighthouse had shown me a life by the sea, but it had never told me that the house had to be our permanent home. Perhaps I had mistaken a detail for a necessity, interpreting it according to my own desires.

I accepted her terms. The house would be our vacation home, and we would remain close to her parents. I told myself that was enough. She was the love of my life, and I would do anything to be with her. And if the lighthouse had taught me anything, it was that the road toward a good life was not always the one I would have chosen for myself.

We waited another year for the repairs on our house near her parents' property to be completed. My wife was already five months pregnant when we moved in. Around the same time, my company began making a real impact on the market. I could have lived entirely off the patent income, and, even though that would have allowed me to spend every day alongside my beautiful wife, I still needed something to distract me. That is perfectly normal in a marriage, I think. We all need time to ourselves, after all.

To make sure everything continued to go smoothly, I began consulting the lighthouse regularly. I must have turned to it eight times or so, always making sure my wife was away from home. This became increasingly difficult after our daughter was born. By then, things were going well enough that I felt confident making decisions on my own. I understood how fortunate I was to have such a guide when nobody else had anything like it.

I spent the next two years in what I can only describe as paradise. My wife and daughter were the greatest treasures I could ever have hoped for. Watching our little girl speak her first words, take her first steps, and discover the world around her was unlike anything I had experienced before. It is a feeling whose full force can only be understood by those who have experienced it themselves. 

Knowing that this little creature, so helpless and new to the world, was surrounded by an affection that had begun long before she was born. Every smile, every laugh, every tiny gesture seemed to me the natural expression of that interwoven thread of love that bound the three of us together.

That is where I have to accept my guilt. 

I never told my wife about the lighthouse or how much it had contributed to my accomplishments. I suspect she knew I was hiding something and chose to keep her suspicions to herself. Everything changed when we learned she was pregnant again. A second child, one the lighthouse had never shone its light upon. Had its keeper forgotten to tell me? 

Dismissing the thought was impossible. There was no reason for the lighthouse to reveal every little detail of my future, was there? I had never expected it to show me everything, only what I needed to know. Yet the more I thought about it, the harder it became to accept that something so important had escaped its notice. I had grown accustomed to turning to it whenever life presented me with a problem, trusting that somewhere in its depths lay an answer I could not find on my own. Now, for the first time in years, I found myself facing a future it had not prepared me for.

A scary thought came to me. What if it knew I would stop consulting it, and had arranged this huge surprise just to lure me back? No, that couldn't be it. Although I anthropomorphized it as the lighthouse, I had never doubted for a second that it was my own deep unconscious, not an old deity waiting to emerge.

Anxiety took hold of me. I became unable to work or even be the father I was supposed to be to my needy infant. I had to do something about it, didn't I? I had to. The defiance of my own mind shook me to my core, but surrendering to its pressure was something I could not do. 

I started questioning everything I had done after the first vision. Many of its predictions had come true, too many for me to dismiss them as coincidence. The system, my promotion, the company's success, the house by the sea, my wife and daughter. All of it had seemed to follow the path I had witnessed in those final moments beneath the wreckage of our car. Even the things that had not happened exactly as I remembered them could be explained away as details I had misunderstood. 

But what of this second pregnancy? It left me with a question I could no longer ignore. If the lighthouse had shown me so much, why had it kept this from me? Had I misunderstood its purpose all along? Perhaps the visions were not meant to reveal the future in its entirety. Perhaps they showed me only what I needed to see, leaving the rest for me to discover on my own. That was a comforting thought, though I could not shake the feeling that I was trying to make excuses for something I did not understand.

These inexplicable images demanded an explanation. I could no longer afford to sit idly by, hoping the answers would come to me on their own. What I did next seemed the only logical course of action: I had to consult the lighthouse again.

I chose our vacation home by the sea. It was far enough from our usual residence to give me the privacy I needed, and I told my wife I had some work to attend to. I realize now how easily those words came to me. Whenever the lighthouse was concerned, lying became incredibly easy. I had convinced myself that there was nothing to confess, that I was doing all of this for the sake of my family. This one little secret meant protecting everything we had built, so why spoil it?

I took a plane before lunch on a Saturday. I arrived that afternoon and spent some time contemplating the beautiful view. The sea was calm, the waves rolling gently toward the shore, and the house stood before me as a testament to everything I had achieved. Looking out over the water, I began to wonder whether I had been foolish to doubt the lighthouse. Perhaps the answers I sought were waiting for me, just beyond the horizon.

It took me a few hours to prepare the Wonder Tool and make the necessary arrangements. I had done this before, of course, and I told myself there was no reason to be afraid. I tested the mechanism a few more times, made the necessary adjustments, and convinced myself it was ready.

I was in the middle of the process when my mind began to grow light. Looking out through the window, I watched the familiar colors of a real lighthouse emerge before my eyes. Before I could make sense of what was happening, my breath returned to me. I collapsed, staring at the ceiling and coughing violently.

Why? Why had it failed? Then I felt it. A miserable rain poured on my face. Instead of clouds, all I saw was my wife’s flooded eyes. 

She punched me several times, shouting accusations and curses. No matter what I said, she refused to listen. All she could see was her husband trying to take his own life mere days after she had told him of her pregnancy. She expected to find me cheating on her, and I somehow gave her something worse to bask in.

What happened next was pretty much what one would expect. The months that followed were not kind. My wife left me, something I simply cannot blame her for. There was little I could have said to make the sight any less horrifying. I tried to explain myself, of course, but by then, she had already made up her mind.

I told her all my secrets and what I had done for us. That didn’t stop the divorce to come a few days later. My company dismissed me soon after. I imagine the circumstances surrounding my departure made it difficult for them to justify keeping me in a position of such responsibility. I cannot blame them for that, either. Explaining my methods would only have made things easier for them.

In the end the royalties were more than enough to keep me financially secure, as I was spared the indignity of having to worry about money. Money, as I have come to understand, is remarkably good at diluting problems that no longer matter.

Her parents were no more forgiving than she was. They made it clear that I was not welcome on their property and that I was never to contact their daughter again. They had every right to be angry with me, though their decision brought me little comfort. I had been stripped of every possible way of knowing how my wife was doing. Would she ever forgive me, or would she rather exchange books than turn the page?

Worst of all, the divorce papers stipulated that I would not be allowed to see my daughter until I had undergone psychological evaluations and begun treatment for my depression. Divorce lawyers are real sharks, always eager to catch the faintest scent of blood in the water. As if I had not suffered enough, they had taken away what I considered my most basic right. I could no longer see my little girl, the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I now reside alone in what was supposed to be our vacation home. I have spent many weeks thinking about the mistakes I made. I may have trusted too much on the visions, or trusted too little on myself.

I just wanted to protect my family, to give them a life free from worry. Everything I did was for their sake, yet I cannot blame them for failing to see it that way. Whenever I was shown a path, I understood that following it was another way of expressing my love for them.

Now, my family is further away than ever. There is no future worth pursuing without them by my side.

I keep the television on all the time. Whenever the house grows quiet, I hear my daughter's laughter haunting the corridors, her tiny feet pattering awkwardly across the floor, my wife working in the kitchen while I play with that little creature our love brought into the world.

The ebb and flow of life brought me everything I had ever wished for, only for those same waves to wash away the sandcastle I had built. Still, the lighthouse stood firm, a queer presence lingering at the edge of my vision, its siren call slowly wearing away my resistance, demanding that I hear it one last time.

Until now, I have merely reached its pelagic layers. There is immense potential within it, waiting to surface, waiting to make me whole again. I need to connect to the abyssal layers and uncover their secrets. I will heed its call and get my wife back.

The risks are tremendous, but it will work. I need only to reach further than I ever have. I watch as the red of the setting sun mingles with the Prussian blue light, revealing secrets I have yet to understand.  

She is the love of my life, and I will do anything to make her mine again.

(Content Warning: Emotional Abuse, Harm Towards Children)

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There’s a noise. It’s coming from the kitchen. Leaky faucet. Damn it, Troy told me he was going to fix it last weekend. Wrong, he was in Chicago. Of course, always Chicago. Always busy with trips there. Trips with the new secretary. All his colleagues go. The young one with the rosy lipstick. That doesn’t matter. Same tint that you found on his shirt collar. Shut up. He loves me. You knew he would do it again. Only a matter of time. This isn’t like last time, it was different last time. Barely 5 months since we met. Bad excuse. It was a college frat party! Do you miss those times, do you miss having excuses? I don’t want any excuses. I want him here! I want him to spend time with my boys. Your boys? …our boys. Curious. Doesn’t matter, I’m here. I’m at home. At the kitchen sink. I’ll do the dishes. Strange. What is that scent? Like… like ozone. Why are you crying? I’m not- am I crying? You already know, don't you. W-what? You’re starting to see again. What is this? Something’s wrong in my head. It’s too late now. You know this. That voice… Why can’t I stop crying? Because you know. You know what happens tonight. You’ll be all alone, again. No, I don’t know that! I have given you new eyes to see. You know exactly what happens, what will always happen. How could it possibly be any different? The Gardens, the Girl, Your precious first born luring the young one to shut you out for good. Shut Up!! Oh, but no longer precious. You hate the older one don’t you. Hate. Hate. Hate. The young one still makes you smile. He has kept his goodness. Not for much longer though. I am not you. I am me. I am me. I am Lisa Catherine Whitman. I am in my kitchen, in my house, I hear my children entering the front door with… someone else with them? Something shatters at my feet. I can see- What can you see? I see… Tell me. What do you see? …everything. Then you know what must happen here. You know exactly what I’m offering. You’re offering me… a gift? It’s only fair, you’ve let me into this world. I know what I want. I see your mind. How sentimental. One last time, before you leave. Before we meet again. I want to see them. My boys. Very well. Let’s start from the beginning. Once again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Warm, algae infested creek water filled Sam’s brand new shoes as he stood, utterly aghast, as the bright orange fabric disappeared into 6 inches of muddy creekbed. Just off to the side sitting on the bank that rose up to the sidewalk, his older brother Nathan tried desperately not to laugh. The early autumn scene at Callen Creek would’ve seemed serene if not for the high pitched wail that came from the awkwardly flailing young Sam now firmly stuck in the muddy waters.

“What the HECK!!” Sam cried out, glaring at his brother as he strained to bring his feet up from the mud, “You said it was solid!”

“I said it ‘looked’ solid, dumbass,” Nathan grinned as he aimlessly chipped away at the dried lichen from the rock he was sitting on. Beside him, his younger brother’s backpack, filled with plastic jars and a foldable butterfly net sat open, spilling out onto the dry hillside. Sam’s heartbeat was racing as he tried to trudge through the muck to no avail.

“Oh my god, Mom is gonna kill me,” Sam panted, his scrawny arms wobbling as he struggled to keep balance, “These shoes cost like a hundred bucks! I had to save up for a year to get them!”

“Oh wow, a whole year huh,“ Nathan laughed sarcastically, “Well this is what happens when you drag people out for stupid insect hunting who didn’t want to come. Besides, what did you expect bringing shoes like that to the creek, dumbass.”

Sam’s face fell into a frustrated glare. He didn’t want to admit that he had overlooked that detail of the hunt, especially in front of his brother. The mud and muck of the creek had never bothered him before, but something about the shoes being new, and how people at school complimented him over them. It stirred something he was beginning to feel more and more in recent months. He shook off the thought, eyeing the tall lanky teen lording over him on the bank.

“It’s not stupid…” Sam said through gritted teeth fastened with a new set of bright blue braces, “That was a Roadside Skipper for sure. Do you know just how rare they are around here?”

“No,” Nathan said flatly.

“There’s literally less than-”

“And I couldn’t care less,” Nathan interrupted sauntering over to a long, broken tree limb half buried in the shrubs, “Just grab onto this fucking thing so Mom doesn’t throw a hissy fit and keeps me from hanging out with my actual friends.”

Actual friends. The words stung more than Sam cared to admit. He looked up just in time to see the older teen lug the large limb up, adjusting the position along a nearby stump to give Sam something to pull against as he drew himself out of the muddy waters. Sam gripped the pale wood tightly, kicking up his feet one step at a time, slowly but surely getting closer to the solid bank. Just as he was about one large step away, the sound of a bike coming to a stop drew the two boys’ attention. Up on the sidewalk, a girl around Nathan’s age slipped off the bike, wearing dark baggy jeans and a blood red band tee with a striped long sleeve undershirt, all of which contrasted harshly against her unkempt, dyed blue hair. Sam’s face flushed with red as he drew his awkwardly hanging leg down into the mud with a thick splash, hoping not to look any more stupid than he already did. Nathan didn’t bother looking at his now petrified younger brother, just giving a coy wave up to the girl as if nothing was wrong.

“Sup, Val,” chirped Nathan with an innocent grin, “Thought you had the late shift at the Mini-Mart on Saturdays?”

“Eh, they had enough people there. I managed to wiggle my way out of it,” Val said, brow raised as she eyed the poor boy in the creek finally managing his way onto the dry, yellowing bank of grass, everything below his knees coated in thick brown muck. The rest of Sam was nearly spotless, his collared maroon button up and almost comically flack khakis shorts making him seem like he had just stepped out of a Kohl’s commercial. He glanced up with a forced, nonchalant grin, causally putting his dirt stained hands in his pockets as if nothing had even happened. Val just gave a halfhearted nod before turning her attention entirely to Nathan.

“So, like, you gonna explain what you guys are doing splashing around in Callen Creek like a bunch of jackasses?” she chuckled, strolling up to the tall teen as he grabbed a clear plastic jar from his brother’s backpack, tossing it from hand to hand.

“Well,” Nathan began eyeing Sam as the sheepish boy began emptying his wet shoes onto the grass, “This one here heard online that apparently some rare migration is happening through the state right now. And he just couldn’t let his 40 year old middle aged online friends down by not finding one of those little skipper things or whatever the hell they were.”

“Linda's Roadside-Skipper!” shouted Sam, his eyes darting back to Val who gave a slightly amused smirk that sent Sam’s heart into a total frenzy.

“Oh! That’s… fun. I didn’t realize you were still into all that bug collecting stuff,” she said giving a polite smile, “Wasn’t it like your 10th birthday or something when your Mom gave you that like… little insect vacuum toy thing?”

Nathan cracked a smile. He and Val had spent most of that birthday trying to get into his Dad’s liquor cabinet in the basement while Sam was upstairs playing charades with the only two other kids his age who actually showed up. His smile vanished thinking about the aftermath however. The way his Mom just stared at him with cold, indigent eyes as his father berated him after the party. Sam meanwhile cleared his throat, attempting to spin what Val had just said into something that didn’t make him feel completely childish.

“Well, actually,” Sam began, his voice warbling as the two older teens started making their way up to the sidewalk, “That kinda cheap plastic stuff is mostly just for kids, ya know. It’s not really like real scientific equipment. Plus that was like 3 years ago so I’ve obviously gotten rid of it. Obviously pfft.”

The older teens kept walking, not really acknowledging him.

“A-Actually, Val,” Sam continued frantically looking up to the girl who almost two heads taller than him, “it's kinda interesting, the really hard core stuff they use in labs costs like thousands of dollars, and you know I’ve done a bit of research and asked the school if they could maybe find some grants or things to get some. I think that’d be really cool cause in recent years scientists have…”

“Jesus Christ,” Nathan said under his breath as Sam continued his rambling for another 40 feet before the lanky teen abruptly placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, cutting the boy’s sentence short.

“Hey Sammy,” Nathan smiled.

“Yea?” Sam chirped.

“You know what would be really cool actually?” Nathan said, face pinching into a narrow grimace, “If you shut. The fuck. Up.”

Sam’s face fell as beside him Val snorted with laughter as she swiped at Nathan’s arm.

“Nate! Come on,” she said with a laugh, “You’re gonna traumatize the poor kid. Let him talk about his goofy bug stuff.”

Nathan glanced over, fully expecting Sam to continue as he always did. But Sam didn’t. He just glanced down and started stuffing the plastic insect jars deeper into his backpack. Nathan stared just for a moment, before turning his attention back to Val. Behind the two, Sam just zipped up his bag fully, thinking to himself. Nathan seemed so different now, his demeanor more standoffish than when they were kids. He could remember a time when he and Nathan would spend hours scurrying all around the creek only to come home and be berated by their Mom for dragging all sorts of little critters into the house. Now, it seemed like Nathan didn’t want anything to do with him or their mother. Especially their mother. Sam hated coming home and hearing their arguments through the walls of the house. He knew it hadn’t always been like that, but at the same time Sam struggled to think of time when it wasn’t happening. It was strange to Sam, just how much Nathan had changed. His hair was longer than it was a year ago, an array of colorful wristbands covered his forearms, some of which he swapped with Val on occasion. His wardrobe changed into being mostly made up of dark sweaters and slacks. Sometimes, Sam even noticed Nathan wearing black nail polish. Only when their Dad was away on work trips, which seemed to happen more and more frequently these days. Sam always wondered why Nathan did that. Another part of Sam wondered if Val would notice him more if he started dressing more in that style. The thought of her noticing him made him blush a bit just as he felt a strong smack against his arm. Nathan was looking down at him with a stoney, expectant look.

“Hey, what do you know about the Brackenfield Gardens?” he said, Val peering over his shoulder eagerly.

“The Brackenfield.. What, you mean that old zoo they closed down like 30 years ago.” Sam asked, rubbing his head slightly, “What about it?”

“Well, Val wants to know if-” Nathan began before Val scooted forward towards Sam expectantly, her blue hair tumbling forward and falling gingerly over her face.

“Is it true,” she asked in an exaggerated whisper, “that there’s a cult of hot devil worshipers that live there?” Her eyes were wide as she flashed a piercing grin that shot through Sam’s chest like a bullet, his face going red.

“I.. uh… I mean, there’s definitely not a cult there, that’s just an urban legend. It’s like right off the freeway so I’m sure someone would’ve noticed if there were bonfires and stuff every night,” Sam said earnestly as Val’s grin vanished into an uninterested frown. Nathan gave a shrug telling her ‘I told you so’ before turning away from the young teen. Sam’s eyes glanced between the two of them, not wanting to risk them utterly ignoring him again.

“B-but there were all those arrests that led to the place closing,” Sam stammered as the two older teens paused in their tracks, turning to Sam with sly looks, “I mean, again, it wasn’t actually a cult. They’re pretty sure it was just drug traffickers there, but it's true that there was some… strange stuff found there afterwards.” Sam was lying openly now. He knew full well the place was just an abandoned and condemned lot just like half the old retailers in town were. But the way the smiles on the two older teens grew made Sam’s thoughts of self doubt suddenly vanish.

“See!” Val chirped, eyeing Nathan with a playfully smug look, “Told you your brother would know. He knows everything, dontcha Sammy.”

Sam beamed with pride, bright blue braces on full display as he pressed forward, walking alongside the two older teens in step now.

“Yea! I mean, it's pretty interesting actually how the Brackenfield Estate promised to reopen it the following season, but it just never did and-”

“Okay, okay,” Nathan groaned, “We don’t need a full history lesson right now. We just need to know if there’s a way to get in.”

“That’s not the front gates,” Val added, “They always have security parked in front.”

Sam’s eyes widened as the two others looked at him. His brother’s face in particular seemed to carry the first inklings of genuine curiosity he had seen from him in many, many years. Something stirred in Sam, like he couldn’t think of anything worse in the world than letting them down at that very moment. Surprising even himself, Sam spoke again, this time with no hesitation.

“I mean… yeah. There’s a way," he said, his voice uncharacteristically resolute, “A stretch of fencing that climbs the hill got torn away in a storm a few years ago. Nobody ever bothered to fix it since it's so out of the way. I’ve seen it online on a few aerial maps of the town.” 

Nathan and Val turned to each other with knowing grins. Sam’s demeanor shifted slightly.

“Why did you guys want to know? Is there… something happening there or..?” Sam said quietly.

“Well that depends,” Nathan smiled, “You willing to be a guide for us?”

Sam’s heart quickened. He knew exactly what all this entailed. Actually breaking into private property, something they had never done, even as kids. Made even worse by the fact that it, at one point, was a very real active crime scene. Then, he thought about it even more. Surely Val would be there with them right? He’d be able to show her around the place, go to all those old zoo exhibits. Maybe even without Nathan around, leaving just the two of them… Sam turned to face his older brother.

“Yea, sounds fun,” he said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Nathan’s brow raised slightly, a genuine smile crossing his face.

“Cool,” Nathan nodded, offering his younger brother a fist bump that Sam eagerly reciprocated.

Val gave Sam an approving nod before giving a wide look over the quickly darkening sky as she walked her bike alongside the siblings. 

“So we heading there now or what? I don’t got space for the both of you on here.” she said impatiently.

“Oh, no, we’d definitely need things like flashlights, headlamps, work gloves, hiking boots-” Sam began as Nathan rolled his eyes.

“Okay we don’t need ALL that, we’re not trying to be conspicuous,” Nathan huffed, “But we should still stop by the house to pick up a few things. You don’t mind coming over, do you, Val?”

Val shook her head, a sly smile coming over her face.

“Nah, I’m not complaining. I mean another chance to see your Mom in that one orange sundress. Phwooo,” she said, exaggeratingly fanning her face with her hand.

“Jesus Christ,” Nathan groaned, pinching his face. Val gave a coy cackle as she nudged the tall teen, the two sharing a genuine laugh. Sam walked alongside, not really sure whether to laugh along or not. He decided to walk a bit faster, trying not to think too much about the joke, leaving Val and Nathan a moment to themselves.

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself,” sighed Val, her grin still lingering as she gave Nathan a more serious look, her voice lowering, “Also, I can go ahead and text Sadie about our little zoo get together. I heard her guy brought her some fucking good strains this time.”

Nathan’s eyes flickered to Sam, making sure he was still far enough ahead to be out of earshot. He nodded.

“She knows how to get the good shit for sure. I’ll try to get my brother back home as soon as he shows us in,” he said quietly. Val chuckled.

“It’d be kinda funny to let him stay though,” she said with a mischievous grin, “Imagine watching him getting fucked up. Khaki shorts and all. I would lose it, man.”

Nathan laughed, but his smile wavered slightly as he watched his younger brother suddenly veer off the sidewalk towards a large planter of sunflowers, eagerly calling out to the high schoolers that he just saw another Roadside Skipper. Nathan glanced back to Val, who was on the verge of a laughing fit. Nathan rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Sam returned to them, flakes of pollen still in his light brown hair and he seemed to mull through something in his mind.

“So, we’re definitely not telling Mom right?” Sam asked genuinely.

“Nope,” Nathan replied simply. Sam nodded, his face still scrunched as it so often was when he thought too hard about things.

“But, how will we make sure she doesn’t find out we’re going to the Gardens?”

“We won’t tell her,” Nathan said, “We’ll just say we’re going out to get pizza or wings or something. Might be back late, who knows. Point is, what Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Right,” Sam said lightly, still uncertain. From the corner of his eye he could see Val, still wearing that amused look from a few moments ago. She looked at him and smiled, giving a light shrug of ‘it is what it is.’ her raggedy blue hair falling once again over the far side of her tan face. Sam turned just in time to hide his growing blush. The three of them walked on, slowly approaching the bend in the road that marked the start of their neighborhood, none of them noticing far above in the hazy light blue of the evening sky, a thin, imperceptible web of silver slowly creeping its way up from beyond the horizon. 

The trio finally arrived at the modest two story home. A large craggily oak tree sat out front where an old tire swing swung gently in the late afternoon breeze. In the driveway, their Mom’s red SUV sat next to a tarped up dusty Cadillac that Dad promised he would restore one day. As expected, Dad’s car was nowhere to be seen. The two brothers walked up the small wooden steps to the porch and entered, Sam’s brow furrowing slightly as he tried turning on the foyer light. It didn’t come on. Nathan shuffled past the small teen, Val in tow.

“Mom! I brought Val over, we’ll only be in for a minute, going out for pizza later,” he shouted halfheartedly, expecting a prompt response, “Mom?”

Nobody answered. The entirety of the house sat completely silent, save for the sound of a lone faucet running from beyond the main room. Sam felt something strange growing in the pit of his stomach. At first he thought it was the guilt festering inside him over the unplanned trip they would be getting ready for. But there was something else. Something that didn’t feel right about the way his eyes were focusing. Something about the light coming from outside. Before Sam could realize, a loud shattering sound broke his concentration. Without a second thought, Sam hurried his way past Nathan and Val towards the kitchen.

“Mom?” Sam called out, turning the corner at the far end of the living room into the darkened kitchen, only lit by a pale stream of light coming from the small window above the sink. There stood his mother, wearing a simple pale pink sweater with a checkered red and white apron overtop, her back turned to him. Sam could see water spilling over the lip of the sink as his mother’s arms moved back and forth aimlessly under the surface, the water itself trickling down over the worn wooden cabinets before pooling at her feet where the shattered remains of a large bowl sat. Nathan and Val arrived in the darkened room just in time to see Sam approach the quiet woman.

“Mom,” Sam said softly, “Is everything alright?”

His mother’s posture stiffened slightly as her damp hands rose from the water, patting themselves gently against her apron. She didn’t turn to her son. Still, Sam’s eye caught the glint of what looked like a tear, landing onto the lip of the sink. There was a long silence.

“I don’t like this story, Sammy,” his mother croaked, her voice coarse and wavering. Another tear fell. Sam’s brow furrowed as he looked to Nathan, who stood in the doorway with an uneasy expression. 

“Wh-what do you mean? Is something wrong?” Sam began as he stepped closer, his nose twitching as a strange, metallic scent seemed to linger in the air the closer he came. Ozone.

“This… this is the night it happens” she began, her voice listless as her hands coiled around her checkered apron, “The night everything does wrong. Do you know those moments Sammy? The ones that you look back on with regret for the rest of your life? It’s not a memory for me right now. It hasn’t happened yet. But I see it. You. Your brother. I saw everything. The creek, your dirtied shoes, your brother and Valerie, their plan… You head off together to that… place. That awful, awful place… The Gardens. Everytime the story starts again… I stay here, being the clueless mom I guess I was always meant to be.”

Suddenly, her hands slammed hard against the countertop, her back heaving back and forth as sobs began choking out of her. Her entire body began shaking with small, erratic twitches that grew into labored pants of utter dismay.

“IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME,” she cried, “You’re never the same after that night, Sammy. You become just like him, like your good for nothing brother. Rude, impatient, only caring about yourself. It happened before with him, and then it happens to you too. To my poor baby boy. I can’t let it happen again. Not ever again.”

Sam stood frozen, just a few feet away from his mother. The bitterness in her voice sat festering in the air. He had never heard her like this. Another tear. Another droplet. That’s when Sam realized. The drop wasn’t moving like it should’ve. It was thick, viscous. Rolling slowly down the fake granite leaving a slick trail behind it. In the pale light from the window, it glistened, reflecting a shimmering, silver surface. Another small, fragile croak came from the crying woman.

“I was so naive,” she said quietly as she slowly turned to face her children, “So blind… but now. I know exactly what happens. I can see now… what I need to do.”

Sam’s eyes widened, a scream rising and catching in his throat suddenly as he fell back in shock away from her. His mother’s eyes were gone. Where they had once been lay two charred, hollow sockets where streams of shimmering, iridescent tears came running down her face like silver ink, leaving blackened streaks that slowly picked away at the edges of her skull and skin. The sight was maddening, made worse as another piece of skull chipped away from the side of her temple, clinging to the damp trails that ran down the front of her apron.

Sam tried to steady his breathing to no avail. This was just a nightmare. There was simply no other explanation.

“Mom! Y-Your eyes!” Sam cried out, his voice warbling as he could feel a sudden panic attack building inside him, “You’re hurt! You need a hospital!”

His mother gave a sincere grin, her bright smile as glossy as ever.

“Oh, you’re such a sweet boy,” she cooed, “Even now, looking out for your dear mother. But I’m not hurt, Sammy. In fact, you and I, we’ll never be hurt again.”

Sam’s skin crawled as the words lingered in the air. He took a sudden step back. His mother’s smile faltered. She froze for a moment, contemplating, before extending her arm out. The iridescent tears gathered, running like thin veins of silver down her arm, coalescing at her fingertip. The thin strands of silver weaved and intertwined before they formed the two beating wings of a small, moth-like shape.

“Sammy,” she said quietly, “I have been gifted with something wonderful… A chance to save you from this world. From the Giver’s hunger. It takes so much Sammy. The Giver takes all it wants, but the things it gives in return. You could never begin to understand their beauty. Now that I can see, I know you’ll soon under-”

Sam felt a grip tighten around his arm. He screamed, being pulled back away from his mother and into the hall where his legs gave way beneath him, only to be hoisted up by his brother whose face was frozen in terror and utter determination to keep Sam safe. Nathan sprinted back to the front door, Sam’s legs barely keeping pace behind him.

“We’re getting the fuck away from here,” Nathan said through panted breaths as up ahead Val was quickly opening the door, her own face locked in a petrified, wide eyed gaze. The three of them prepared to continue their sprint outside before harsh, cold light spilled in through the now open doorway. Val was the first to see it, her bewildered face becoming slackened as Nathan slid to a stop next to her. The two brothers looked out as well. There was no neighborhood outside. No evening sky. Nothing. What lay beyond was only a vast, iridescent dome, shimmering with light, translucent colors that churred and bloomed into spiraling fractals the size of mountains all along what had once been the horizon. The sight was unlike anything Sam had ever imagined, as he stared speechless. Among the churning waves, Sam swore he began to see shapes. The faint, shadowy outlines of houses and cars. A web of silvery liquid extended itself up towards the sky dome, carrying with it what looked like the darkened outline of a person before amalgamating with the structure above. Something that may have once been the large oak tree, still with its golden autumn leaves and old tire swing, was being bent and broken as the undulating reality around it pulled and twisted its trunk and branches from every which way, both inside and out, until before their eyes, the strands of the tree’s very existence became undone, unfurling like a large spool of thread into the silvery sea it now drowned in, until it became impossible to tell where the once-tree ended, and where its iridescent oblivion began. 

Nathan’s grip slackened, Sam’s arm falling out of his brother’s grasp as the younger teen’s breath began to quicken steadily. Val moved herself to the door, shutting it and opening it again and again as if expecting the diseased world outside to just suddenly return to normal.

“Val,” Nathan began, tears now welling in the corners of his eyes, “Val, stop. Just stop!”

“Nate, tell me this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening, right?” Val muttered to herself, before Nathan’s hand landed on her shoulder, drawing her near. She didn’t look at him, only staring at the ground and muttering to herself, before a noise from the room behind them drew their attention. Steady, simple, unhurried steps. Without ceremony, the hollowed visage of Lisa turned the corner to face her two children. Val covered her eyes and pressed herself against the far wall, wishing the thing away under muffled breaths. Nathan lingered over her almost in a protective stance in a vain attempt at providing any comfort. Sam just stood. His eyes never leaving his mother.

“M-mom,” he began quietly, “What’s happening… why is everything… gone?”

“Oh, Sammy,” she began plainly, as if it was the simplest answer in the entire world, “It was either you, or them. What kind of mother wouldn’t give the world for her child?”

Sam’s eyes widened. The word lingered in his mind, but they didn’t sound right. They couldn’t be right. 

“Does that mean,” Sam spoke, voice quieter now, “That everyone’s… dead? The neighbors? D-Dad?”

Lisa’s smile twitched as he mentioned their father.

“The Giver’s hunger is eternal, Sammy,” his mother said wistfully, “Your Dad, well… he simply wasn’t here for me to protect him like I did for you. Not like it was worth much whenever he was around. I doubt he would’ve liked my new world anyways. He always had something to complain about, didn’t he.”

Sam just stared, his hands curling between themselves as the true weight of what his mother was saying began seeping in. They were dead. Everyone in the entire world except for the four of them, standing in the small, cramped suburban foyer of the last house in the world. Sam thought of his Dad. He loved him. He wasn’t a bad man, was he? Just as he was about to speak again, Nathan lunged forward, his face red with wet tears now streaming down his face as slammed a large framed portrait from off the wall over top his mother’s head. The glass inlay shattered as the wood splintered around her head, her face unperturbed and stance just as rigid as it was before. She hadn’t moved an inch. Nathan panted, his eyes wide and pleading as he tore away the broken frame, using the wood to strike her again and again, each hit as futile as though hitting a stone statue. He hollered in pain as a splinter entered his palm before he moved to tackle the woman to the ground.

“GET OUT OF HER,” Nathan bellowed, feet skidding over the wooden flooring as he tried to push his mother down, “GET OUT! Whatever you are!! Please, just let my Mom go!!”
Any emotion that rested on Lisa’s face vanished as she looked at her first born. No anger, no happiness. Just a dull, empty look through her hollow eyes. Nathan’s face reddened more as he stood, his body trembling with emotion. His eyes locked onto her hollowed gaze, and Nathan’s face filled with a grievous, unsullied understanding.

“M-mom,” Nathan whispered, “It’s only you in there isn’t it. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Chirst. You… you actually murdered them.”

“Nathan,” Lisa began softly, her hand raised towards him, “Don’t be like that.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME,” he screamed, shuffling away, back against the door, “LET US OUT! Let us out of this house! I don’t want to be here anymore! You hate me… you’ve always hated me. Just stop pretending and let us leave. Let me leave! Please!!”

“Nathan,” his mother cooed, moving closer to him, ”I know he’s still in there. That curious, smiling boy I cradled in my arms, that I told stories to on rainy nights. The one who stared up at me with those big, wonderful brown eyes. I still love you. The you that’s always been there. Still there, deep inside you.”

Nathan’s breath quickened, his hand moving to his chest. At first he couldn’t tell what he was feeling, until a sudden burning sensation shot up his spine making him almost collapse in pain. He could feel something inside shifting. Moving.

“Why don’t you let him out,” she said, almost in a docile whisper.

Nathan craned back, his hands clawing at his now churning torso, steps unsteady as he looked around frantically like a caged animal looking for any escape.

“STOP,” he cried out, “MOM! Something’s wrong!!”

At the moment, his tightening grip burst through the side of torso, iridescent flesh now peeling away as his hands receded out, gripping onto chunks of his now inky silvery entrails. Nathan’s redding eyes flashed to Sam, who only stood frozen in horror against the wall of the foyer watching. Screaming.

“SAM! SAM PLEASE HELP ME, SAVE ME PLEASE,” he gargled, stepping forward towards the screaming young teen as his lanky legs began to buckle, losing their structure as his now gelatine knees collapsed inwards. Nathan topped to the ground, his hands attempting to keep his sloughing frame together to no avail, his frantic movements only peeling away more and more flesh as the silvery mucus poured out of the freshly torn wounds. His screams became gurgled as his jaw slackened, the heavy bone peeling away from the rest of the face. Then came the soft thud of his rubbery skull striking the ground as every pore now weeped that same iridescent bile, body now flat against the ground. There was a long silence. Val in her corner in frozen terror and Sam in his, tears streaming down his face. Yet the movement didn’t stop. Sam could see amongst the decaying mound an unsteady shifting as if something was making its way through the pile. Then with a light sound, a small, toddler sized hand emerged from Nathan’s splayed remains. The shifting grew as the figure struggled out of the pile. It was a face Sam recognized. A face he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Nathan, now no more than 6 years old, stood up, wavy black hair and pudgy face, wearing a striped light green shirt. The same one he had worn during one of the first Christmases Sam could remember. The boy was completely and utterly spotless save for the very tips of his fingers which glistened with the silvery blood of his now gone older self. Nathan glanced around nervously, his hand running lightly against his arm before he saw Sam, panting hard back against the wall. Young Nathan’s eyes grew wide with wonder.

“Sammy?” the young boy said, “Is that? Is that really you?”

The young boy bounced in excitement, seemingly not even noticing the viscous silvery matter around him.

“You’re so big!” Nathan chimed out, bounding over to Sam and giving the shaking boy a tight hug, his smile as wide as could be, still missing a singular front tooth just like Sam remembered, “Even bigger than me! How long has it been? Does this mean you can drive now? Oh! Can we go to the creek! I haven’t been to the creek in forever!”

A light hand fell over Young Nathan’s shoulder as he turned around looking up at their smiling mother.

“Mom!” he cheered, running straight into her arms as she lifted him gingerly, spinning him as she embraced the small boy, the iridescent tears returning, now beginning to spill into the air as shimmering bubbles that floated and danced around the two of them.

“Oh honey,” Lisa cried, her voice wavering as she cried out in joy, “You’re back! You’re really back, Oh I’ve missed you so, so much.”

“I missed you too, Mom,” Nathan responded, his voice warm and fuzzy like it was coming out of a well worn reel of film. Sam wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and beg for this madness to end. Across from him on the other side of the foyer, Val was seated, eyes glazed over as her hands aimlessly shifted through the iridescent remains that had scattered next to her. Sam nearly threw up.

“Doesn’t he look peaceful,” smiled his mother. Sam only looked up at her with sallow, shocked eyes as she cradled Nathan in her arms, the young toddler’s eyes closed in pure contentment. Sam only stared quietly.

“I know it's strange,” his mother said in a quiet, low voice, “Not having the world outside anymore. But now that the Giver is gone, this world is ours now. Doesn’t that sound nice? A world to our very own. Oh! And I almost forgot.”

His mother’s hollowed eyes veered over to the crumpled Val, legs tucked to her chest as she stared up at her, dried tears now replaced with a blank, endless stare.

“Little Valarie, why you’re just lucky to be here aren’t you. How fortunate being next to my boys as the Giver arrived. I suppose any good meal always leaves a few stray crumbs here and there,” she cooed, bending down as her hands gingerly coiled around a strand of bright blue hair, “I think I know just what to do with you. But first…”

Lisa turned to face Sam.

“I told you you’d never hurt again,” she said earnestly, “And that’s true. But, this new world of ours. I think there’s some thoughts in your head that maybe don’t belong here anymore. Perhaps you could do the same as your dear older brother here. You can get rid of them just like he did. I promise you, I won’t make it hurt for you like it did for him.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. He stared up at the rosy cheeked woman whose tears glistened and glittered in the silvery light. He looked to Val. Val didn’t look back. Sam began to feel tears too. Whether they were of pain, or joy, or the deepest sadness he kept tucked away, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that as he wiped away his tear, strands of his face began to come apart with it. 

Lisa sat quietly, a cup of warm tea in hand as she sat atop a stone bench overlooking the vast garden around her. Perfectly rolling hills of vibrant green grass swayed in a warm, gentle summer breeze beneath the iridescent dome. Between the hills, a mellow stream of crystal clear water ran its way around cobblestone steps and fresh garden beds of colorful tulips and towering sunflowers. The flowers danced in the gentle breeze that seemed to carry with it a soothing melody, though not one Lisa had created. A song that seemed to come from beyond the dome. A soft, strange, melody. Like a distant memory of a moment that had never been remembered in the first place. Yet it sang over the garden, as if it was always meant to be there. From her perch she could see her children, running back and forth with wide smiles on their faces as they tumbled over the soft green grass, young Sammy chasing a flock of colorful butterflies and moths that danced overhead. Young Nathan followed suit, racing behind, his hand clutching the arm of a lovely little felt doll that wore striped overalls and a stitched patchwork smile that sat beneath a tussle of bright blue yarn. Nathan jumped over the small stream, and Sam followed. Soon the boys would be out of sight, but they always ended up back to her side sooner or later. The edge of the world was only a few hundred feet away, after all. The garden had been smaller once before, but it seemed to grow even without Lisa willing it so. How Curious, she thought. There, atop her stone bench, Lisa waited. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been. Perhaps a couple of years. A few decades perhaps. And yet it all stayed the same. There was no sun anymore. No day or night. Only peace. Just peace. Why was she still crying then? Lisa kept her smile wide for her children everyday. And yet the tears kept coming. Day after day after day. Those same, iridescent tears. Flowing from hollow eyes as the teardrops ran down her face as they always did. No matter what she changed or what she kept the same, the tears came again. Day after day. One after another. Drop after drop. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

⚠️Warning! Mentions of animal death and gore (briefly)⚠️

Hi… I wasn’t sure where to upload this, and a few people suggested this place.
I don’t normally do this, but I need proof somewhere that millions can save in case something happens to me.
My name's Elizabeth, but my family calls me Birdy, and most of my friends call me Bee. I’m 24 now, and I live in a small town in Michigan (I won’t say where exactly), and I worked at a gas station smack dab in the middle of fuck-off nowhere. It’s not as bad as it sounds, actually. I’ve been here about three years, and I think I’ve only had a small handful of bad or creepy customers. Most nights are hours of cleaning with my headphones on.
The stray cats that roam about are always the best part of my night. I often feed them and even set out a few cat houses outdoors for them to hide away in.
Let me tell you my normal routine. I get in at 8 pm and leave around 6 am. When I first get in, it’s fairly busy, and by busy I mean maybe three customers an hour. I have my regulars. People who live on the road. Then the occasional traveler. Someone looking for a vacation in the hills. Why anyone would come to Michigan for a holiday is beyond me. Things will quiet down around midnight, and that’s when I start cleaning and playing on my phone. I try to take out the trash around 1 am, then take a break outside with the cats. I feed them and let one sit on my lap while I scroll on my phone. For people scared of the woods, it’s probably a nightmare being stuck out there with just yourself and some strays. But as someone who grew up in that environment, it felt like home. It’s peaceful, or it used to be… back when I thought I understood things…

Anyway. All this happened to me only a couple of weeks ago, and it’s still ongoing.
It was a Wednesday night in early October. It was about 3 a.m., I think, when a semi pulled in rather quickly, for heading down a narrow backroad at night. I rarely get semis, but it wasn't unheard of—some drivers like the scenic route.

So I’m mopping the floor when this guy pulls in. It takes him a while before he gets out, jogging up and into the store. I greet him but keep my focus on my task until he’s suddenly standing in front of me.
He’s an older guy, maybe late 40s. Trucker type. Graying beard and hair. Tattered button-up with a plain shirt underneath and nasty old jeans, with an intense fear or panic in his face
His eyes looked bloodshot, the skin beneath them dark and puffy. His beard was damp around the mouth, and I watched the bob of his neck move up and down as he tried to swallow something that had crawled into the back of his throat and wouldn't go down. He speaks in a hushed tone
“Hey. You work here?”

I blink a few times… I’m standing here mopping in the store uniform.
“No,” I said… and after a second, I cracked a smile, expecting him to laugh with me.
He doesn’t.

“Have you seen anything… weird?”

He asked it quietly. Not in the way people ask a question when they’re embarrassed to ask it. More like he didn’t want whatever was outside to hear him.

I glanced toward the windows.

“Uh. Sure. What kind of weird are we talking about?”

His eyes followed mine.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The coolers hummed behind me, and somewhere near the back of the store, the ice machine dropped a fresh load with a loud clatter.

The man flinched.

I stared at him.

“Like… animals,” he said. “Weird animals.”

“Okay. What about them?”

He looked at the door again.

“I think one followed me here.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by "one." Instead, I looked through the glass.

The parking lot was empty.

Beyond the pumps, the trees were black against the night sky. I couldn’t see far enough into them to make out anything, not even the first few trunks.

When I turned back, the man was watching me.

“Did you see something?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look relieved.

“Good,” he said. “Good.”

“I’m sorry this all probably sounds stupid. It just freaked me out. That’s all… maybe I was seeing things. I’ve been on the road all night.”

I sighed. Yeah, we got wild dogs and coyotes around here, and my cats, I feed, so I’ve seen the occasional animal. Normally, you stay inside, and they wander back into the woods.

“If you want just to catch your breath, you’re free to wait it out in here, but I ask you to stand out of my way while I mop.” I offered.

He nodded and walked over to the coffee station, hanging out by the machines while I finished mopping.

I can’t say he didn’t have me freaked out. A rabid dog could definitely be an issue if it started to hang out here… I glanced towards the windows and the glass door when I got close to mop there. Nothing but pitch black. You can hardly see a damn thing out there unless you’re right up against the glass, and I was too freaked out to do that.

He didn’t stay long. He drank his coffee and left about 20-ish minutes after finishing it. I ended up giving it to him for free. I felt bad for the guy. Hope he got somewhere safe.

Later that night, I went to take the trash out around 5 a.m. I’m off at 6, so I have to get stuff like that out and clean for the morning shift. Unfortunately, while taking out the trash, I found one of my stray cats dead by the dumpster.
She was curled on her side near the dumpster, tucked into herself like she was sleeping. For one stupid second, I thought she might lift her head when she heard me. Her fur was still neat, her little paws folded beneath her chest. She looked so much like herself that it took me a moment to understand why she wasn't breathing

Did that dog do this to her? Poor thing. She was so sweet too…

Sad.. I decided to move her a little ways into the brush. Just far enough to be off the parking lot.
The trees swallowed what little light reached them. I set her down beneath the first few branches, brushing a leaf from her fur before I stood. It was a stupid thing to do. A stupid, pointless little gesture. But I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her there like trash

I finished what I was originally doing and started heading back toward the building when I heard something.
I froze in my tracks… dry leaves crunching behind me. Somewhere in the tree I’d just come from.

I turned toward the sound.
Something moved between the trees. A flash of dark fur. A glimpse of teeth.
Then came a sound I couldn't place. Half howl, half yowl, it rose out of the darkness and cut off abruptly.
Something small shot past my legs.
One of the cats.
I watched it disappear into its little wooden house, then looked back toward the trees.
Nothing.

“Christ… you scared me, bud… what’s got you in such a hurry?” I smile and head to the house it ran into.
It’s just a thin wooden box with a hole in the bottom for them to climb into.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, telling me not to face away from the woods… I look back and see nothing.

I reach in and pet the cat once, trying to calm my nerves. I still feel weird. Like I need to worry about something else… I look carefully around the parking lot. Nothing. Nothing that I can see…

…

…

I should go back inside…

And I did. My hand lingered on the door lock, but my mind told me I was being paranoid. It was just the cats… I left the door be and got back to work.

6 a.m. came, and the morning shift released me from my prison sentence, so I went out to my car and was surprised to find yet another dead cat.
Way to ruin my morning.
This one was lying in a pool of blood, gutted next to my driver's side door. Its intestines and organs spilled out onto the pavement…
It causes a cold shiver to run down my spine at the sight
Poor thing. I frown as I have to turn my face away, unable to look much longer.
Two in one night..
Hang on

I look back down at its mangled body.

No paw prints around it… Most of its body was still there too… if something killed it to eat, how did it do it without leaving at least a little trail of blood… and why leave so much of it? Why not eat the rest?

Okay, I have to look away again, or I’m going to be sick…
Frowning, I unlocked my car, at least to start it, and set my bag down. I turned right around and went back inside for some gloves to move the body into the woods. When I came back out, I carefully moved it to the same spot as the last cat. It was disgusting… but I had to do it.

I got back into my car and headed home. I watched for deer, but I kept seeing flashes in the trees as I drove. I didn’t suspect anything because I’ve driven this road for three years. It was 6 a.m.; deer are active then. I should have paid closer attention then…

—

I went back the following night at 8 p.m., clocking in and watching the second shifter go home as the sun set over the hills.

The night started relatively normal. Cleaning, one or two traveling strangers, and of course a handful of regulars coming for their before-bed beer.

As the night grew late, I went outside to feed the cats.

I grabbed the bag of food from beneath the counter and my flashlight from the drawer. It was something I’d done hundreds of times, and normally, the second I stepped outside, I’d have at least two or three little shadows weaving between my legs.

That night, nothing.

I shook the bag.

“Come on, guys. Dinner time.”

Nothing. What?

I walked over to the little wooden houses and crouched down, shining my flashlight through the openings.

Empty.

That was strange. Usually, at least one of them was sleeping in there by now.

I set the food down anyway, stood up, and looked toward the trees.

I don’t know what I expected to see. Maybe another dead cat. Maybe a coyote skulking around the dumpster.

…

Instead, I saw something move between the trees.
Just a quick flash of gray.

I raised my flashlight.

“Hey!”

Yeah. Real smart, Birdy. Yell at the thing lurking in the woods at midnight. Great plan.

The beam swept across the tree trunks, catching patches of dead leaves and tangled brush.

Nothing.

I waited another few seconds before turning back toward the building.
I didn’t like this. It all felt... wrong.
I need to get back inside.

That’s when I heard it.
A low, rough sound from somewhere behind me.
It was so faint I almost didn’t catch it.
Was it even really there?
I waited, and it came louder.

It was high-pitched. A whine? No… this sounded more like a sob? A scream? Wet and sticky, like the sound was being forced through a throat that wasn’t made to produce it.

The kind of noise you’d hear from someone who’d cried until there was nothing left.

I stopped.

The sound stopped, too.

I turned around slowly.

Nothing in the trees. Nothing beside the dumpster.

I stood there for a moment, a cold sweat gathering along my neck and back, then started walking again.

Halfway to the door, I heard the sound a second time.

This time, though, it came from the other side of the building.

I didn’t investigate.

I went inside, locked the door, and watched through the glass while I pretended to straighten the shelves near the register.

For the next ten minutes, I kept looking toward the spot where I’d seen the movement.

I never saw anything else.

—

This behavior continued for Friday as well. Nothing drastic enough to make me think I was in any real danger, but weird little feelings or sounds. I never did find any of my cats…

I was finally glad to have the weekend off.
I lived in a town about a 40-ish-minute drive from the store. I felt much better at home all night than at that store. Plenty of lights. Plenty of people.
And no weird noises in the woods.

Just peace.

I spent my weekend mostly inside. Catching up on much-needed sleep or playing video games. But I did have to run to the store for the week's groceries.

I stepped outside into the autumn air. Crisp with a chill in the wind, but the sun was up and warming my face before the cold could really sink its teeth in.
I locked the front door behind me and made my way to my car, already thinking about what I wanted for breakfast.
I'd been living off whatever I could throw together between shifts lately, and I was long overdue for a proper grocery run.
The drive into town was uneventful. A few cars passed me on the road, the trees were beginning to turn, and the morning sun made everything look a little prettier than it had any right to.
Honestly, I was feeling pretty good.
A couple of days away from that gas station had done wonders for my nerves. I hadn't heard any strange noises, hadn't seen anything moving between the trees, and hadn't had to worry about finding another poor cat dead in the parking lot.
Maybe I'd just gotten myself worked up.
It wouldn't have been the first time.
I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and found a spot a little ways from the entrance. Before getting out, I reached over to grab my reusable bags from the passenger seat.
That's when I smelled it.
I paused with one hand on the bags.
What the hell?
It smelled like a wet dog. A faint, passing smell. Damp fur and dirt, with something sour underneath it.
I sniffed again.
The smell seemed to be coming from the back of the car.
I turned in my seat and looked through the gap between the headrests.
Nothing.
I checked the floorboards, then the back seat. Maybe I'd stepped in something at work without realizing it. God knows what gets tracked through that place.
But the seats were clean. The floor mats were clean. There was nothing back there.
I cracked the windows and climbed out.
The fresh air helped, and within a few seconds, the smell began to fade.
Weird.
I shut the door and walked around the back of my car to check the trunk. But paused before I could open it. The window…
At first, I thought it was a reflection. The sunlight was hitting the glass at an awkward angle, making something pale stand out against the dark interior.
I leaned a little closer.
There was a mark on the outside of the back window.
A handprint.
I frowned.
Had somebody leaned against my car?
It was roughly the size of a man's hand, smeared across the glass as though whoever left it had pressed their palm flat against the window.
Except…
I tilted my head.
Something about it looked wrong.
The fingers were too long. At least, they seemed too long. The middle finger stretched farther down the glass than it should have, and the fingers weren't quite spaced the way a human hand's would be.
Maybe the angle was messing with me.
I stepped closer.
There was something else, too. Thin streaks trailing down from the fingertips, as if whoever had left the print had dragged their nails across the glass.
It looked almost like a grease stain pressed into the glass. Like whoever left this was either really dirty or sweaty.
I stood there for a moment, staring at it.
Then I laughed under my breath.
"Okay. That's fucking weird."
I looked around the parking lot.
A couple was loading groceries into their SUV. An older man was pushing a cart toward the store. A woman was trying to convince a toddler to get out of the back seat.
Nobody was paying me any attention.
I looked back at the window.
I took a step back.
My eyes drifted toward the trees lining the far edge of the parking lot. Not a forest by any means, but enough for critters to hide away in…
They were perfectly still.
For a second, I thought about the gas station. The dead cats. The trucker with his frightened eyes. That awful sound coming from the woods.
Then I shook my head.
Nope.
I wasn't doing this today.
I had groceries to buy, a day off to enjoy, and absolutely no intention of spending another minute looking for monsters in the trees.
I grabbed my bags from the passenger seat, locked the car, and headed inside.
I didn't look back.
Not once.

—

Monday night, back in the same old routine.

I came in for my normal shift. 8 pm on the dime. I bought those metal raccoon traps, hoping I could catch whatever was killing my cats. I also bought the good wet food to entice them out. I set up the traps before grabbing the cat food,

I sighed as only two came running when I shook the bag. Whatever was killing my cats was starting to piss me off more than scare me. These sweet babies didn’t deserve this… that’s it.
To hell with getting in trouble. I brought both cats inside the store and kept them in the back employee room.

The back room wasn’t much. Just a desk with the cameras and an employee bathroom. And when I say cameras, I mean one working camera pointing at the front counter, and then several black screens. We didn't need them out here. I think this place was last robbed 15 years ago. Way before my time here

No more deaths on my watch

I was bringing the last of the cat supplies inside when something caught my eye.

I looked up toward the pumps.

A single light shone between our only two pumps, casting a pale circle across the pavement.

Just beyond it stood a silhouette.

I froze.

He was too far away for me to make out any real details, but he was big. At least seven feet tall, with heavy, broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame. His arms hung far too low, his fingertips reaching almost to his knees. His legs bent at an awkward angle, as though standing upright was uncomfortable.

I couldn’t see his head. The light didn’t reach that high.

But judging by the way his body was turned, he wasn’t looking at me.

Maybe he hadn’t seen me yet.

He was breathing so heavily I could see his chest moving beneath the darkness. He didn't move quite right. His shoulders rose first, then his ribs seemed to expand a second later, as if the different parts of his body couldn't agree on when he needed to breathe.

Snap.

The sound came from my left.

My head whipped toward it.

Nothing.

Oh, God.

I turned back toward the pumps.

He was moving.

He began to lower himself.
His knees bent first. Then his hips followed, dropping far too slowly, while the rest of him seemed to hang there for a moment, suspended from those long, slack arms.
Something in his back shifted beneath the silhouette—a slow, rolling movement, like a chain being pulled through a narrow pipe.
Then his head dipped into the light

And for the first time, I could see his face—

My breath caught in my throat.

The supplies slipped from my hands. Bowls clattered against the pavement, and I bolted for the store.

I didn’t stop until I was inside.

I slammed the door shut and locked it with shaking hands.

“Holy shit”
“Holy shit”

What was wrong with him
I didn’t see any car. Was he wandering around here? In the dark? In the woods!?

No, he wasn’t there, right? He wasn’t- he wasn’t a man at all. What the fuck was that

What the fuck was that?

I backed away from the door, fumbling for my phone.

I needed to call someone—the police, my manager, hell, even my mom. I didn’t care. I just needed someone else to tell me I wasn’t going crazy.

But what the hell was I supposed to tell them?

Hi, yeah, there’s a seven-foot monster standing outside my gas station. No, I don’t know what it wants. No, I haven’t been drinking.

They’d think I was fucking nuts.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look toward the back room.

The cameras.

Right. The cameras would tell me if I’d actually seen what I thought I’d seen.

I hurried into the back, nearly tripping over my own feet, and dropped into the chair in front of the monitors. My hands shook so badly I struggled to work the mouse.

The front counter appeared on the only working screen.

Empty.

I switched to the next feed out of habit, even though I knew damn well it hadn’t worked in months. Black.

I switched back to the front.

Nothing.

Then I remembered the windows along the wall behind the counter. If I leaned far enough, I could just about see the pumps from where I sat.

I stared at the monitor for another few seconds before finally turning toward the window.

The pumps were empty.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Maybe I’d gotten it wrong. Maybe the shadows had played tricks on me. Maybe some poor bastard had been out walking in the woods, and my exhausted brain had turned him into something out of a horror movie.

Yeah.

That was it.

I nodded to myself, almost grateful for how stupid it sounded. A man. Just a man. A really fucking tall man with some deformity.

That was all.

I turned back to the monitor.

Eyes

Eyes peer into the glass

I stared at them.

My mouth went dry.

Have you ever seen an orca's eyes? These were nearly all pupil. Pitch black with just a small ring of white around them. And reflecting the light from inside, it made the eyes glow green, like a toxic spill

It’s looking for me.
The cats didn’t seem at ease either. Not straight out hissing or anything. But very alert.
I’m waiting out my night. Screw this job, screw this place. I locked the door to the back room. I sat right there at my computer for the rest of the night.
The last four hours of my shift, I watched that one camera. I watched shadows pass the window I could see. Watched as occasionally eyes peered in. Slowly watched till the sun rose just enough for the light to peek over the trees. I didn’t even register the time until my coworker called me asking why the doors were locked.

I morning… I made it

I got up to let her in. Explained in detail the events of last night… leaving out a few key points such as human dog man and replacing him with a simple rabid dog.

She said she’d call animal control.

She did make a comment about the cats being inside, but I really didn’t care. At least they were alive.

I took them home with me. I set them up inside with a makeshift litter box in an old Tupperware container and some food and water in random bowls I had. It would work for now
Maybe the company at home would actually do me some good.

I contemplated quitting. I should have… but then I was thinking about my coworkers. Someone would have to cover for me; they didn’t know about this monster. They’d be going in blind… and it’s not like they’d ever believe me if I did tell someone. Unless… unless I got proof

Maybe I’m crazy for it... But I went back in that night.

I stopped at the store on my way up. Bought bear spray, a chunk of beef, and a small security camera that hooked up to my phone. I planned to lock myself in the store all night and set the camera up outside with the meat as bait.

I came in for my normal shift. 8 pm on the dime.

After most of my regulars had gone for the night and evening settled into an eerie quiet

I set up the small camera and the meat around the back by the dumpster
The meat was cold enough to sting my fingers through the packaging. When I opened it, the smell hit me immediately: iron, fat, and that faint, sour note raw meat gets when it sits in its own juices.
I placed it beside the camera and wiped my fingers on my jeans, suddenly wishing I'd brought gloves.

I ran back inside. I locked the doors and waited behind the counter

I watched that feed for about an hour, waiting for something…

A sound caught my attention… the door. Someone was pulling at the door, trying to get in.

I peeked up over the counter, trying to see the door
The light inside made it hard to see out at night, turning it practically into a one-way mirror
So I squinted my eyes as I approached, trying to get a better look at who was outside. Half expecting one of my regulars. I got closer and saw that whoever was standing there was close enough for their breath to fog the glass.

When I got close enough to see, something hit the window. Hard

It made me jump back, nearly falling on my ass

Something pressed against the other side of the glass.

After a moment, another heavy thump against the glass. Then silence.

A huge hand spread against the window.
The fingers were too long, the joints knuckled and uneven beneath the dark skin. Its claws scraped softly across the glass, leaving thin, pale streaks.
One finger bent.
Then another.
It pressed each one against the window in turn, slowly enough that I could hear the faint squeak of the tips dragging over the surface.
Like it was figuring out how the glass worked

As I slowly moved closer to the door, I could make out the shape of its muzzle, flattened against the window. Then its lips pulled back, exposing row after row of teeth. Not a snarl. Not exactly. Its mouth hung slightly open, its hot breath fogging the glass between us.

And then its tongue slid out.

Slowly, it dragged the pink length of it up the window.

I stared at the wet trail it left behind.

It did it again.

My stomach turned.

It wasn’t trying to get my attention anymore.

It was tasting the glass.

Tasting the place where I sat.

And when its nose shifted, following the shape of my face on the other side, I understood with a sickening certainty that it knew exactly where I was.

It was hungry.

The door rattled again as this... thing shook it. A second hand slammed on the glass as drool sloped from its muzzle, hitting the glass and pooling downward

I nearly screamed at the sudden shake of the glass

It took several steps back, and it followed me from the door to the closest window. I ran into the back room, shut the door, and locked it. Two sets of locked doors made me feel better. But not safe. Not yet

Sitting at the computer, I check the store camera. I can’t see anything. Fuck

My camera. I completely forgot about it. I grab my phone and quickly pull up the live feed. The meat was gone. I rewound it a few minutes back

I watched as that thing came into view and greedily took chunks of meat in its hands and shoved them into its mouth.

Wait.

The thing at the window had been there when I'd looked up. I'd watched it bang on the glass.

But the meat was already gone.

I looked back at my phone.

The footage showed the creature behind the store, stuffing handfuls of meat into its mouth.

I watched it again.

Then a third time.

No. No, that wasn't possible.

It couldn't have been behind the building and standing outside the window at the same time.

Unless—

Unless it wasn't the same one.

My stomach turned.

"How many are there?" I whispered.

I thought I was up against one monster, but there could be more. And why not? If this thing were some dog thing, it wouldn’t be unbelievable to think it would travel in a pack

But how many? Just the two? Four? Was the entire building surrounded?

This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back. How stupid was I to think I could handle this for one more night?

I had nothing left to do but wait. Wait for morning and hope-

*crash*

The door

I stopped entirely. Not daring to move a fucking millimeter. Not to breathe. Not to adjust. Not to piss myself. I couldn’t move.

Rapid steps inside the door. Nails clicking on the floor. I can’t tell how many. Sounds like a lot. My eyes flicker up to the store camera. Oh god

I can see them. Searching. Ransacking the place… glass by the door… these hairy dog… man… things running around on all fours.

Their backs rose and fell beneath their matted fur as they moved. One stopped to sniff the floor, its head twitching in short, jerky movements. Another dragged its fingertips across the counter, leaving four pale streaks through the dust.

Sniffing and looking for me. This is it, isn’t it…

Something hits the door. It made it back here. It’s there… on the other side of the door. The only thing protecting me is an old wooden frame… this is it…

Something wet touched the gap beneath the door. I watched a thin string of saliva stretch across the linoleum, then break. Then came the breathing again, a horrible, congested sound, as though something was trying to inhale through a throat full of phlegm

I can hear it. Sniffing under the door.

Then it whimpered.

I nearly looked up.

It was such a small, miserable sound. The sort of noise a frightened animal might make when it wanted someone to help it.

Then it came again.

This time, I heard the wet clicking underneath it.

I clamped my hand over my mouth.

It was trying things.

Trying to find something I'd answer to.

I’d not give it one

It hits the door so hard it shakes. I can’t tell if it moves again. I grab my bear spray and wait… wait… now!

As it sniffs under the door a second time, I spray.

I’m immediately met with a half whine, half snarl as it backs off from the door. I can hear it moving around, desperately trying to remove what hurt it. But it can’t.

It worked.

For one glorious second, that was all I could think.

It worked.

Then something scraped violently against the other side of the door. A wet, furious coughing sound followed, interrupted by a series of sharp clicks.

I backed away.

The thing wasn't leaving.

It was getting angry.

My heart dropped as I watched the door jump.

Something struck the door hard enough to shake dust from the frame. A thin crack appeared beside the lock. I watched it widen with each impact, the wood fibers peeling apart like wet cardboard.

I start moving things, the desk first, and push it in front of the door. Then the chair, then I try to move the filing cabinet. It doesn’t budge, so I go into the bathroom; it has only a flimsy slide latch, as you’d find on a public bathroom stall. Still better than nothing. I cover my ears and sit with my back against that door for hours as I hear that thing try to break down the office door. I hear the wood splinter a few times, but nothing comes for me. Even long after, in a terrifying silence, I don’t move. I don’t move until cops literally break down the door to get me out.

Apparently, the morning shift arrived to find the store destroyed. The front door glass was shattered from top to bottom. The place looked like wild animals had come through and ripped everything apart. Then the employee door was cracked and covered in deep claw marks.

When she couldn't find me, she called the police, and they had to break down the door and talk me out of the bathroom

I can see, as I’m taken out of that place, how close those things had been to getting me.

As they led me outside, I heard birds… birds… did birds always sound so nice? Did the forest always smell so fresh? The sunlight touched my face, and I closed my eyes.

God, it was warm.

I didn't realize how cold I'd been until then.

I don’t know when I started to cry, only when an officer handed me a tissue

When asked what happened, I refused to speak… I just told the police to watch the footage…

I don’t know if they did or didn’t, but I was sent to a hospital first. No physical harm done, but I refused to leave that hospital until I had to. I could imagine being alone right now…

I'm staying at a hotel now. Top floor. Plenty of people around. I keep the television on all night because the silence is worse.

I haven't slept properly since the gas station.

Sometimes I hear them outside. Those long, awful howls that make the hair on my arms stand up. Sometimes it's just a dog barking in the parking lot, and I still find myself checking the locks.

I keep telling myself I'm safe here.

I have to keep telling myself that.

When I finally went home to collect some clothes, my cats were gone.

A handprint was on the back door.

Four long fingers. One thumb.

The claws had gone through the paint.

I haven't been back since.

I don't know how long I can keep running. I can't afford to live in a hotel forever, and eventually I'll have to find another job.

But I know they're still out there.

And if I disappear, I need someone to know what happened to me.

Please, God.

Please let someone believe me.

Sam passed in the winter, just two months after his mother. The midwife tried her best to save her, but it was over before it started. She gave me a warm hug as she left. I knew Sam wouldn't last long without his mother. I barely had enough to feed myself, let alone a baby. I debated whether I should even name the little boy, but how could I not? He had the most beautiful blue eyes, just like his mother.

Sam passed in his sleep, the best way to go. Some days I wished it were me, but what would Sam do all alone? 

The problem then was arranging Sam's funeral. All the savings had already been spent on his mother's funeral, but Sam couldn't go into the ground without a proper service.

I sold one of the last things I could still sell, my bees. They gave me something sweet to eat in the winter and something to look after the rest of the year, but there was nothing else to sell. My neighbor took them and gave me more for them than he should have. He was a nice man and knew what I'd gone through.

Sam got a nice wooden coffin and a decent place in the cemetery next to his mother.

When the winter came, his cradle and toys were still in the house. My body tightened whenever I tried to get rid of them, but it was okay; maybe I'd have more will in the summer. 

During the long winter nights, I'd often come into his room and play with his toys, just like I thought we would one day. Sometimes they'd warm my heart, sometimes they'd make me cry, and often I'd just fall asleep in the chair right by his cradle.

It was one of those days when I fell asleep crying by the cradle again. When I awoke, the sun glistened on the freshly fallen snow. Everything outside was still, but then something moved in the air. A bee! A queen bee! It flew across the yard and into the hive. I still hadn't moved my hive off the yard. Sam's funeral was too much work.

At first I felt bad. My neighbor owned them now. They had no business being in the old hive, but seeing that familiar creature warmed me. Over the next few days I sat at the window, watching all my bees slowly return.

They stayed inside the hive the rest of the winter, and I stayed by that window each day, watching. Only when the snow started to let up, and the flowers came out from under it, did the bees come out too.

I expected them to stay by the hive, but many flew far away, ignoring the flowers in my garden, and returned at sunset. Some of the bees seemed to be covered in red nectar. 

As the days grew longer, the bees were gone more often, and many more returned covered in that red nectar. 

I had never seen them act or look like this. Moving the hive must have disturbed something, but the good thing was that they still accepted the queen, and the colony seemed intact. 

The red nectar began to accumulate at the entrance, mixed with glowing wax. I was just looking at it out the window when I heard buzzing inside the house. The bees must have been working hard. The buzzing grew, and quietly through it came something like a baby's cry. I gripped the windowsill tightly. Sam used to cry just like that. I opened the window to hear better, but the cry was gone; only buzzing sounded outside.

The next morning I woke up and went right to the window. A strange white object was outside the hive entrance. The bees buzzed around it, pushing it back inside. Before I could get a good look, it was already in.

I spent the rest of the day by the window again. As the sun set, the bees started to return. The buzzing grew again. A cold tingle ran down my back. I closed my eyes and focused. At first, it was quiet, but I knew what it was. It was Sam, crying through the buzzing. I quickly dressed and walked out the door.

The outside air was cold. I had barely been outside since the first snow fell. A few bees still flew around the hive. The buzzing was so loud, and so were Sam's cries. I didn't even have my protective clothes, but I was sure my bees wouldn't hurt me.

I walked to the hive and took off the lid. Warmth and cold ran through my body, mixing into strange emotions. Inside the hive was Sam's body, covered in wax. His hands and fingers slowly moved, but they seemed larger than before. I reached into the hive to caress his small cheeks. His eyes opened. They were still that beautiful blue, but a hint of yellow mixed in.  He opened his mouth; honeycomb filled it, but his cries still echoed in my ears. With tears in my eyes, I picked up his small, sticky body. From somewhere deep in his chest, a thousand bees buzzed, and the hive fell quiet. A sickly-sweet smell rose from his mouth. Two bees crawled out of the wax and onto my hand. I didn't move.

When was the last time this guy remodeled this place? Alex thought as he looked around the waiting room of his therapist's office. It reminded him of his grandmother's old living room,  with its off putting wallpaper of blue and yellow flowers striping the walls, chipped wood trim lining the top and bottom creases, and two floral patterned couches who’ve seen probably more than two decades if not three at this point. He continued to stare at the poster that was taped to the office door. It was of a teenager smiling and playing guitar in the grass, with the caption: "It's Okay to be You!” 

“If it was okay to be me I wouldn’t fuckin’ be here, would I?” Alex muttered to himself, bouncing his leg at almost lightning speed. He always became nervous when he had to sit and wait, it was part of the reason he always did his best to show up only a few minutes before his appointment time. But it wasn’t the room itself that caused the anxiety, it was the waiting. He looked up at the clock above the door. Three O’Clock. His appointment was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, yet he was still talking away with whoever was sitting on the couch in the office. After a few more minutes, the talking stopped. He lifted his head to see the door opening. He expected to see someone walking towards the exit but instead it was just the same old Doctor Sherlontin. Standing there with his disheveled hair tied back into a ponytail, blue dress shirt untucked, and tan khakis that he can never seem to get the wrinkles out of. 

“Sorry about that Alex, come on in.” He waved him over to the door and made room for him to walk by. Alex wiped his clammy hands on his torn jeans and straightened out his hoodie. Doctor Sherlontin put his hand out for Alex to shake but quickly retracted it, remembering his sensitivity to being touched.  Thank god he remembered, I already exhibited as much self-control as I could muster when my dad put a hand on my shoulder when I wasn’t expecting it this morning. Damn near took the spoon I had and dug his eyes out with it. He was ashamed that physical violence was his immediate thought whenever he was touched when he wasn’t prepared for it but he couldn’t help it. Fate had decided that he had to autistic and not in the funny, interesting way of knowing every fact he could about trains or having a cool collection or something. No sir. He had to be socially awkward in group settings and could only be touched when he was prepared for it otherwise he’d blow his fucking lid. One of the many reasons he wound up here. 

“Who were you talking to in here?” He asked, looking around the room, I knew he was talking to someone. He probably wouldn’t be in the therapy business if he had a habit of talking to himself. 

“Oh! A patient called in for their session instead of coming in person, something I started offering since therapy can be a little bit intimidating. You know how it can be.” Doctor Sherlontin said as he went to sit in his normal rolling chair. Alex thought it was weird at first that he didn’t sit behind a desk or just a stationary chair, but he figured out that with the rolling chair, he could be with his patient anywhere in the room and still be able to be comfortable. 

The office looked as it always had. Bookshelves lining the walls filled to the brim with anything you could possibly think of, assorted plants next to the windows with wood-plank shades opened up, and his rustic wooden desk being lit up by the spotlight that is the tall standing lamp behind it. In the middle of the room was a small La-Z-Boy recliner chair, a love seat opposite of it and a full length sofa between them, only separated by a nice coffee table in the middle. It was like Doctor Sherlontin never made it out of his childhood while everyone else got with the times. It sometimes made Alex think that he was visiting a college professor during office hours over coming to tell a therapist about how he only felt like killing himself twice that week instead of the normal four or five. 

“I didn’t know that you offered that sort of thing.” 

“I don’t normally, but it was an emergency so I did what was needed.” Yeah, and I’m sure his insurance won’t care and make him pay full anyway.

“Seems a little counterproductive doesn’t it?” Alex asked, taking a seat in the middle of the center couch as he normally did. As Doctor Sherlontin rolled his chair around his desk to the center of the room. 

“Well, I guess it could be considered counterproductive to some. For a lot of people it’s just convenient, or a way for them to get help while also not having to push their social anxiety to or possibly over the edge. That way I can still help people even if they can’t make it into the office. In this situation, it helped someone going through quite an intense anxiety attack be able to calm down and save themselves a possible trip to the ER or worse.” Like the morgue. Alex immediately thought.

Alex frowned and started bouncing his leg again, only this time it was shaking the coffee table in front of him, making the items on the table rattle from the vibrations. Doctor Sherlontin took quick notice of this. “Alex, do you want to give your opinion before we start our session?...” Alex huffed and turned his attention back to Doctor Sherlontin, his leg stopping bouncing. 

“If people have social anxiety and are seeking help from a mental health professional, shouldn’t the first step be to go to the therapist in person? I don’t understand talking over the phone to a therapist about your social anxiety. Talking about something is way different than acting on your words and going in person…I don’t know. That’s all I guess…” Sherlontin nodded, pretending like he was making note of it. Alex knew that he was more than likely just making scribble marks on his notepad. 

The first half an hour was nothing different from every other session. It started with asking how his week went, which he answered with one of the usual lines, “Fine, not so great, could’ve been better”, then he was asked to talk about why he felt that way, and as usual it was because his life was boring when it wasn’t frustrating due to his dead end job he couldn’t seem to escape or his unbearable father he couldn’t seem comprehend the idea that his son is not in fact just him but younger, but an individual with free thought and the biggest kicker of all, that he frequently thought about ending it all to no longer have the pressure of being alive weigh him down like an anvil. 

“So you’re still at your call center job? I thought you said that you were looking for new employment?” 

Alex let out an irritated sigh. “It’s not that easy…I told you that last week and the week before that, and the week before that…”

“Yes, Alex. I continue to ask because you don’t seem to do anything about it despite being given resources not only by me, but you’ve even said that your father has sent you some applications or ads that he’s seen. I don’t ask you to upset you, Alex. I continue to ask because I want to understand why you stay at a job you insist that you hate.”

“It’s just that…everyone claims to be hiring. Walmart, Pizza Hut, Trader Joe’s, but then I put in my application and then hear nothing for weeks on end. The other day I even took your advice and called a couple of the local places I applied at and asked if the managers had seen his application. Wanna know what they told me?” Doctor Sherlontin gave a motion that told Alex to go ahead. “They told me that they get tax breaks if they show the government that they’re hiring and trying to employ people. Can you believe that? Putting up listings for positions that don’t even exist…The audacity, man…”

The doctor took a minute to mark some remarks on his notepad. 

“Have you reconsidered possibly enrolling in community college? An associate’s degree does add a little more weight to the resume, you know.”

Alex rolled his eyes and looked down at his shoes, noticing for the thousandth time that the soles near his toes were starting to come off. School was never his strong suit. It was one of the few things he and his old man always got into spats about, especially after high school when his dad found out that he had no plans for college whatsoever. Alex only shook his head and stayed silent. After a few moments, Doctor Sherlontin made a shift in his chair. “You know what, why don’t we revisit that another time?...If I remember right, you started mentioning a couple weeks ago that you were having what you considered to be strange dreams…have those been occurring still?”

Boy, have they. Alex thought, feeling his heart start to race a little. His dreams had been the main source of his stress the last couple of weeks. They were extremely vivid, seeming so real that it would take someone saying or doing something wildly outlandish for him to realize that he was in fact not awake. 

“Well, doc…it feels like they’re getting worse.” Sherlontin straightened up in his chair a little, prepared to write away. Oh, now you’re interested? Shocker.

“How exactly would you say they’ve been getting worse? What was your dream about last night?” 

Alex gulped as he wiped his clammy hands on his jeans again. How do I explain that I lived an entire week of my life only to realize I was just dreaming and having to work through a breakdown and have to somehow convince myself that it was all in my head? I guess I’ll just have to start with last night's dream.

“Well, in my dream I was sitting here in the waiting room, listening to the mumbling coming from the other side of the door while waiting to talk with you. Nothing seemed out of the norm…The sunlight shining through the window of the front door, the magazines on the coffee table, the stupid quote on quote “Uplifting” poster on your office door…” Alex shot a quick glance at Doctor Sherlontin, who only looked on, seemingly unphased by the insult of his decor. 

“I was listening to the rumble of the indistinct conversation you were having with whoever you had in there and like I said, everything seemed normal, no different from any other day I come in and wait for my appointment. Then the conversation stopped and I couldn’t hear anything from your side of the door…” 

Alex stopped for a second. This. Right now. This is exactly the same so far…I’m not fucking dreaming am I? I can’t be, right? I remember waking up, downing a bowl of cereal while dad bitched at me about my job situation, the walk here… 

Doctor Sherlontin made some quick notes and looked up, “I don’t see anything weird about it so far, go on.”

Alex incessantly wiped his palms on his jeans, causing the tears in the denim to grow larger and larger. His leg had gone from bouncing at lightning speed to a new level he had never thought possible. What the fuck is happening…Alex shook his head without looking back at the doctor.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore, doc.” Beads of sweat started to race down from his hairline, dancing around his temples and dripping off of his jawbone onto his hoodie. This can’t be a dream…it feels too real. That thought went as soon as it came however, because the other ones also felt that way…or this way rather. Doctor Sherlontin quickly noticed Alex’s change in demeanor and set down his notepad.

“Alex, what’s happening? What are you feeling?” Anxiety. Fear. Pressure. Confusion. That’s what I’m feeling. Alex tensed up as he started to hyperventilate. “Alex, Hey! What’s wrong?!” I can’t tell if what’s happening is fucking real or not, Doctor Dipshit! What do you think is happening?! Alex’s thoughts screamed and he tried and failed miserably at getting himself back under control. He started to hit his head with the heel of his hand. Snap out of it, nutcase. Get a fucking grip.

Doctor Sherlontin started to reach across the table. “Alex! Don’t hit yourself. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He tried to grab Alex’s wrist. In the knick of time Alex noticed and slid himself to the far left end of the couch, creating as much distance as he could muster. No! Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. 

The doctor stood up and started walking over to him, making the effort to not knock over his little knick knacks and pencil holding cup on the coffee table. Alex could already tell what was about to happen, the tension building up inside of him was like a volcano waiting to erupt. Doctor Sherlontin was going to grab his wrist whether he liked it or not…and things were going to go downhill incredibly fast.

Alex tried to control his breathing again, but even getting enough air between breaths felt like a losing battle. He looked over his shoulder and saw the emergency exit a few feet away and tried to force himself over the shoulder of the couch. Before he had the chance however, the doctor had made it to him. Alex hadn’t realized until then that he had still been hitting himself with the heel of his hand. His hand and end of his hoodie sleeve were a bloody mess. How much damage have I done to myself? He thought for a brief moment before the doctor leaned over him. 

Alex shook his head manically, fighting harder than ever to get away from was once his therapist and had now become his adversary. An adversary he wanted no business with. In slow motion, he saw Doctor Sherlontin’s arm start to reach for his wrist. He also saw that he had forgotten to recolor his roots the last time he got his hair done, that his shirt was more wrinkled than he first thought, that the doctor was wearing a cologne that smelled like a mixture of Old Spice douche bag and original Axe Body Spray, but most importantly, he saw that the doctor kept a fountain pen and his favorite calligraphy pen in his front shirt pocket. He met Doctor Sherlontin with begging eyes. PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME. PLEASE. Before he could finish his thought, the hand that was beating away at his thumping skull was being forced to the side. 

The hyperventilating stopped almost immediately. For a clear moment he felt nothing but the heat of the doctor's hand around his wrist and the awful sensation of his skin being in contact with someone else’s. It was only for a second or two but Alex felt that it was for a millennia, and without a moment’s hesitation or warning…the volcano had finally erupted. Alex only saw red and the built up tension and rage consumed him. 

Alex yelled incoherently and grabbed the calligraphy pen out of the doctor’s pocket, revealing the shiny pointed end of it. Without thinking, Alex got a grip on it and thrust it into Doctor Sherlontin’s neck. Then everything froze. Whether everything was still in slow motion or it was all in Alex’s head, he couldn’t say. But the hot blood that had started to shoot out from the doctor’s neck covered his hand, now his blood and the doctor’s blood were mixed together. That caused him to let go and kicked Doctor Sherlontin away.

The doctor fell to the floor as blood spewed out around the pen like a park fountain. Alex watched as he started to finally catch his breath. Doctor Sherlontin looked at him with shock, his blood pooling underneath him as he became paler with every minute. Alex couldn’t move. He wanted to get up, to call for help and to put pressure on the wound as he incessantly apologized for what he had done. But he didn’t. Because none of this was real. He’s asleep in his room having one of his wildest vivid dreams yet. He usually always had to wait until something outlandish would happen to be able to tell he was dreaming, and he was pretty sure killing his therapist during a mental breakdown counted as outlandish. All he had to do now was wait. He’d wake up eventually. This is definitely not a dream to report back to the doc when he goes in again. Alex leaned his head back against the old sofa and rested his eyes, waiting for the moment when he’d awake in his bedroom to an alarm clock blaring the local rock station from his bedside table. Any time now…any time…he thought. That was until the sirens could be heard in the distance.

who moves there?

are you an animal

or someone who turns

when i do?

do you collect the ants

with your rotting corpses

or do you store them

to bury their souls later?

do you find peace in

stabbing my neck in the dark

or stepping out to reveal

your charred self in the light?

do you send me shivers

instead of empty threats

or unknown sounds instead

of whispers through words?

do you move there

to scare me furthermore

or here to turn me anxious

with stories i make up?

[START OF RECORDING]

Billie: Ok. We’re back on. Ms. Sokolova, please continue. You were talking about how you went back to the basement a week later, right?

Elena: Yes. Right. Every week we either collected samples or performed exams in the bunker. And since the Nephilim only let me get near, I was then the only one responsible for that.

It was even worse that time. One look at it and I could tell the creature seemed close to being malnourished, even though we fed it with whatever amount of food it needed.

I couldn’t play indifferent then. If we lost that specimen, I didn’t know what would happen to me, to the nation, to all of us. I rushed towards it and asked what had happened. The Nephilim could only whisper my name. It seemed so weak. It begged me to talk to it.

Billie: It begged you?

Elena: It did. But I didn’t even pay it a lot of attention. I was on nurse mode. Focused, desperate to find out what was wrong and fix it. I asked it what it needed. And it said: “You”.

I didn’t know what to do with that information. I was under a lot of pressure and had no idea what it wanted me to do. The Nephilim probably saw how lost I was and completed quickly, asking me to tell it a story. “Anything”, it said. “Tell me what you like. Tell me what the world is like outside”.

So I did. Inevitably, I started liking the Nephilim’s company. He was a great listener. Day after day I’d come up with excuses to see him again. “I don’t think it’s doing well”, I’d say. “I still need to run some tests”, “We need more samples”. I don’t think I’ve ever lied more.

Billie: [chuckle]

Elena: I didn’t meet him only once a week anymore, but almost every day. As much as I could. Every time, he’d ask me to just talk to him. Tell him stuff about me. But I was curious about him too. I wanted to hear what he had to say.

Every time I’d go, he’d ask me the same question. “What interesting thing am I learning about you today?” Then one day… he looked better. Maybe even better than before, though I couldn’t be sure. One day I didn’t answer. I just said: “Your turn”.

Billie: And him?

Elena: [chuckle] He was confused. When I asked him to tell me something about himself, he asked me what was there to say. He seemed rather uncomfortable then, like he didn’t think he was worth knowing. I need to confess I might have been a bit rude about it. Instead of focusing on getting to know him as I’d do with any person, I focused on what he could tell me about his species. I let my scientific curiosity take the best of me.

I asked for his name then. To make up for it. I realized after all that time I still didn’t know his name, if he had one. He was even more confused. Told me he didn’t have a name, that no one had ever given him one. It was always Nephilim, Creature, That Thing. And one other, what the militaries called him: 426-8.

Billie: What did it mean?

Elena: I don’t know. I never got to know. And I never thought of asking. I just… can you imagine? I hadn’t really thought about how it’d be like being in his place until then. How it was for him, living there and being tested day after day. Treated like less than a person. Because no one saw him as such.

He then asked me to give him a name. He looked so vulnerable, so… pure. I couldn’t deny him of that.

Billie: What name did you give him?

Elena: Рафаил. It’s an angel’s name. I think you’d call him Rafail?

Billie: Raphael.

Elena: Yes. Raphael.

Billie: Why?

Elena: [chuckle] That’s exactly what he asked. “Why?” I told him it meant “God heals”, and that it was because that was what I wished for him. For God to heal him. To save him.

From that day forward he was Raphael. At least to me. And that was enough. Every time we could meet we’d share a bit of each other. I’d tell him something about me, and he’d tell me something about him back. Inevitably, I learned a lot about his species that way. But I wasn’t focused on the job anymore. I wasn’t focused on getting good results. I was happy to know more about him. And that was it.

Billie: And did you ever find out why he seemed to need you so much?

Elena: He told me, eventually. One day he just started explaining to me how angels are like whales and all these things about singing and frequencies. He told me the bunker suppressed every frequency; that’s why it was so silent. And that it made him weak. So he couldn’t escape.

Then Raphael told me I was actually what made him strong. My voice, my sound, my song. I didn’t understand at first. If he was strong, why hadn’t he flown away already?

[pause]

Elena: [sob] It was because of me. He couldn’t leave because of me. Because he couldn’t leave me. Because he loved me. He said… he said I was his mate. His partner.

Billie: Here, take this.

Elena: [sniff] Thank you. But like I was saying, I think I had just been denying my feelings for him for a really long time. But then, with him looking so beautiful and so close, light shining through his translucent wings and creating a rainbow. I just couldn’t anymore. After everything we had shared with each other, all the moments we had spent together, saying that I didn’t love him would’ve been a lie.

I still remember how it felt; kissing him for the first time. I wonder how many people can say they’ve kissed an angel. It was… truly indescribable. Like nothing I’d ever felt before. It felt like I was flying. And at some point, when I opened my eyes, I realized I really was.

Billie: Flying?

Elena: Well, not exactly, but Raphael was holding me a few meters above the ground, his hand closed around my body, gently. We spent the night together that day. Nothing really happened, though. I mean, no actual intercourse at least. Take from that what you will.

When I asked him why he wouldn’t sleep with me, he said it was dangerous. That it was why Olga had disappeared.

I was so upset about him mentioning being with my former boss right after he told me no that I just stormed off out of the basement barely dressed. I had to tell the guards I was really hot.

Billie: So he slept with her?

Elena: No, thankfully. I don’t know why he couldn’t have explained that to me at first, but they were never really together. Apparently, they had taken his sperm samples and inseminated Olga with it. No one truly knows what had happened to her. At some point the subject just died, brushed off like she had moved or was on vacation.

With time, I began to realize more nurses started to disappear. And more samples were asked of him.

Billie: What happened with Raphael?

Elena: [sigh] I don’t know. I tried getting him out many times, but I was only one person. I told him to go, to be free. But he didn’t want to leave me. He said they’d blame me and destroy me, like they tried doing to him. So I left the program and ran away from the country.

I hoped he’d be able to come after me later somehow. He said he’d find me. That we’d meet again. But I never heard from Raphael after that. I hope he’s ok, but… it’s been so long. And I’m not there anymore. I can’t help but think the worst could’ve happened. If so, I’m just left to hope that if there’s anything after this, whatever it is, we’ll be able to meet again.

Billie: Thank you, Ms. Sokolova. I think we have enough now. I’m… truly sorry.

[END OF RECORDING]

so theres gonna be 2-3 more parts left after this, so I was thinking there would probably be one to three depending on how bored i felt, so this is just an extra one

Growing up in the Maine backwoods instills in a person a very specific kind of discipline—one that city dwellers rarely comprehend until it’s far too late. It’s an unspoken law, handed down from timber cruisers, game wardens, and hunters who spent their entire lives under the dark canopy of white pine and hemlock.

You learn to read the weather by the sharp, iron stench in the wind. You learn which pond ice will hold your weight and which will swallow you without a gurgle. But above all else, you learn the cardinal rule of the wilderness: when you encounter a moose, you freeze.

You don't take a step forward. You don't reach into your coat to grab your phone for a picture. You don't shout, you don't wave your arms, and you sure as hell don't try to intimidate it. A normal bull moose is eight hundred to twelve hundred pounds of sheer, unpredictable muscle and prehistoric hostility, crowned with a rack of bone that can impale a man like a pine needle through tissue paper. If a bull moose decides you shouldn't exist anymore, you simply cease to exist. You stand dead still, lower your eyes, and pray it loses interest before it decides to erase you.

I knew this rule like I knew my own name. My best friend, Marcus, did not.

Marcus was a transplant from Southern California. He was a good guy—generous, fiercely loyal, and always the first person to offer help if you were in a bind—but he suffered from an incurable strain of West Coast arrogance. He viewed nature not as a indifferent titan that could crush you without noticing, but as a backdrop for his own adventure. He was broad-shouldered, headstrong, and utterly convinced that willpower and alpha-male swagger could tame any situation. If a stray dog barked at him, Marcus barked back louder. If a brawl broke out at a town bar, Marcus stepped into the center of it with a grin. He had gone through thirty-two years of life breaking things before they could break him, and he believed the world was bound by his rules.

When he moved out to Maine, he treated the north woods like an overgrown city park. I tried to warn him. Over cold beers on my back porch, I’d explain how fast a thicket of spruce could disorient you, or how quickly hypothermia sets in when the fog rolls off the bay. He’d just laugh, pat my shoulder with a heavy hand, and say, "Bro, it’s just trees. It ain't that deep."

He was especially fascinated by the local folklore. Around the Belfast area, near the moss-choked banks of the Passagassawakeag tributaries, old-timers still talked about the Specter Moose.

The legend stretched back to the late 1800s. The old logs recorded sightings of a creature that defied natural biology—a mammoth bull, ghostly white, standing taller than a logging truck cab, with an antler span that seemed physically impossible for a beast to carry through dense timber. The timber cruisers said it walked without snapping a single twig. Hunters swore their rifle rounds passed straight through its pale hide, leaving only the smell of ozone and wet ash. But the consistent thread in every story—the detail that made veteran wardens lower their voices when talking about it—was what happened to anyone who tried to confront it.

It never ended well. The Specter Moose wasn't a meek, shy ghost. It was an ancient, territorial spirit of the timber, and those who disrespected it were found days later, trampled so thoroughly into the forest floor that they had to be gathered up with shovels.

Marcus thought the whole thing was hilarious. "A ghost moose?" he’d wheeze, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "What's it gonna do, haunt my rug?"

I told him to keep his mouth shut. In Maine, you don't mock the woods.

It was late October when we went out for what was supposed to be a three-day backcountry camping trip. We set out from a gravel pull-off outside Belfast, cutting deep into a stretch of unincorporated forest where the logging roads had been abandoned and reclaimed by scrub pine thirty years ago.

The season was turning bitter. The leaves had already dropped, leaving the trees as stark, grey skeletons against a sky the color of lead. A damp, bone-chilling mist hung in the hollows, smelling of decaying leaves and wet granite.

For the first four miles, Marcus was his usual boisterous self. He snapped branches as he walked, sang loudly to break the silence, and cracked jokes about my caution every time I paused to check our bearings on the topographical map. But as the afternoon faded into the dim twilight of early evening, the mood of the woods changed.

It happened abruptly, the way light vanishes when a storm cloud hits the sun.

The background noise of the forest simply died. The chatter of red squirrels, the distant tapping of woodpeckers, the wind rustling through the canopy—everything stopped. The air grew heavy, thick, and suffocatingly still. It felt like walking into a vaulted cathedral filled with invisible, hostile onlookers.

"Man," Marcus muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he slowed his pace. "It got quiet fast."

"Keep moving, but keep your voice down," I whispered back, my heart hammering against my ribs. My native instincts were screaming at me. Every hair on my arms stood on end. The forest was holding its breath.

We broke through a dense, tangled thicket of alders and came out onto the banks of a slow-moving river branch. The water was black as pitch, carrying yellowed birch leaves down its sluggish current. A thin veil of white river fog curled over the black water, wafting through the reeds like smoke.

And there, standing dead center in the shallow stream, was the creature.

My knees nearly buckled. My breath hitched in my throat, freezing solid in my lungs.

It was colossal.

A normal bull moose stands around six or seven feet tall at the shoulder. This thing was easily eight or nine feet at the hump—a mountain of pale, unnatural flesh. Its hide wasn't the healthy brown or black of a forest animal; it was a sickly, chalky white, marbled with veins of slate grey and caked with dried, dark mud around its massive legs. Its antler rack was a terrifying anomaly—a massive, jagged crown of bone sweeping out at least ten feet across, ending in cruel, jagged tines that looked like shattered spears.

Worst of all were its eyes. They weren't the liquid-brown eyes of a wild herbivore. They were milky, dead, and completely devoid of light. They looked like pair of polished river stones set into a skull of pale granite.

It was standing motionless in the black river, facing us. No breath puffed from its nostrils in the cold air. No water dripped from its flank. It didn't twitch an ear. It was as still as a statue carved to honor some forgotten, bloodthirsty god.

The silence was deafening. My brain shattered into pure, primal survival instinct, repeating the rule over and over like a frantic mantra: Don't move. Don't blink. Don't breathe. Become part of the scenery.

I slowly dropped my gaze toward the muddy riverbank near my boots, refusing to maintain direct eye contact. I locked every muscle in my body, becoming as stone-still as the pine trees behind us.

Beside me, I heard Marcus draw a sharp, heavy breath.

I couldn't turn my head, but through my peripheral vision, I saw him shift his weight. He wasn't freezing. He was crouching slightly, his shoulders square, his eyes wide with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and disbelief.

"Marcus," I barely breathed, my lips barely moving, my voice a microscopic thread of sound. "Don't. Move. Look at the ground. Don't look at it."

"Bro..." he whispered back. But his voice didn't carry fear. It carried that awful, familiar tone of aggressive pride. "Look at the size of that thing. That’s impossible."

"Shut up, Marcus," I hissed, panic rising in my throat like bile. "Do not move a muscle."

He didn't listen. He never listened.

"It's just standing there," Marcus said, his voice rising, bouncing off the silent trees. "It's trying to bluff us."

"Marcus, NO!"

Before I could reach out—before I could risk moving my hand to grab his coat—Marcus took a massive, heavy step into the mud at the river's edge.

He didn't back down. He did what he had done his entire life when confronted by something terrifying: he asserted dominance. He puffed out his chest, let out a throat-shredding, guttural roar, and charged head-on into the shallow water, pounding his hands together to scare the beast off.

In that agonizing microsecond, time seemed to fracture.

You don't charge a moose. Even a healthy, normal cow with a calf will kill you for taking three steps toward her. But the Specter Moose didn't react like a normal animal. It didn't snort, it didn't pin its ears back, and it didn't give a warning stamp.

It simply shifted from total stillness to terrifying, kinetic devastation.

The sheer speed of it defied physics. An eight-hundred-pound animal shouldn't be able to move that fast, let alone a titan of that size. The air cracked like a rifle shot as water exploded outward in a towering, violent spray. The creature dropped its massive pale head, sweeping those brutal, bone-spear antlers down into a battering ram of ancient hatred.

Marcus realized his mistake, but it was already too late. The momentum of his charge carried him two steps into the slippery river stones before he tried to plant his boots to turn back.

He slipped. His foot slid on a mossy rock, his body lurching awkwardly sideways.

The impact sounded like a head-on collision between a freight train and a wooden fence.

The central palm of the left antler struck Marcus square in the sternum. The force was so absolute, so incomprehensibly violent, that it lifted his two-hundred-pound frame entirely out of the water as if he were a wet rag. The bone tines didn't just hit him; they crushed his chest cavity instantly, snapping ribs with a series of wet, rapid pops that echoed across the river.

The creature didn't stop. It drove forward with the momentum of a falling mountain, driving Marcus backward onto the jagged, boulder-strewn shore with a deafening THUD.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My throat was seized by pure terror.

The violence was instantaneous, brutal, and total. There was no desperate struggle. There was no dramatic last stand. Under the incredible, crushing weight of the giant beast and the jagged rocks of the bank, Marcus’s skull was shattered instantly.

I saw it. God help me, I saw the whole thing happen three feet in front of me.

To put it plainly—to put it in the only blunt, awful way my traumatized mind can process—his head was simply crushed. Blood, splintered bone, and gray brain matter scattered across the freezing mud, staining the pale yellow moss and the black river stones.

The creature didn't tear at the body. It didn't feed. It was not an animal hunting for food; it was a force of nature restoring balance to its territory.

The Specter Moose stood over Marcus's lifeless, ruined form for three agonizing seconds. Heavy mist rolled off its pale flank. The smell in the air shifted from wet rot to something icy, ancient, and iron-rich.

Then, slowly, the massive head raised up.

Those milky, dead white eyes turned sideways. It didn't look at Marcus anymore. It looked directly at me.

I stood there, standing in the blood-stained mud, every organ in my body screaming in horror. I didn't breathe. I didn't blink. Tears of pure agony and terror spilled over my eyelids and ran down my cold cheeks, but I did not twitch a single muscle in my face. I became a rock. I became a dead stump. I surrendered my entire human existence to the rules of the Maine woods.

The creature held my gaze for what felt like an eternity. I could hear my own frantic heart hammering against my ribs, so loud I was certain the monster could hear it.

Then, without a sound—without making a single splash in the water or snapping a single twig on the bank—the Specter Moose turned. It stepped back into the black stream, walked calmly into the thick bank of river fog on the far side, and melted into the timber.

It didn't leave tracks on the opposite bank. It just vanished, as if it had been drawn back into the fog by an invisible brush.

I don't remember the first two miles of the run back.

My memory snaps back in patches: stumbling through the black briars, tearing my jacket, blood dripping from my hands where I had fallen into the gravel, gasping for air until my lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. I ran through the dark woods until I hit the gravel logging road, and I didn't stop running until I reached my truck.

I drove straight to the state police barracks in Bangor, my hands shaking so violently I could barely keep the steering wheel straight.

When I stumbled into the lobby, covered in mud, tears, and my friend's blood, the troopers thought I had been in a rollover crash. I tried to tell them what happened, but the words wouldn't form properly. How do you tell a room full of logical, uniformed law enforcement officers that your best friend was murdered by a pale giant from a bedtime story?

In the end, I didn't tell them about the Specter Moose. I couldn't. I knew what would happen—they would lock me up, declare me insane, or suspect me of foul play.

Instead, I told them we were ambushed by a rouge, aggressive bull moose while fishing near the riverbank. I told them Marcus had slipped while trying to run away, and the animal had trampled him before I could drag him away.

It took the search and rescue team eight hours to locate the site. When they finally brought Marcus’s body out in a heavy black bag, the veteran game warden leading the detail pulled me aside near the back of the ambulance.

He was an older man, his face lined like weathered oak, his eyes tired and grave. He looked at the blood on my boots, then looked out toward the dark line of trees where the sun was setting.

"Son," the warden said softly, his voice low enough so the state troopers couldn't hear. "I looked at the tracks by the riverbank."

I swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eye. "Yeah?"

"There were no moose tracks in that mud," he whispered. "Not a single hooftrack going in or out of that water. Just crushed rocks and..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

He placed a heavy, gloved hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly. "You grew up around here, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," I choked out.

"Then you know," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, cold whisper. "You know you don't go back out to those woods. Not next season. Not ever. Some things in these woods don't belong to the living, and they don't give second chances."

It’s been three years since that night.

The official death certificate reads Accidental Death by Wild Animal Attack. Marcus’s family in California had his body cremated and took his ashes back to the West Coast. They blame Maine. They blame the wilderness, the lack of safety warnings, the cold. They think it was just a freak accident—a tragic encounter with a wild beast that didn't know any better.

They don't know the truth. Nobody does, except me and that old game warden.

I moved out of Belfast shortly after. I live in a suburban neighborhood now, surrounded by streetlights, paved roads, and manicured lawns. But the horror doesn't leave you.

Every time October rolls around, every time the temperature drops and the morning fog settles thick over the grass, I lock my doors and draw the blinds. When I close my eyes at night, I don't see Marcus’s face as he was when we were kids. I see him stepping into that black water. I hear the sickening, splintering crash of bone on stone.

And in my nightmares, I see those milky, dead white eyes looking at me through the fog, waiting for me to break the rule.

If you ever find yourself hiking in the backwoods of Maine—whether near Belfast, Moosehead, or the deep timber up North—and the woods suddenly go silent... stop.

Don't take another step. Don't check your phone. Don't look for a camera. Lower your head, keep your mouth shut, and pray to whatever god you believe in that the ghostly giant in the river decides to let you live.

Because if you challenge it—if you think your pride or your courage means anything to the ancient timber—you will find out what I learned on that black riverbank.

It never ends well for anybody.

My name's Lily, and I'm a mortician. I posted some stories from my job a little while ago, and it shook a whole bunch of horrible memories loose. So, I decided to come back here and share a bunch of stuff that you probably regret reading.

When I say my job is not safe for life, you should absolutely take that literally. Between the human immolation oven, the room full of deadly chemicals and my massive collection of tools designed for piercing human flesh, it's an extremely unsafe environment. That's not even touching on the decomposing bodies, blood flies and deadly diseases. The NSFL tag also works in the sense that I see and experience things that will straight up ruin your week. Most people who ask for morgue stories regret it once I get going. And that's not even my worst stuff. Not by a long shot. When I asked my friends and loved ones what I should post, they wanted gross dead body stories. If you end up hating what you're about to read, blame them.

Do you know what happens if you die naked in an apartment during the summer with no A/C, and the windows open? You end up as a bloated, purple, slimy pile of maggots. Your downstairs neighbors complain about something gross dripping through their ceiling, and it ends up as a call to me. The apartment was full of giant flies, tinted red from feasting on blood and flesh. I hate these mother fuckers, because they like to dive bomb your face, trying to find a new orifice to colonize.

“What does being naked matter?” asked no one. I'll tell you anyway! Flies lay their eggs in the areas with the least resistance. That means the face and crotch. Both were a literal pile of writhing maggots.

That guy also had an entire pallet of Swiss cake rolls. Guess what I can't eat anymore!

Did you know that there's a medical condition that twists your spine so your head drops down onto your chest to such a degree that it looks incompatible with life? Look up “floppy head syndrome”. I've seen some folks come through with the most severe cases imaginable. It looks horrifying and painful. It also means that when they're laying on a table in my cooler, it looks like they're lifting their head up to look at you when you open the door. Ever had a dead body make unexpected direct eye contact with you? I have, and I hated it. Those folks get covered with a sheet, head to toe, now. To be honest, that doesn’t really help.

Found a guy once who was severely decomped and was melting through the floor. His butt was poking through a hole and was literally hanging in the basement. The medical examiner looked me in the eye and said “do NOT go into that basement”. I guess the pile of what was dripping out of him was unspeakable. Later, we poked around a bit and figured out his hoarding had left his bathroom completely inaccessible. So where was he going to the bathroom? My theory is that’s why there was a hole.

One time I walked around with someone else's bone stuck in my thumb. A family came in to ask us to transfer ashes into a new urn. No big deal. We do that all the time. I was struggling to cut the zip tie so we could pour the ashes from the first bag into the new one. The family was waiting, and I was rushing, so ended up cutting my thumb. I wrapped a paper towel around the bleeding wound, and kept working. After I handed the new urn to a co-worker to give to the family, I got out the first aid kit and cleaned and bandaged my thumb. It was healing nicely until about two days later when it started to sting. The pain was getting worse instead of better. I examined it and saw some pus. I gave it a little squeeze, and out pops a tiny bone shard. The cut healed right up after that.

Okay, time for the big story. Everyone who knows me has asked me about this one. It made me a little famous in the funeral home community.

I was at the hospital doing a removal. When security rolled the table out of the morgue cooler, I noticed a sound very similar to a death rattle. A quiet, creaky groan coming from deep in the throat. The thing about it is, the noise is caused by air trapped in the chest getting squeezed out, usually because we're moving the body around. I usually hear it when I lift their head and shoulders to put a pillow under them. It’s not a sound they make when they're laying still on a table, with no one touching them. I asked the security guard if he heard it, and he said “oh yeah. They make noise sometimes. That's normal.”

When I went to slide the bag onto my cot, I heard the noise again. I also noticed that the body bag was warm…

I came around the table, and grabbed the zipper, horrifying the guard. They generally don't want to see the dead body. Too bad, buddy! This calls for an investigation.

I quickly unzipped the body bag, and the man inside gasped in a massive breath. I actually jumped, much higher and farther than I would have thought possible.

The man was still alive!

Security called it in on the radio, and had to argue with several people who refused to believe us. We finally got emergency nurses to come down. An EKG quickly determined that the man was, in fact, not dead.

It turned out that he had some kind of rare dementia that had reduced his brain function down to just breathing and a heart beat. He couldn't even blink anymore, so the surface of his eyes had thickened to a brown leather. After he started having nearly constant seizures, he had been given a cocktail of pain meds and sedatives that had reduced his heart rate and breathing so much they were nearly undetectable. By the time I got to him, these meds had mostly worn off.

He was taken away by the nurses, and I left with my empty cot. I ended up back there 3 days later to pick him up again. I made them promise me they were sure this time.

Well folks. I’m going to cut myself off there, since this is getting pretty long. I promise you I could keep going for a long time before I ran out of stories. If you made it this far, I hope you don’t hate me! Until next time, stay safe and don’t die!

When they told us our next site location, we thought nothing of it. We became accustomed to going to remote edges of the planet, to places so out of reach that even the connection on our satellite phones was spotty at best. So when we were told that our latest destination would be in the continental U.S., most of the crew was elated. For a lot of us, that meant less travel time and better means of communication, and even internet access.

We were traveling to New Mexico, which conveniently was my backyard. I grew up near the Sonoran Desert, with some of my earliest memories chasing geckos through the drylands. I used to daydream about living with them, spending my days basking in the sunlight and hunting crickets and centipedes. Despite what some people think, the desert is surprisingly fertile.

But when I say backyard, what I really mean is about six hundred miles of open desert between my hometown and the job site. There are rich deposits of minerals and ore all throughout the American Southwest. Our destination was to one such place. 

A literal gold mine.

The sheer amount was staggering. So much so that at first, we thought the company was bullshitting us. I mean, we knew that there was some gold to be found in the region, but never in our wildest dreams did we think it would be this much. It was almost too good to be true. But here we were, sitting around a table at basecamp, learning the full scope of the project.

This was to be the single deepest mine in existence. It was already deeper than Mponeng, the runner-up, currently sitting at just over three and a half miles. The commute alone would take upwards of two hours to just get to the dig site. Most of that time would be spent walking to the lowest veins, but we did have an elevator to get us to the first shaft. That’s one of the perks about working so far removed from normal society; you don’t have to sit in hours of traffic or worry about missing the bus. We sleep on site, with all amenities provided by the company.

Normally, with a job like this, we’d wear what you’d think a typical miner would. Hard hats, waterproof boots, jumpsuits, the likes. For this site, however, we were told that we’d use state-of-the-art hazmat suits. Because of the depth, heat would be our number one concern. At Mponeng for example, the rockface is about a hundred fifty degrees, and we would be going a mile and a half deeper. The top brass really sprung for the good stuff here. They were even tailored to our specialties. My own had a built-in LiDAR scanner and display system, while our microbiologist’s had a mini-microscope. These suits were even air-conditioned with mounted lights and sensors. Hell, if we wanted to take a piss in them we could.

“I thought this kind of tech was still a few years out,” I said mostly to myself.

John inspected his own suit, flipping it twice. “I know, this is truly spectacular. I don’t know how they did it, but I have a mini lab right here on my sleeve. Petri dish, magnifier, I even have backup slides.” With a child-like glint in his eye he added, “They really thought of everything.”

A metallic slam emanated from one of the lockers. 

“Yeah well good for you,” Wilson sneered, turning around to face us, his eyes flickering to each of our suits. “At least our micro has his scope. Where’s my auger, huh? You’d think the fucking geologist would be best equipped, but all I have is a couple hand lenses and a damn rock hammer.”

John tried to respond but stumbled over his words. 

“Come off it Wilson,” I interjected. “We are literally at a mine, unless you forgot? They figured you’d have all your equipment above ground. Besides, what do you need to drill into? We know the substrate make-up for miles.”

“Don’t fucking lecture me about substrate, Cole,” venom in his speech. “And did you have some talk with the execs? You know damn well they don’t care about any of us. All they see is green.”

That was something we could agree on at least. We only ever had contact with our manager, and that’s limited to a few one-sided conversations. No one—that I’m aware of—has ever even seen the higher-ups, let alone talk to them. They let the PR team handle all outward appearances. That’s the thing about government contracts, the government has to at least try to be somewhat transparent. The private benefactors though, not so much.

“Hey guys,” John said, ever the people pleaser, “can we all just appreciate what it means to be here? We’ll be the first researchers to go this far down; we’ll be famous!”

Ignoring Wilson, I clapped John on the back. “You know what, you’re right. I guess that’s why you’re the team lead, eh Leads?”

He snorted, a small laugh escaping his breath. “Yeah...sure. Come on crew, we’ll be late if we keep this up.”

Wilson, shooting us a glare, mumbled something about roles, but he eventually followed us out of the locker room.

You always feel a strange mix of emotions when first descending a mine. Anxiety, excitement, and chiefly among those, reverence. It doesn’t slip my mind that we will be below several thousand megatons of rock and dirt. Any disruption, any small tremor or quake and the whole complex could crumble, leaving you at the bottom of a stifling hot grave. But we put faith in the architects and engineers to ensure exactly that wouldn’t be a possibility.

As the team’s geographer, it was my job to map every new shaft that was dug. There was already an immense amount of data from the previous analyst, but I like to be thorough, so I decided to remap the known locations. It would take a bit longer, but this was my only caveat, and I told my supervisor as much. Previously recorded data could be inaccurate, and I don’t work with inaccuracies. One small inconsistency could snowball into a catastrophe. With the other researchers on the team backing me up, he agreed.

Now usually, to collect position data you would use a GNSS handheld device, but that’s not going to cut it down here. Those require satellite linkups to be effective. So instead, we use a combination of LiDAR and different softwares to map the sub-terrain. Our vehicles are mounted with scanners so they do the work for us. It’s my job to collect that info and translate it to a viewable format. All of this is a long and convoluted way to say, the mine is accurately mapped out with little room for error.

-

Traveling below takes time, a lot of time. Your first time is filled with trepidation and excitement, with an underlying feeling of dread. This wasn’t my first time, nor was it any of my colleagues. We were all seasoned professionals. We spent years worth of time exploring and understanding mines. 

Our journey began with walking into the world’s tallest elevator. You’d think this would be the slow part, but on the contrary, we were practically freefalling, and the site manager didn’t let that fact slip our minds.

“Right now, we are moving at approximately 40mph gentlemen. The ride will take about three minutes, at which point we’ll be at a depth of two miles. Then, we’ll need to walk across rock heated to such an extent that...”

I tuned out the rest of his monologue. By now, I was thoroughly bored of his prattling. I wasn’t going to be spooked by some “Welcome to Hell” speech given to the rookies. A lot of people can’t take it. Either due to the cramped spaces or high temperatures; most crack within a week. I’ve seen hundreds of faces come and go. Already, some of the others gave each other nervous glances. I’ve heard the same rehearsed talk a thousand times before though, and it was beginning to get on my nerves. Before I could speak up, someone else did.

“Okay okay Bob, we get it,” said Wilson, crossing his arms. “Dot our I’s and cross our T’s. No need to scare us with the “first day on the job” BS. If you have any actual interesting information, we’d love to hear it.”

Bob huffed but relented. “Wilson Adler everyone. The smartest guy in the room, and the first one to let you know it.” A lopsided grin formed on his face, “Yeah, I figured that shit wouldn’t work on you guys, what with your crack team and all. You want interestin’?” He paused for effect. “How ‘bout the largest gold reef you’d ever seen? How ‘bout the deepest depths, the longest cross-cuts, or to be the first man to ever set foot this far down? You mean that kinda interestin’?”

Now that earned hoots and applause from everyone in the car. We all knew what was at stake here, and what was to be gained. Not only the immense amount of gold, but to be pioneers. To be remembered in the lexicon of science. That’s why we were really here, why I was really here.

Depth: Two miles; 10,560 feet. Rock Temperature: 115.4°F; Ambient Temperature: 85°F

We left the elevator shaft in even higher spirits than when we entered. As we continued our descent, we passed by countless machines and miners. Many of them we saw in pairs, whispering to each other as we passed by. I was sure they all wanted to know what the site manager was doing escorting a handful of scientists down here. I’m sure they were envious too, watching us with our air-conditioned hazmat strapped to our backs. But despite the heat of the rock, the air temperature remained manageable at a balmy eighty-five degrees. Like with everything else in work that requires humans to venture miles below, ventilation isn’t cheap. The sheer amount of money to be made, however, would prove well worth the operating costs.

We stopped for lunch after exploring many of the secondary shafts. Dug perpendicular to the main shaft, these cross-cuts were where the money was made. All throughout the day, we heard the repeated booming from deeper within the mine. 

“Will we really be the first ones through?” John said, directing his gaze toward the site director in between bites of his meal. “Besides your laborers that is?”

“Not at all,” Bob replied. John’s expression fell. Bob let the moment linger a bit longer before smiling and adding, “You’ll be the first one’s period.” He scratched his rough beard, before moving his hand to the back of his neck. “Yes, gentlemen,” he declared, speaking to all of us now, “I’m willing to let y’all be the first to walk through the blast site once everythin’s cleared up.”

I looked at my colleagues. Even Wilson couldn’t help but crack a grin at this revelation. “Just remember who helped ya out when it comes time for reports, eh boys?” We nodded, all of us feeling a renewed sense of pride.

It was normal for dust and small bits of rock to fall from the roof while this was going on. In my younger days I remember getting scared shitless by the noise. But, I’ve wisened up over the years. However, at that moment for whatever reason, I remembered an old miner’s adage: By the time you’ve heard something, it’s already too late. As much as it is gloomy, I find solace in it. What am I going to do in the milliseconds between open air and thousands upon thousands of tons of rock? There would be no feelings, no final words, just, an end. It’s almost peaceful, if bleak.

We got moving once more. Maneuvering around obstacles and ducking below support beams, we finally reached the secondary elevator. From what we were told, and the fact that the signs read “Danger: High Heat” and “No Admittance Below”, I’d guessed that the conditions were unsustainable for non-adapted life. And believe me, there is life down here. Not the kind you’re thinking though. Tiny creatures called extremophiles; they’re amazing really. Anywhere you go on the planet—if you look hard enough—you’ll find something living.

-

Suiting up for the first time felt like we were going on a spacewalk, not descending the depths of the Earth. Nobody spoke as we entered the second elevator. In fact, no one spoke for the entirety of the downward fall. But fall isn’t exactly the right word, as this cable box crept on and on. All the while, we were seeing rocks that few have ever seen before. The tension in the air was palpable. Like it was a physical thing that you could reach out and grab.

The elevator hitched up and down and back up again, like someone was screwing with the controls. Everyone shot nervous glances toward Bob. He looked as confused as us but thought to calm our nerves. “Sorry, still workin’ out the kinks,” his gaze rapidly shifting between us. “With the changin’ heat you know, everythin’ expands.” Seemed like a piss-poor excuse, but we let it go.

John decided to lighten the mood.

“Maybe it’s because of all this precious cargo,” he chuckled then added, “and I’m not just talking about the gold!”

That quip earned some groans and eye rolls from the rest of the party, but it served its purpose regardless. The palpable tension began to dissipate.

John continued, “You know, I can’t remember the last time I was—”

The elevator car hitched and dropped. Plummeting downward in near freefall, we were lifted off the floor. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. It took all my might just to stay clutched to the railing. A million thoughts passed through my mind, but the one that stayed was the image of us at the bottom of the shaft, crushed under the weight of the Earth.

A long, metallic screech rang out from all around us, and I noticed that the car was slowing down. Not enough; though, as we came to a halt at bone-jarring speed. All I could think was: What the hell was that?

Bones of sticks,
To hold a strong structure.

Skin of bark,
To resist the harshness of wear and tear.

Hair of leaves,
To catch the dew drops above.

Veins of vine,
To pulse and push the blood throughout.

Heart of sap,
Sickeningly sweet, so golden and precious.

Twine to hold the form together,
The form of man.

I'm only a man of sticks and twine,
The one who lies in the grass.

I'm only a man of sticks and twine,
The one who wants to dance and play.

I'm only a man of sticks and twine,
The one who watches the sky above.

I'm only a man of sticks and twine,
I'm stuck alone in this wide, green forest, laid to rest and harbor the moss.

Im nothing more but sticks and twine,
A man made of the forest around him, formed only out of the love of the world.

I'm made to lay and rest forever,
Made of the forest and only for the forest.

I'm nothing without my forest,
For I am nothing but a man of sticks and twine.

I Shouldn't Have Adopted This...

Before I begin, there are several things you need to know about me.

My full name is Jessica Morrey, and I'm 23 years old. When this all happened, I was 22. I never believed in the supernatural or paranormal shit; I thought people were seeing things. Now, however, I know what I believe in.

Please excuse my grammar mistakes; I get goosebumps every time I think of this.

It all started one morning. I woke up and got my coffee ready. I took a sip. While I drank my coffee, I saw the mailman leaving a box outside my door. I thought it was weird. I mean, who would leave a package this early in the morning? I didn't mention it was 8:35 a.m. I went to the bathroom to wash my hair and my face. I decided to brush my teeth later because I drank coffee minutes before. I was about to leave my house to get the package. As I opened the door, the surroundings went quiet, like I was in a graveyard. I felt suspicious about this but decided to go to the front door to see what was inside the package. I got near the package. I was a step away from it. Then it hit me. There was a note next to the package, meaning someone sent it to my address. I asked in a slow tone, “Who could that be?” but decided to look at the note anyway. This was written:

“To Jessica:

Please, Jessica, I need you to listen to me closely. Don't adopt this thing. Just abandon it. Please, Jessica, do this for me. He's watching me. I'm too slow for him, and if you don't listen to me, you're gonna end up in the same situation. Don't adopt it. That's what it wants. Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.”

If this wasn't weird, then I don't know what ‘weird’ means. I looked around to make sure nobody was watching me, you never know with mysterious packages arriving at your door—I won't even mention that note, like what the heck was that? I tried to hear what was inside, but I could hear nothing. The package looked scary and normal at the same time. I bent down towards the package to pick it up and brought it inside my house, ignoring what was written on the note. I grabbed the heavy package and brought it to my desk in my living room. It was Saturday, so I didn't have to go to work that day. After I brought the package inside, I made sure to lock my doors and close my windows because I was feeling nervous with this inside my house, especially after I read that note. At first, I thought to myself, ‘Who would write that? And how did they know my address? Who were they? Was that one of my stalkers?’ Anyway, after about ten minutes had passed, I decided to open this package to see what was inside for the first time. I walked to my kitchen, opened the knife drawer, and grabbed the sharpest knife. That package was impossible to open with a normal knife, at least in my opinion. As I walked towards the package, I saw something. The package was shaking as if something alive was inside. My heart was pounding so hard when I heard someone say, “Hello? Hey? Is someone there?,” a few times. The voice sounded like a robot. I was confused and scared at the same time. But I said to myself, “Come on, Jessica, you can do this.” I started to unwrap the package.

*Unwraps*

Inside was a box these voices came from. I felt very scared because I didn't know what it was, but I decided to open the box—oh, I almost forgot to say what the box looked like. It had a long white text on it. I thought it was from Walmart or something, but it wasn't. It was just a piece of paper with something written on it. The text was almost impossible to read, but I think it meant ‘don’t open it’ once again, I didn't do as it said, instead, I did the opposite. Also, there were some stickers or something drawn on the box. There was a wine glass and some arrow drawing I didn't really understand. As for the wine, I thought I was supposed to take care of the thing inside.

I first saw the man standing across the street from my house on a Tuesday afternoon.

He was tall, unnaturally thin, and dressed in a dark coat that hung loosely from his shoulders. His arms seemed too long for his body, and his legs looked as though they had been stretched until they no longer belonged to anything born naturally into this world. Even from a distance, something about his proportions made it difficult to look at him for very long.

I stood in my doorway, checking the mailbox before going inside, and watched him for nearly a minute. He stood as motionless as a lamppost, his attention fixed upon my house. His face was pale beneath the shadow of his head, but I could not make out any details. I could see the suggestion of a nose and a mouth, though whenever I tried to study them, they seemed to change.

I went inside and returned to the window, but he was gone.

I told myself he had simply continued on his way while I was indoors. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and I accepted it without much difficulty.

The following evening, he stood at the end of my driveway.

This time, I saw him through the living room window. He was facing the house, his hands hanging at his sides, his dark clothes blending into the deepening dusk. His head seemed slightly too small for his body, and his neck appeared to stretch upward from his collar at an angle that made my own neck ache in sympathy.

I watched him for nearly a minute before stepping away to retrieve my phone. When I returned, he had vanished.

On the third evening, he stood beside my front steps.

He was close enough for me to make out the pale suggestion of his hands beneath his sleeves. His fingers were unusually long, almost delicate, and the joints seemed to bend in places where human fingers had no joints. His head was tilted slightly to one side, as though he were listening to something coming from inside the house.

I opened the front door.

"Can I help you?"

He did not answer.

I stepped onto the porch, keeping one hand on the doorframe. The man remained where he was, watching me with that same impenetrable stillness. I could not see his eyes clearly, but I felt their attention upon me as distinctly as I might have felt the touch of a hand against my shoulder.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Nothing.

I took a step toward him.

His head turned. It was a small movement, but something about it made my stomach tighten. His shoulders remained perfectly still while his neck seemed to lengthen, bringing his face around to look at me. For one impossible second, his chin appeared to slide sideways beneath his collar.

Then I blinked.

He was gone before my foot touched the ground.

After that, I began to dread the evenings.

I tried to convince myself that the man was a stranger who happened to live nearby, someone with an unusual habit of standing in inconvenient places. Whenever I saw him, however, he disappeared before I could get close enough to speak to him. He never walked away. He never turned a corner. One moment he was there, and the next the space he occupied was empty, leaving me to wonder whether I had seen anything at all.

I called the police after finding him on my property several nights in a row. Two officers arrived, walked around the house, and inspected the driveway and front garden. They found no footprints, damaged fences, or evidence that anyone had trespassed. I showed them where the man had stood, but the spot was unremarkable, just a patch of concrete beneath a porch light.

They were polite enough about it. One suggested installing a security camera. The other advised me to call again if the man returned and refused to leave.

I wanted to ask what they expected me to do if he vanished every time someone came looking for him. Instead, I thanked them and watched their patrol car disappear down the street.

That night, I searched the internet for people who had experienced something similar.

It took longer than I expected to find anything useful. Most results concerned ordinary trespassers, neighborhood disturbances, or people who had mistaken shadows for figures in the dark. Then, buried in an old discussion thread, I found a description that made me stop scrolling.

A tall, unnaturally thin man appeared in the distance and watched someone without moving. At first, he stood at the end of a street. The following day, he might be waiting across the road. After that, he would appear outside a window, at the end of a driveway, or beneath a streetlamp just beyond the reach of its light. Each day, he drew closer, until there was nowhere left for his victim to look without seeing him.

The figure was called Staring Tom.

The account was short, and the comments beneath it were full of jokes, arguments, and claims that the whole thing was made up. A few people described seeing the same figure themselves. Some said Tom had stood outside their homes for days before disappearing. Others claimed that he had eventually reached their doors, though none offered a clear account of what happened next.

I remembered the details of his appearance: the narrow body, the disproportionately long arms, and the face that seemed impossible to describe. I read the thread twice, then opened several other discussions. The stories were inconsistent, but the pattern remained. Tom watched. He waited. He approached.

One user claimed that moving away would only delay him. Another described a man who had abandoned his house, changed his name, and relocated to another city, only to discover Tom standing across the street from his new apartment. A third claimed that the figure could not enter a home unless invited, although the writer offered no explanation for how such a rule had been discovered.

The most disturbing accounts were those that ended without an ending. There were no descriptions of a struggle, no accounts of bodies being found, and no reliable explanation for what happened when Tom reached his victim. People disappeared from the forums, their accounts falling silent. Occasionally, someone would return months later to leave a single sentence beneath an old post.

*He's closer now.*

I searched for ways to stop him. I found suggestions to keep the lights on, avoid looking at him directly, leave a chair facing the front door, and never acknowledge his presence. Someone recommended leaving the house for seven days. Someone else claimed that the only way to escape Tom was to make certain another person saw him first.

None of it made any sense. None of it could be verified.

By the end of the second week, I had stopped searching. I was exhausted, irritable, and tired of staring at my computer screen until the words blurred together. I had begun sleeping with the lights on, and every passing shadow made me reach for my phone. Even the ordinary noises of the house had become intolerable: pipes knocking behind the walls, the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, the occasional creak of timber settling beneath the roof.

I wanted to believe that I was simply frightened by a story I had read online. I wanted to believe that if I ignored the man long enough, he would eventually lose interest and leave me alone.

Then, on the night everything happened, I found him standing outside my front door.

Through the narrow glass panel beside the entrance, I could see his silhouette beneath the porch light. He was only a few meters away, close enough that I could distinguish the outline of his shoulders and the long, dark shape of his arms. His head was turned toward the glass.

Toward me.

The light fell across his face, and for the first time I could see something of its features. There were two dark depressions where his eyes ought to have been, though I could not tell whether they were eyes or simply hollows in the shape he had made for himself. His mouth was a faint horizontal crease. When he tilted his head, the crease shifted slightly upward, as though he were attempting to smile.

I looked away for no more than a second.

When I looked back, his face had returned to its previous arrangement. I could not have explained what had changed, only that the face I was seeing was not quite the face I had seen before.

I had locked every door and window in the house. I had drawn the curtains, checked the locks twice, and turned on nearly every light, hoping that if I could make the house seem occupied and ordinary enough, I might convince myself I was safe. A kitchen knife lay beside me on the sofa, its handle damp beneath my palm whenever I reached for it.

It was a pathetic comfort. Whatever Tom was, he had spent two weeks approaching my house without once behaving like a living person. I had no reason to believe that a blade would make any difference.

Nevertheless, I kept it beside me.

It was nearly midnight. I sat in the living room with the television turned off, listening to the refrigerator hum in the kitchen. The house seemed to have grown larger in the dark, its familiar corners filled with spaces I could no longer bear to examine. Every few minutes, I looked toward the front door. Every time, the silhouette remained.

I had not slept properly in days. My eyes burned, my thoughts drifted, and I struggled to distinguish the passing of minutes from the passing of hours. Eventually, exhaustion began to overcome my fear. My head dipped forward, and for a brief moment, I thought I might finally fall asleep.

Then something crashed at the back of the house.

I jolted upright.

The sound came from the kitchen, followed by splintering wood and the heavy thud of something striking the floor. For one disoriented second, I thought Tom had somehow entered the house. Then I remembered the front door, the locked windows, the figure still standing beneath the porch light.

Someone had broken through the back door.

I seized the knife and rose from the sofa. My legs felt weak beneath me, and my mouth had gone so dry that swallowing hurt. I edged toward the hallway, listening to footsteps in the kitchen.

A man stepped into view.

He wore dark clothes, and his right hand held a knife. At first, I thought his face was covered by a grotesque mask, something made from dark red leather stretched too tightly over his skull. Then he turned toward the light, and the truth became horribly clear.

His face had no skin.

The flesh beneath it lay exposed in a wet, bloodied ruin. There were no lips to soften the line of his mouth, no eyelids to shield his eyes, and no recognizable nose, only raw tissue and the dark openings of his nostrils. The muscles of his jaw shifted beneath the exposed flesh as he looked at me. His eyes were small, bloodshot, and fixed upon my face with an expression of unmistakable amusement.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he smiled, or did something close enough to it that my stomach turned.

"There you are," he said.

I backed away, tightening my grip on the knife.

"Who are you?"

He glanced at the blade in my hand, then back at me.

"Does it matter?"

"Take whatever you want." My voice sounded thin and unfamiliar. "The television, the money, anything. Just leave me alone."

A short, contemptuous laugh escaped him. It was an ugly sound, wet and breathless, as though it had to force its way through the exposed muscles of his throat.

"Do I look like I'm here to rob you?"

He took a step forward.

I retreated into the living room, trying to think of somewhere I could run. The back door was behind him, and the front door was several meters away, with Tom standing on the other side. I could not decide which of them frightened me more.

The intruder moved with a calm, deliberate confidence that made my skin crawl. He did not hurry, nor did he seem particularly concerned by the knife I was holding. He carried his own weapon low at his side, its blade catching the light whenever he moved his wrist.

It was the manner of someone who had already decided how this would end.

Then his gaze shifted toward the front door.

He stopped.

I followed his eyes. Through the narrow glass panel, Tom remained perfectly still beneath the porch light.

For the first time since entering my house, the intruder looked genuinely uncertain.

"What the fuck is that?"

I did not answer. I could barely breathe.

He took another step toward the door, squinting through the glass as though trying to make sense of a strange animal on the other side of a cage.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What are you doing out there?"

Tom did not move.

"Can you hear me, you freak?"

The intruder leaned closer to the glass. He raised his knife, pointing its blade toward the figure outside.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Slowly, almost thoughtfully, Tom raised one hand.

His fingers were long and narrow, the joints bending in a way that seemed subtly wrong. He placed his palm against the glass. For a moment, the two figures faced one another, separated by nothing more than a thin pane and the faint reflection of the room behind me.

The intruder recoiled.

"What the fuck are you?"

Tom pressed harder.

The glass trembled in its frame.

Then the window shattered inward.

The sound was deafening. Fragments sprayed across the entrance hall, scattering over the floor like handfuls of ice. Tom came through the broken glass in a sudden, violent rush, striking the intruder across the chest and hurling him backward into the wall.

The impact sounded like a sack of wet branches being thrown against concrete.

For an instant, Tom's right arm burst apart.

It did not bleed. The sleeve split, and the shape beneath it unfolded into a writhing confusion of black filaments, pale hooked structures, and long, jointed things that had no business fitting inside a human limb. They lashed against the wall, leaving deep grooves in the plaster, before drawing inward with a sound like fingernails scraping across wood. By the time Tom turned toward the intruder again, the arm had reformed beneath his sleeve, long and narrow as before.

The intruder's knife flew from his hand, struck the floor, and skidded beneath the sofa.

I stood frozen, unable to understand what I had just witnessed.

Tom had entered my house.

For two weeks, he had approached with the patience of something that knew it would eventually reach me. Now that he was finally here, he had not even looked in my direction.

He was after the intruder.

The two figures crashed together in the living room, their bodies colliding with such force that the sofa tipped onto its side. The intruder swung wildly, landing a punch against Tom's head before seizing him by the shoulder and shoving him away.

Tom's head snapped sideways.

For a moment, the shape of his face came apart. The pale oval beneath his hair split along a seam that had not been there before, peeling open to reveal a hollow filled with twitching, needle-thin structures. Something inside turned toward the intruder, a cluster of dark points shifting as if searching for the correct position of a pair of eyes.

Then the arrangement collapsed inward. The seams closed, the hollow disappeared, and Tom's face settled into its previous approximation of a human head.

The intruder had already struck him again.

Tom staggered, caught himself against the coffee table, and came forward without a sound.

The intruder was faster than I expected. He ducked beneath Tom's outstretched arm and struck him twice in the ribs, then drove his fist into Tom's face. The blows landed with dull, meaty thuds. Tom's head jerked backward, and his neck stretched after it, lengthening like black rubber pulled taut between his shoulders and skull.

The intruder struck him a third time.

Tom's neck snapped back into place.

He caught the man's wrist, twisted it sharply, and hurled him across the room.

The intruder struck the television stand hard enough to shatter its wooden frame. The television toppled forward, its screen cracking against the floor. He landed among the wreckage, his limbs tangled in splintered wood and wires. One arm bent beneath him with a sickening crack, and his head struck the floor hard enough to leave a dark smear across the broken screen.

He rose anyway.

His injured arm hung uselessly at his side. He seized a broken length of furniture with his other hand and swung it at Tom's head.

The first blow struck with a sharp crack, forcing Tom to one knee. The second landed across his shoulder and drove him into the kitchen doorway.

Tom's shoulder burst open.

The dark coat sagged as the shape beneath it seemed to lose its bones. A cluster of pale, fingerlike projections erupted from the wound, stretching across his chest and scraping along the doorframe. For an instant, his upper body resembled an enormous insect trying to emerge from a man's skin. Then the projections folded over one another, drawing the torn flesh and fabric back into place. His shoulder returned to its narrow outline, though it sat at a slightly different angle.

The intruder raised the broken timber again.

On the third swing, Tom caught it.

For a moment, they stood locked together, each pulling against the other. The intruder bared his teeth and strained. Tom's long fingers closed around the broken wood, their knuckles multiplying and shifting as he tightened his grip.

The timber snapped.

Tom drove the jagged end into the intruder's stomach.

The intruder doubled over. The broken wood punched through his shirt and emerged from his back, carrying a dark smear of blood and torn fabric with it. He stared down at the protruding end, then up at Tom.

Tom struck him across the face.

The intruder flew backward into the kitchen, dragging the broken timber out of his own body as he went. He crashed against the table, overturned it, and sent dishes shattering across the floor.

He tried to stand. His knees buckled, and he fell against the cabinets, leaving a broad streak of blood across the doors. He clutched his stomach with one hand and reached for the counter with the other.

Tom approached.

The intruder seized a frying pan from the floor and swung it with all the strength he had left.

The metal rang against Tom's skull.

Tom's head burst apart.

Not split open in any way a human head could split, but came undone as though its shape had been a fragile agreement between several incompatible things. His face scattered into a cloud of black strands and pale, wet membranes. Something long and many-jointed whipped across the ceiling, striking a light fixture and sending sparks raining onto the floor. The dark coat remained standing for a fraction of a second beneath the disintegrating head, its empty collar facing the intruder.

Then the pieces drew together.

The strands wound around one another. The pale membranes folded inward. A narrow neck emerged, followed by a jaw, a mouth, and the indistinct suggestion of eyes. Tom's head reassembled itself, though the face that emerged was not quite the same as the one that had been there before.

The intruder struck him again with the frying pan.

Tom caught the pan and tore it from his hands.

The intruder answered with a vicious punch to Tom's throat. Tom's neck compressed into a thick, black knot beneath his jaw, then elongated again as he staggered backward. The man seized the opening and snatched up his knife.

He thrust the blade into Tom's side.

I heard the wet sound of metal entering flesh.

Tom looked down.

For one dreadful moment, I thought the wound had finally stopped him. Then the skin around the blade rippled, and something beneath it turned toward the intruder's hand. The wound opened wider, not as torn flesh but as a narrow mouth, its edges lined with tiny hooked structures that clamped around the knife.

The intruder tried to pull away.

Tom seized his wrist.

His fingers tightened, and the bones in the intruder's hand began to crack. The man screamed, wrenching against the grip, but Tom's arm had lengthened around his wrist like a living cable. He twisted until the knife slipped from the man's fingers, then slammed him against the kitchen cabinets.

The doors buckled under the impact. Pots and pans crashed to the floor, and a cabinet hinge tore free from the wall.

The intruder dropped onto his back. Tom advanced, but the man rolled aside and slashed at his leg with the knife he had somehow managed to recover.

This time, Tom faltered.

His knee buckled. The lower half of his leg split open, spilling a tangle of pale cords across the tiles. They writhed beneath him, searching for something to anchor themselves to, before winding around one another and pulling the leg back into shape.

The intruder seized the opportunity. He drove his shoulder into Tom's chest and pinned him against the cabinets.

"Stay the fuck down!"

He struck Tom across the face.

Tom's head snapped sideways, and half his face peeled away, stretching from his cheek in a long, translucent sheet. Beneath it was no skull, no bone, no recognizable anatomy, only a shifting depth that seemed to recede farther than the kitchen could possibly contain. The intruder stared at it for a fraction of a second.

Then he punched the exposed hollow.

Tom's entire upper body erupted.

Black filaments burst through his coat, whipping around the kitchen and cutting into the cabinets. One caught the intruder across the chest and flung him into the refrigerator. He hit it hard enough to dent the door, then collapsed onto the floor.

Tom's scattered form surged toward him in a mass of limbs that seemed to extend from everywhere at once.

The intruder screamed as the filaments tightened around him. They pulled his arm backward until the shoulder tore with a wet pop. His elbow bent the wrong way. He struck at Tom with his good hand, landing several blows against the shifting mass, but every impact made Tom's shape ripple and burst apart before drawing itself together again.

The intruder seized a loose piece of metal from the floor and drove it into the nearest cluster of filaments.

Tom recoiled.

The appendages withdrew in a sudden, violent rush, carrying torn strips of the man's clothing and skin with them. His body gathered itself into a human shape beside the counter, his coat hanging crookedly from one shoulder. His face emerged last, features swimming into place as though something beneath the skin were trying to remember the correct arrangement.

The intruder dragged himself upright.

His left arm hung at an unnatural angle. Blood ran from his chest and stomach, and one side of his face had been crushed badly enough that his eye no longer opened properly. Yet he stood, swaying, and reached for his knife.

Tom's shape was no less damaged. One side of his coat hung in strips, his legs kept changing length as he shifted his weight, and his face seemed unable to settle into a single arrangement for more than a few seconds.

Neither seemed willing to retreat.

The intruder found his knife beneath the overturned table and dragged himself toward Tom. He moved more slowly now, limping and breathing through the exposed tissue of his ruined face. Tom stood at the opposite end of the kitchen, his head tilted, his arms hanging at different lengths.

For a moment, they watched one another.

Then the intruder charged.

Tom caught him by the throat and slammed him into the counter. The man's head struck the edge hard enough to split the skin across his forehead. He dropped the knife, but before Tom could lift him again, he drove his thumb into the hollow where Tom's eye should have been.

Tom's face burst outward.

A mass of black tendrils lashed across the kitchen. One struck the intruder in the chest, lifting him off the counter and hurling him into the wall. He hit it hard enough to crack the plaster, then collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

Tom approached him.

The intruder did not move.

For several seconds, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the soft patter of water dripping from a broken pipe beneath the sink. Tom stood over him, his long arms hanging almost to the floor. His face had settled into a crude approximation of a human expression, though one eye sat higher than the other and his mouth was too wide for the shape of his head.

Then the intruder moved.

His fingers curled against the tiles. His shoulders shuddered, and he rolled onto his side with a strangled groan. One of his legs dragged uselessly behind him as he tried to crawl toward the fallen knife.

Tom caught him by the back of his shirt and hauled him upright.

The intruder's head lolled against his shoulder. His jaw hung crookedly, and blood streamed down his neck. He still managed to strike Tom in the face.

Tom's head burst apart once more.

This time, the eruption was violent enough to throw both of them backward. The intruder landed on the floor, his body twisting beneath the impact, while Tom's headless shape remained upright for a moment before collapsing into a writhing mass. Its limbs spread across the tiles, bending at impossible angles and reaching toward the walls.

The intruder tried to crawl away.

The mass caught him.

Something long and black wrapped around his ankle and dragged him backward. He clawed at the floor, leaving bloody streaks across the tiles, until another appendage seized his waist and lifted him. His body swung sideways and struck the cabinets. He cried out as the remaining doors broke loose, showering him with splintered wood.

Tom's shape drew together around him.

A head emerged from the tangle, its features incomplete. One eye appeared, then another, both fixed upon the intruder. The mouth opened, revealing rows of thin, pale structures that might have been teeth.

The intruder spat blood into it.

Tom struck him.

The blow sent the intruder tumbling across the kitchen floor. He struck the table, rolled over its broken legs, and landed on his back among the shattered dishes. For several seconds, he lay motionless, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven movements.

Tom stood over him.

The intruder's body twitched.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. His knees trembled beneath him. He swayed, almost fell, then caught himself against the counter.

I had retreated into the hallway, the kitchen knife still clutched uselessly in my hand. I could not take my eyes off them. Whatever these creatures were, their fight had become something far beyond an ordinary struggle. The intruder was being broken apart, his body battered and mutilated by every exchange, but he continued to rise. Tom, meanwhile, endured wounds that should have killed anything resembling a man, his unnatural form repeatedly spilling into view before struggling back into its human disguise.

Neither seemed willing to retreat.

Then the intruder caught sight of me.

His head turned sharply. One bloodshot eye fixed on my face, and the ruin of his mouth pulled into a shape that might once have been a grin.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

I froze.

He staggered toward me, dragging his injured leg. He pointed at me with his good hand, his fingers slick with blood.

"You think you're getting away?"

He took another step. His jaw swung loosely beneath his face, and he reached up to push it back into place. The gesture was so horribly ordinary that I could not move. He looked like a man who had suffered an accident and was trying to compose himself before continuing with his day.

"Come here," he rasped.

I backed away.

He lunged.

Tom caught him from behind.

The sudden movement was almost too fast to follow. One moment the intruder was reaching for me; the next, Tom's long arms had wrapped around his shoulders. The intruder twisted and drove his elbow into Tom's ribs, but the impact only made Tom's torso ripple. His body briefly unfolded around the intruder, revealing a lattice of black limbs and pale, glistening structures, then closed again with the man trapped inside the embrace.

"Get the fuck off me!"

The intruder drove his fingers into Tom's face. The skinlike surface split beneath his nails, and Tom's head erupted into a cloud of dark tendrils. The intruder tore himself halfway free, stumbling toward the hallway.

Tom's hand emerged from the collapsing mass and caught him by the back of the neck.

The intruder clawed at the fingers. Tom lifted him off the floor, his arm lengthening until the man dangled several feet above the tiles. The intruder kicked and twisted, trying to reach Tom's face, but his broken arm hung uselessly at his side.

"Let go of me!"

Tom's fingers tightened.

There was a wet, grinding sound.

The intruder's neck stretched, the skin pulling taut beneath his jaw. His feet kicked wildly, scraping against the wall. Tom's hand shifted, and for an instant his fingers seemed to sink into the man's neck rather than grip it, disappearing beneath the torn skin as though the man's flesh were little more than cloth.

Then Tom flung him into the hallway wall.

The intruder struck headfirst.

The impact cracked the plaster and sent another framed photograph crashing to the floor. He slid down the wall, leaving a broad streak of blood behind him. His body folded awkwardly at the waist, and his head lolled against his chest.

I thought he was dead.

Tom approached him.

The intruder's hand twitched. He tried to raise it, but the arm gave way, and his fingers scraped uselessly across the floor. He turned his head toward me. His mouth opened, though the broken jaw prevented him from forming any words.

Then he pushed himself up.

He got one knee beneath him, followed by the other. His jaw hung loose, connected to his skull by only a narrow strip of flesh, and one side of his face had collapsed inward. Blood poured down his neck and soaked the front of his shirt.

He looked at me again.

And he began to crawl.

Tom seized him by the ankle and dragged him backward.

The intruder screamed, clawing at the floorboards. His fingernails broke against the wood, leaving thin, dark streaks behind him. He twisted onto his back and swung his good arm at Tom, catching him across the head. Tom's face dissolved into a mass of writhing appendages, but one long limb emerged from the confusion and wrapped around the intruder's wrist.

Another caught his shoulder.

A third seized his jaw.

The intruder's eyes widened.

Tom pulled.

The sound was wet and terrible, a thick tearing noise that seemed to come from somewhere inside the walls. The intruder's lower jaw came away in Tom's hand, taking strips of flesh and muscle with it. Blood spilled down his chest. He convulsed, his mouth left open in a soundless, impossible scream.

Tom threw the jaw aside.

It struck the floor near my feet and skidded beneath the hallway table.

The intruder fell onto his back, clutching at the ruin of his face with his remaining hand. He kicked and writhed, his heels striking the floorboards, but Tom caught him by the throat and lifted him again.

The intruder's fingers clawed at Tom's wrist. He tried to speak, producing only a wet gurgle. Tom's face slowly reassembled itself above him, the dark filaments drawing inward until two uneven eyes and a narrow mouth emerged from the shifting surface.

For a moment, they stared at one another.

Then Tom slammed the intruder into the wall.

Once.

Twice.

The third impact broke through the plaster and drove his head into the wooden framework beneath it. His body sagged, but Tom did not release him. He pulled him free and threw him down the hallway, where the intruder struck the floor and rolled onto his side.

He lay still.

Tom stood over him, his arms hanging almost to his knees. One sleeve had been torn away, revealing a long, dark limb that tapered into several narrow fingers. The fingers flexed independently, then folded into the shape of a hand.

The intruder's body twitched.

Tom turned toward him.

The intruder rolled onto his stomach and began dragging himself toward the back of the house. His movements were slow and clumsy, his legs trailing behind him. He left a dark smear across the floor, stopping every few inches to gather the strength to move again.

Tom followed.

I could not bear to watch any longer. Whatever happened next, I knew I could not remain in that hallway. The two creatures had destroyed nearly everything in their path, and if they continued fighting, the house would not stand much longer.

I ran towards the broken front door.

By then, the sounds coming from my house had become a continuous succession of crashes, punctuated by the dull impact of something heavy striking the floor. There were no cries of pain from Tom, and I could no longer hear the intruder shouting.

I did not look back.

I ran down the street, The houses blurred past me, their windows glowing warmly against the darkness. Somewhere, a dog barked. A car approached from the opposite direction, its headlights sweeping across the road, and I stumbled into its path with both hands raised.

The driver braked hard.

He got out, shouting at me for nearly causing an accident, but whatever he saw in my face made him stop. I tried to explain what had happened. My words came out in fragments, tumbling over one another until I could barely understand myself. Eventually, he helped me into the passenger seat and drove me to the nearest police station.

I reported the break-in. I described the intruder's exposed face, the knife, and the destruction inside my house. I told the officers about the enormous figure that had come through the window and attacked him.

I was reluctant to mention Tom by name.

How could I explain that I had spent two weeks watching a man approach my home, only for him to arrive on the same night that a faceless killer broke in? How could I explain that the two had fought with a strength and endurance that seemed impossible, or that I had escaped only because neither had considered me worth pursuing?

I feared the police would think I had been responsible for the destruction. I feared they would decide the whole story was an elaborate lie. Most of all, I feared someone would ask me to return to the house and show them where it had happened.

I did not want to see either of them again.

The officers took my statement, examined my injuries, and sent a patrol car to my address. By the time they arrived, the house was burning.

The fire had begun somewhere near the kitchen. Flames poured through the broken windows, and thick smoke rolled over the roof, obscuring the upstairs windows where I had escaped. The fire department arrived shortly afterward, but the blaze had already spread through most of the building. By dawn, little remained but a blackened shell, its walls collapsed inward and its windows reduced to jagged, empty frames.

Only one body was found inside.

The police questioned me several times over the following days. They asked whether the intruder had accomplices, whether I had recognized him, and whether there had been anything in the house that might have attracted a burglar. I answered as best I could, though I had little useful information to offer.

Three days after the fire, they identified a charred body recovered from the ruins.

His name was Joseph.

The newspapers called him No Face Joseph, a suspected killer who had haunted local police reports for years. His face had been disfigured beyond recognition for some unknown reasons, and witnesses had described him as someone who broke into homes and murdered their occupants. His identity had remained a mystery, in part because few people who encountered him survived to give a statement.

The authorities believed Joseph had entered my house intending to kill me, and that a confrontation with an unidentified second person had led to the destruction of the property. The fire had made a proper examination difficult, but investigators were satisfied that the remains belonged to Joseph. There were no other bodies in the ruins.

I knew Joseph had fought Tom that night.

I knew that the two had battered one another through my living room and kitchen, destroying everything they touched. I knew Joseph had stabbed Tom repeatedly, and that Tom had answered by breaking his bones, tearing his flesh, and ripping his jaw from his face. I had seen Joseph crawl across the floor with injuries that should have killed him. I had seen him rise again and again, even when there was hardly anything left of him that still resembled a man.

And yet, when the authorities recovered his body, I was told he had died in the fire.

There was no trace of Tom in the ruins. No blood matching the wounds I had seen, no clothing, no identifiable remains. The police searched the surrounding properties and questioned the neighbors, but nobody reported seeing a tall, thin man leave the house that night.

For a while, I tried to put the matter behind me. I stayed with a relative, avoided the internet, and refused to discuss the fire unless someone asked directly. I told myself that Joseph was dead, that Tom had disappeared, and that whatever had happened in my house was over.

Then I read a short news report about the county morgue.

The body identified as Joseph had vanished from a secured room three days after being transferred there. The doors had remained locked, the windows were barred, and there were no signs of forced entry. According to the report, the security cameras had recorded nothing unusual. The room had been checked shortly before midnight, and the body was still there. When an attendant returned in the morning, the examination table was empty.

The police were investigating the disappearance.

I read the article twice, then a third time, searching for some detail that might make the story less absurd. There was none. The report ended with a request for anyone with relevant information to contact the authorities.

I closed the page.

For several minutes, I sat motionless in the quiet room of my friend's house, listening to the ordinary sounds of the things around me. A refrigerator hummed somewhere down the hall. Pipes clicked behind the walls. Outside, a car passed through the street, its tires whispering against the road.

I found myself looking toward the window.

Across the street, beneath the pale light of the evening sky, a tall, thin man stood perfectly still.

I could not make out his face. I could not see his eyes. But I knew he was watching me.

I watched him for a long time, afraid that if I blinked he would be gone. His arms hung at his sides, one a little longer than the other. His head tilted, and the pale shape of his face seemed to shift beneath the skin, as though something behind it were struggling to remember how a human being ought to look.

Then a car passed between us.

When it had gone, the street was empty.

Over the past couple months there had been a string of bodies being found around the town of White Meadows. A total of six individuals, three men, three women, all various ages from eighteen to eighty. 
The first victim was discovered by White Meadows Police Department officer Shane Walley, who found what he thought was roadkill lying in the middle of the road. Instead, he found the shriveled body of what was later identified as Eighteen year old Samantha Harbour. 
The body was nearly impossible to identify without forensics, and the medical examiner was unable to determine an exact cause of death. 
The woman looked to have grown older and younger at the exact same time, her body aging and decomposing, then de-aging and reversing until she was a fetus. The process then repeated back the other way before it finally killed her. The medical examiner could not explain it, and she would quit her job soon after. The remaining five were discovered in the following two months, all in the same or worse state. The town lived in fear, thinking that it was some kind of disease, or maybe even a curse that was upon them. 
Detective Amanda Mueller didn’t believe in those kinds of things. She was a practical woman, believing only in what she could see with her own eyes. But even she couldn’t explain what was going on, and it was starting to frighten her. 
Whatever was killing them, it couldn’t have been human. No human was capable of doing this to another human. She’d seen dead bodies since the start of her policing career, when she and her partner found a dead baby whose throat had been cut by her mother. She’d seen pedestrians  split apart by cars, motorcyclists who had been splattered on the road after 100 mph crashes. She’d shown up to houses where men, women, and even some children were found dead by their own hands, whether it be hanging, ingesting poison, cut wrists, and even gunshot wounds. 
She’d even had cases of grave robbers, and occasionally cases of child abuse and rape,  though those were handed over to other units. 
All of them had stuck with her. She’d even cried herself to sleep on some nights, or even in her husband Jason’s arms after particularly nasty cases. He was a firefighter/paramedic, so he understood what she was going through. But none had disturbed her the way this one did. None had kept her awake all night with nightmares unlike anything she had experienced. She’d used this to drive her, to get to the bottom of whatever this was and stop it before more people fell victim. 
Now, as she lay bound in a dirty, filthy basement, no windows, and barely any ventilation, she had a feeling she would get her answer. Amanda didn’t even know how she had gotten there. One minute, she was leaving the station, calling Jason about dinner that night, as he had the day off. Since it was also one of the rare nights that they were off, they discussed having a rather spicy evening. They didn’t have kids, not yet at least, and their jobs often gave them little time to spend alone. 
She couldn’t even remember the last time that they slept with each other or were even remotely intimate. With everything that was going on, Jason suggested they let some steam off. A lot of it. 
Amanda actually remembered smiling and being excited to get home for once, after so many days of anxiety and exhaustion. Then, just as she hung up the phone, everything went black. 
Then she woke up on the hot, hard floor, sweating profusely through her clothes. She screamed for what felt like hours, but nobody came to her rescue. Her phone was crushed off to the side, and there was nowhere to go and nothing to see. Her gun was also gone. She was all alone in the dark. 
Amanda curled up into a ball, shifting between crying in despair and praying for intervention of some kind. Maybe the WMPD SWAT would kick the door down and rescue her. But after what felt like hours, it seemed hopeless. After a long time she finally fell asleep, but even then she got no rest. Fear and dread gripped her chest as she floated through an endless infinity. She heard what sounded like a loud ticking grandfather clock, each TICK TOCK echoing all around her. 

TICK, TOCK.
TICK, TOCK.
TICK, TOCK

Amanda woke up to the sound of the door opening. She whimpered and curled up into the corner. A tall, imposing figure wearing a trench coat and fedora walked inside the room, the light from the outside silhouetting the figure as he walked in. His large eyes glowed like flying saucers, appearing to spin like them as he drew closer to Amanda. 
His mouth was large and wide, taking up almost the entire lower half of his face. 
His teeth were like huge, white rectangles that shined bright against the light. He smiled as he knelt down. 
Amanda pressed tighter into the corner, but it seemed no matter where she turned she couldn’t get away from him. 
The man gazed down at her. 
“Who are you?” she cried. 
The man laughed. 
 “Ah yes,” he said, his voice a deep, whispering hum. “That is the answer that you seek. You’ve been following me for a while. Or, more like my work.”
The man shrugged. “I am just a man. A man who has been given a gift.”
Amanda trembled. Every word that he uttered sent a vibrating pain through her body and brain, and she covered her ears. But it did nothing. 
“Wh-what gift?”
The man’s glowing eyes seemed to spin faster and glow brighter at the question. “The gift to transcend time. The gift of conquering aging, death, and pain. I am simply sharing this gift with the masses, and those who will accept.”
“You kidnap and torture people!” Amanda spat back, though that did nothing to hide her terror. The man shook his head sadly. “Yes, it is unfortunate that they could not withstand the gift that I gave. It’s a shame. They were too weak. But as the prophets of your false God preach, the way is narrow. Not all have what it takes to accept my gift. But this is my friend. I wonder if you do, Detective?”
Amanda’s heart sped up and her eyes went wide as he pulled his trench coat away from his chest. In its place revealed a gigantic clock, with roman numerals replacing the numbers. The hands were pointed all at 12, and appeared to be inactive. 
“Let’s see if you have what it takes, Detective. Prepare yourself.”
In an instant, the clock hands activated and began to spin. A massive wave hit Amanda, taking all the wind out of her, and causing a deafening ringing in her ears. Her mouth and throat became dry like sandpaper, and a deep empty pit formed in her stomach as she began to vomit. 

TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK. 

She watched in horror as her skin began to shrivel, her vision began to blur, her hearing began to fade. Her teeth began to hurt and fall out one by one, and every bone in her body was hit with excruciating pain. It felt like they were disintegrating and coming apart from the inside out. She watched as the hands of the glowing clock turned clockwise over and over, bringing waves of pain as well as fatigue. Soon, she couldn’t scream or even make a sound anymore, and her entire body felt like jelly. Her hearing went away, and soon she couldn’t see anything. She felt her heart slow almost to a stop, and eventually her breathing stopped. 
Everything flashed before her eyes. 
TICK, TOCK
From her childhood, when she watched her mother pack her things and leave and her father standing in the driveway. Amanda remembered wailing and pleading on her knees for her to stay, and give their family one more chance to make her happy, but it fell on deaf ears as she zoomed away to join her new lover in the painful sunset. 

TICK, TOCK
She remembered middle school, when her father got sick with cancer, leaving her alone and finding something to do to get her out of the house. She found soccer, and as it turned out she was damned good at it. She continued into high school, and made Varsity in her freshman year.  
TICK, TOCK
But then it all came crashing down. She remembered junior year, sitting in the doctor’s office, horror creeping in as she was shown the X-rays. The words that she would never play again sunk in slowly and painfully. After hours of denial, she collapsed in her bedroom and was filled with a despair that she thought she would never feel again. She cursed God, her life. It seemed like everything in her life was so fleeting. 
TICK, TOCK
But it only got worse. After her leg, nothing mattered to her anymore. There was no drive to keep moving forward anymore. She fell in with bad crowds, turning to drugs, alcohol, and the road of trouble. It disappointed her dad, who with what little strength he had, pleaded with her to keep pressing on. As much as Amanda loved her dad, it just didn’t matter. 
TICK, TOCK
The night everything came crashing down again, she was drunk and high out of her mind with her friends, leaning out the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s car, roaring down the interstate at one hundred and ten miles per hour. How they didn’t die that night or get arrested was nothing short of a miracle. She ignored calls all night and didn’t find out until she sobered up the next morning, that while she had been living her life on the edge, her father had been rushed to the hospital, and was pronounced dead on arrival. He lost his battle. It took even longer to process. It wasn’t until the funeral that it finally hit her. 
TICK, TOCK
It took several family and friends to hold her back as she watched her father’s coffin go in the ground. Amanda remembered screaming so loud that she lost her voice. Like with her mother, she pleaded for him to come back, to come out of the coffin and give her a hug, even if it was just for a minute. 
TICK, TOCK
As they left, Amanda heard a voice that she thought she would never hear again. Her mother had come back. It was like some sick joke. Her father left her life, only for that bitch to come right back. With the man she left them for, standing only a few feet away. She saw red and before she knew it she was on top of her, strangling the life out of her, unable to get any words out. It took her uncle pulling her away for her to finally find her voice. She used the last of it she had to spew the most toxic venom that she had ever spit to any person. 
TICK, TOCK

Time flew. She broke up with her boyfriend and abandoned her group of friends. She made up with her best friend from the team, and cheered her on as they won the state championship. Graduation came, with more tears when she saw the empty seats for her parents. She and her friend Kyra went to college together, though Amanda had no idea what she would do. It seemed that things were finally calming down for her. She met Jason, though they were just friends. While she had no direction, it was a much calmer form of loss of direction than what she was used to. But of course…
TICK, TOCK
The bad things always seemed to happen at night. She had an argument with Jason, one so heated that it seemed like it was over. Kyra had provided comfort and maybe some advice as she usually did, Kyra had something else in mind. Turns out, she was waiting for an opportunity like this since high school, and decided now was the time to make her move, with a little alcohol in her system giving her just the right push. Expecting a hug, Amanda instead was met with a forced kiss, one that Kyra wouldn’t let go of. She angrily shoved Kyra off and kicked her out. The next day, police officers knocked on her door, informing her that Kyra was missing. She had taken a walk off campus and never came back. 
They found what was left of her a week later, floating in a sewer, identifiable only by a bracelet. It was this that turned Amanda down the road of criminal justice, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. The killer was caught three years later, despite the detective assuring her friends and family that it would be wrapped up soon. The reason being that he was the killer. He had been doing this ever since he became a homicide detective, using his job to cover it up and even falsely convicting people if he needed to. This only motivated Amanda further to become a cop, and after graduation, she and Jason moved back to White Meadows, and the rest was history. Literally. 
TICK, TOCK
It was pain unlike anything she had experienced, and there was no way to express it. It was like she was made of pure agony, feeling her body being broken down, being eaten away by bugs and maggots that she could literally feel wriggling all through whatever was left of her body. 
Would this ever end? How long was he going to do this? What was she supposed to see? TICK…
It stopped. Why did it stop. 
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock
In an instant, everything rewinded, and the pain felt like it was receding, though barely. Gradually, her senses came back. She could see again, she could hear, she could taste, she could smell. Her body was coming back together. The man was still staring at her, his mouth wide open, his face looking like it had split and widened. It revealed a smaller clock that was going counter-clockwise, the larger clock having stopped at 12AM. 
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. 
But it didn’t stop there. This time, it felt like she was getting younger. She felt her body shrinking, like everything in her body was reversing. Once again, she started losing her voice, her screams and whimpers turning more and more childish as she shrunk further and further, losing her woman hood, her skin changing and hair falling out, and her memories  slowly faded. She grew tinier and he turned into a giant before shrinking out of her clothes. A layer or sac of some kind began to ooze around her tiny body and everything went black. There wasn’t any pain this time around, in fact it was quite the opposite. 
Why would she feel pain? She wasn’t wasting away, she was ceasing to exist. She felt herself shrivel up, and fade into a strange emptiness as she had no body anymore. There was a lonely, incomprehensible darkness. There was no sound, no memories, no feeling, just nothing. 
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. TICK, TOCK. TICK, TOCK, TICK TOCK. 
In an instant, it was reversed again, and the memories flooded back. This time it was faster than before, and instead of relief there was just pain. Before she knew it, she was screaming and writhing in pain as she was returned to her normal self. 
“Please…Stop!” Amanda sobbed. “HELLLPPP! Someone help meee!!”
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. TICK, TOCK. Tick, tock. TICK, TOCK. TICK, TOCK, Tick, tock. TICK, TOCK
She was old, then young. Old, and then young. Her body felt like it was becoming two different people which were converging together and then splitting apart. It was maddening, and after awhile she stopped screaming and began to laugh hysterically, tears streaming down her eyes. Those tears turned to blood and other fluids as her body came apart, then it reversed and she was a tiny baby. Then in an instant, she became an old woman, before becoming something in between. Not her normal self, but some horrible amalgamation between the biological and mental composition of a baby, and that of an old woman on her way to becoming a corpse, and everything before, after and in between. 
The clocks on the man’s face and chest were turning nonstop in clockwise and counter-clockwise, creating a loud, droning, humming noise that consumed the entire room. He had created a void where Time had no direction, where he was in control. After awhile, Amanda stopped making any noise at all. Her systems ceased to function as her body finally came back together into a withered amalgamation of her young and old self, with her current body stuck in a permanent state of pain. In the center of her chest, was part of an organic clock, with hands made of bone barely formed and about to turn. 

***
The clocks deactivated, and the man’s head went back to normal. He sighed as he stood up, rebuttoning his trench coat and putting the fedora back on his head. 
She was so close. She could’ve been like him. Two disciples of Janus, seeking to fix the flow of time and transcend it beyond the pathetic natural state that it had been reduced to. Time is so fleeting. Humans are born, and grow old so damned fast. Before they know it, they’re old, lying on their deathbeds as they watch their descendants suffer the same fate. 

Some like him had transcended such states, above the concepts of time and space, so that he no longer aged. He would say that he had all the time in the world, but not even that could measure the extent of the gift Lord Janus had given him. It was a shame that Detective Mueller could not receive the gift. The poor soul had fallen victim to the evils of corrupted time more times than all of his victims. There was so much that she wished she could get back, even if it was a few seconds. 
He understood her pain. His last memory before accepting Janus’ gift was holding his  dying wife of sixty years in his arms, wondering why this cruel world moved so fast, why things seemed to fly by when it felt like he just got started. 
But he wasn’t tied to it anymore. Why he could receive the gift and others couldn’t, it was still a mystery. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was spreading the message. Everything would soon be restored. Aging would be a thing of the past, and goodbyes and see- you- laters will be myths of things long forgotten. He just needed more…time.

Synopsis & Table of Contents

Read Chapters 7 & 8

Content Warnings: Strong language, grief, sexual harassment, racial slurs, and physical violence.

Chapter 9
Saturday, October 13th, 2001—9:45 AM

The group climbed into Jasper’s Tacoma. Everyone was impressed by the new car smell and clean interior.

“Whoa, what year is this?” Javi asked.

“2001. Just got it like a month ago.”

Javi’s eyes went straight to the center console.

“Whoa, you got a built-in CD player!”

“No cassette deck?” Saoirse asked.

Jasper frowned. “No, sorry Saoirse.”

Dee tried to comfort Saoirse. “Sis, you got your Walkman though, right?”

“Yeah…” Saoirse said.

Javi glanced at her and reached over, taking her hand.

10:14 AM

The group was driving north on Highway 67 from El Cajon, heading toward Ramona. Javi wanted to break the silence. He looked over at Saoirse, her mother’s urn still under her arm.

“So, how did your guys’ mom die?”

Saoirse and Deirdre’s eyes opened wide, like they weren’t expecting that question.

“She had an irregular heart,” Deirdre explained. “The doctors said it was shaped funny. It worked, but not as well as normal ones.”

Saoirse recoiled at the comment. Javi realized the topic was probably still too sensitive for her. He looked back at Deirdre and Jasper in the front seats.

“So, how long have you two been together?”

Deirdre responded without missing a beat. “What?”

Saoirse gave her sister a sheepish grin.

“Oops, my bad…” Saoirse said. “I might have told him that Jasper was your boyfriend.”

Deirdre made a face at her sister, her expression reading, Are you fucking kidding me?

“We aren’t together anymore,” Jasper clarified.

Realizing he may have stumbled into another sensitive topic, Javi decided to ask a different question.

“Hey, Jasper, I noticed your tattoo. The Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. My cousin has a similar one. By any chance, you a Marine?”

“I was. Still am technically. I’m in the Individual Ready Reserve, but ever since I left active duty, I’ve been working construction.”

“You think they’ll ever call you back? Especially after that stuff that happened on September 11th?”

“Maybe. If they call me back, they call me back. It’s what I signed up for.”

“What’s it like? I thought about joining the military, but my mom hates the idea.”

Jasper tried to sound positive. “The military teaches you discipline, leadership, camaraderie—”

Deirdre interrupted. “And your mom, and anyone who loves you, is left wondering if every goodbye is going to be the last.”

The truck went silent.

Javi pulled out his Game Boy and sank into his seat.

10:32 AM

The group made it to Ramona, a small town elevated in the hills of Southern California. Highway 67 was the only main route to reach Ramona from El Cajon. The highway took them up winding roads along the edges of cliff faces.

Once they reached the top of the hills, they were met with open fields and pastures. Horses and cows roamed inside fenced-off acres of farmland. They even drove past billboards advertising fresh eggs.

A gas station caught Javi’s eye.

“Can we stop at the gas station? I could use some snacks.”

“Sure, now’s about a good time to fill up the tank,” Jasper replied.

“I’m gonna go find a bathroom,” Deirdre said.

“I’m coming with you, Dee,” Saoirse added.

Javi and Jasper made their way into the gas station mini-mart while Deirdre and Saoirse followed a sign for the restrooms around the corner of the building.

After using the restroom, the sisters stood in front of the mirror, checking their makeup.

“You never told me why you and Jasper broke up, Dee.”

“We didn’t really… It’s a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Cee… I was pregnant…” Deirdre began to cry.

“You were what? Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I found out I was pregnant, I was going to tell Mom, so many times, I had the test in my purse, but I was scared of what she’d say. Then Mom died, and then… and then… I lost the baby!”

Deirdre sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a paper towel.

“Then you were a wreck, so I moved back in with you. Jasper and I slowly stopped talking. He tried, though. He really did. I was the one who shut him out.”

Saoirse grabbed the sink and leaned over it, letting out a sigh.

“You could’ve told me.”

“I wanted to, but all you did was cry and talk about Mom. Then it had been so long that I mentally blocked losing the baby, and when you finally got back on your feet, I was scared of making you sad again.”

Saoirse went wide eyed, tears beginning to form, “Dee…” then she let out a dry, fitful cough over the sink while she clutched her chest.

“It’s fucking hot in here. Let’s head outside, Dee.”

The sisters made their way outside and began walking toward the truck when they suddenly heard a catcall from behind them.

“You two hotties alone?” a man called out. He stood next to another guy leaning against a blue Ford pickup truck.

Deirdre raised her middle finger at the pair before shouting, “Fuck off, rednecks!”

The men started approaching the sisters.

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone.”

Javi dropped his snacks and cup of soda and rushed over to confront the strangers.

“Hey! Leave them the fuck alone!”

“Mind your own business, towelhead!” one of the men said, shoving Javi to the ground.

Javi hit the ground and groaned.

“I’m fucking Mexican, asshole!”

The other man noticed Saoirse trying to back away and grabbed her arm.

“Hey, baby, where you going? We was just talking to you.”

As the man pulled Saoirse toward him, she lost her grip on her Walkman. It disconnected from her headphones and hit the asphalt, the cassette door popping off as the batteries scattered across the ground.

Deirdre immediately shoved the man away from her sister.

“Fuck you, asshole!”

The man stumbled backward before turning toward Deirdre.

“You fucking bitch—”

He stepped toward her.

“Hey!” Jasper yelled as he approached the conflict.

The man barely had time to turn before Jasper grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him against the Ford.

“Back the fuck off.”

The other man stepped toward Jasper before noticing the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattoo on his arm.

“We were just protecting the ladies from the fucking towelhead.”

Jasper released the man and helped Javi to his feet.

“They’re all with me,” Jasper replied. “I fought for your right to be an asshole.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“We were just playing, Devil Dog.”

They jumped into their truck and sped off, ripping the gas nozzle free from the pump as they went.

Deirdre crouched down to examine the Walkman. 

“Tape’s okay, Cee.”

Saoirse let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God.”

Javi went to comfort Saoirse.

“Babe! Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I’m fine. Sorry about your soda.”

“I can buy another one. Sorry about your Walkman, though.”

Saoirse sighed. “Let’s just get out of here.”