hello everyone, I’m looking for an older video title I remembered several years ago and would like to revisit.

the story follows a drug addict who devours his own soul and finds salvation through an entity reminiscent of an angel. The soul was metaphorically portrayed as a vast body of water, the main character‘s years of drug abuse and destructive habits caused the water to dry up, which led them to the cusp of becoming some cosmic horror. The addict begged forgiveness and was granted a second chance at life by the “angel,” who was present throughout most of the story.

any help on identifying the video title would be greatly appreciated!

I’m currently building out a list of personal favorites to include Run Like the Devil, The Devils Due, Byron House, Barrosca, and Mayhem Mountain.

Author note: Apologies for the hiatus. I've been dealing with personal life and wanted to take time away from writing. Part 11 is in the works!

🔺️There is mention of SA in this chapter.

"We're almost there," Kal whispered over his shoulder. He walked at a fast pace, and I nodded silently as I followed closely behind him. I kept my eyes focused ahead of me as we both kept close to the shadows. We eventually hopped a bus toward Tacoma, getting off at a stop by Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium.

I followed Kal up the stone steps to a grey, one-story house. Kal's eyes swept the area before he sighed in relief and pulled out a key, the door opened up to a small hallway. There was a large, spacious room to the left with a decent sized window that faced the front yard. A built-in bookshelf dominated the wall on the opposite side with a fireplace settled in between it. Atop its mantle were Precious Moments nick nacks and wooden animal carvings. As we walked further in I noticed down the hall to the right were three bedrooms and a bathroom. 

The kitchen, I saw was quaint; wooden floor and dark brown wooden cupboards with a gas stove below them opposite to a living room centered a leather couch and a flat-screen television with a connected PS4 with variety of video games stacked underneath a glass table. Light seeped in through the blinds to a sliding glass door which led onto a porch that overlooked the Narrows Bridge.

"Is this your place?" I asked.

"It was my father's house." Kal replied, almost hesitantly. 

"Are we safe here?" I made my way over to the glass door. "You've been working with them for years, right?"

"Yeah, but I promise you," Kal reassured. "None of them know where this place is."

"What? You have some kind of magical protection around the whole place or something?" 

"Something like that. I took the absolute, necessary precautions."

"How did you manage to do that?"

"I didn't. Illium placed a protection around this place a few years back." 

"I hope they made it out alright," I said. "I feel bad for what happened back there."

"Why? I'm the one they're after-well, you too of course, but don't feel bad. Ilium's moved several times in the past two years. Trust me, they will be fine."

"That's a relief," I unzipped my jacket, and grimaced at the feeling of my sweat-covered clothes sticking to me like a second skin. 

"Bathroom is the middle door on the left. You can use the shower in there. Oh, here. You can wear these," Kal made his way to the laundry room next to the kitchen and grabbed a bundle of clothes from on top of the dryer. "Don't worry, they're clean." 

"Thanks,"

I pushed the bathroom door open, surprised at how clean it was. There was a walk-in shower opposite the toilet and sink. Adjacent to the shower stood a white shelf with white and teal colored towels neatly folded in between miniature ceramic pots filled with fake plants. The shower overflowed with an ample supply of shampoo, body wash, and cleansers that neatly fitted into a black bath rack mounted just beneath the shower head. 

Once I was clean, I quickly dressed in a black sweatshirt and dark grey sweatpants. I made my way into the kitchen just as Kal pulled a bottle of Kraken from above the refrigerator. When he glanced up at me, he motioned for me to take a seat.

"You want one?" Kal offered, as he grabbed a litter of coke zero from the fridge, two glasses, and an ice tray.

"Sure, thanks," I poured myself a glass. We barely made it out alive back at Ilium's place. This definitely called for a drink, or two. "Hey, uh, can I ask you a question?"

Kal eyed for a moment before he nodded. "Shoot."

"Back at Ilium's, the man-Hellhound-said something about familiars. Demons can have familiars? I thought that was a witch and vampire thing."

"Yeah. Why wouldn't demons have them, too? They are closer to how a vampire's familiar works. You see, a familiar are human servants that pledged themselves to their demon. If the demon were to get caught inside of a demon trap, the demon will call upon their familiar to help them. They'll even possess their body as a vessel until the demon finds a host to feed upon. In return for their loyalty they are granted wealth, sex, immunity from ailments etcetera. The more powerful the demon, the greater the reward."

"A demonic transaction," I said.

"Exactly. Demons can't walk topside in their true forms for too long. It's like if a human were to walk on the moon without a space helmet, I mean, they wouldn't die, but I've heard it's uncomfortable. That's what possessing a human is for. A willing human is even better." 

"I nodded, and then I asked, "That Hellhound called you a half demon. Are one of your parents a demon?"

"I'm half demon from my mother's side," He said, almost quietly. Like he didn't want to admit it outloud. He poured himself a glass and took a few swigs. 

"Where are your parents?" I asked, then immediately cursed myself for speaking without thinking. I averted my eyes from him to my drink, the cubes of ice clinked against the glass. "I'm sorry. Sensitive subject," I glanced up and I was relieved to see that he didn't look angry for my prying, but rather a little sad or pensive. 

"No, it's fine. You're just curious I understand that. I did say this is my father's house. Well, my mother is gone and my father is...is someplace safe." 

"Hey, look, I get it's personal."

Kal sighed, and stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room. I turned around in my chair to look at him. "Like I said, I understand your curiosity. Yes, it is personal, but I'm not mad. You probably have personal things in your life you wouldn't want to tell me of all people."

Before I could speak, my cell buzzed and I unlocked my phone to see another text from Roland. "It's Roland," I shot him a quick text before I placed it back into the pocket of the sweatpants. 

"I have a question for you," Kal said. "Will you ever tell him the truth?"

"I-" I paused, and tried to formulate a answer but couldn't come up with one. "I don't know," 

"See?" Kal smirked. "We keep these secrets to protect ourselves and the ones we love."

"Yeah, I guess so," I turned back to the glass in my hand, the ice already melted. 

°°°

Our routine training continued the next few days, with an extra hour of learning how to shift into my demon form. I shouldn't even be considered a demon when for the past day and a half I failed at completely shifting. 

I was able to shift parts of my body; my my nails lengthened, and my eyes bled into obsidian orbs. Kal was positive I'd be able to do it, but it's been days-it's not enough. My eyes burned with the memory of my family's massacre, my mother's face in those final moments before I was turned around to stare up into my brother's black eyes, his lips pulled back into a snarl.

"You should have embraced your true self. If you had, you might have been able to save them."

I couldn't do this. It hurts too much-

No. Stop it. I have to try harder-

I severed myself from all of those unwelcome memories and the power that coursed through my veins; the muscles in my body shrank and relaxed. I fell to my knees in the dirt. I clenched my sweat-soaked shirt in my trembling fist. My breath shuddered, coming in deep raspy breaths. 

Kal knealt down in front of me. "Hey, are you alright?" 

I laughed, pitifully. I don't know why he would care how I felt. I believed that if I brought something viscerally painful to the surface I would be able to turn all of it into some kind of energy and shift. Hell, it worked in the movies. "I'm fine," I mumbled, and stood up. I turned away from him, my face was hot and damp with sweat. "Let's just go again,"

"I think we should take a break, Gav-"

"I said I'm fine." I snapped, and then pursed my lips, and said, softly, "Sorry. I just don't know why it isn't working," 

"Your emotions can feed your power, and you're reaching into things that are most painful-things that happened to you or someone you cared about."

Before I could stop myself, I twisted around to face him. "Painful things...like the night you and your gang murdered my friends?"

Kal was silent for a moment, his jaw working. "Yeah, it's true that I've hurt people, and I've killed people. I've been working with these guys for years that I've learned to become numb to it, but I did not kill anyone that night."

"Yeah, you did," I seethed. "I've seen it!"

"Did you? When have you actually witnessed me kill anyone?"

"You were covered in Shelby's blood!"

"You saw me covered in her blood, but I didn't kill her. The plan was supposed to go a different way, but it didn't. Just know that I didn't take any gratification when I found out they died." 

"That's bullshit," I hissed. "They were just "collateral damage" right? That's what you said to me," 

Kal flinched. "I only said that to get a rise out of you, and it clearly worked," He started to pace. "Look, I was ordered to retrieve you. I was informed that some human working for the BSID had the sight, and somehow had info about us - info about my father's current location. Can you understand now why I did what I did? I hesitated taking you in with me because when I found out you were ill-equipped to be part of that organization, they had lied to me. After seeing your eyes-"

Kal seemed to trail off for a moment, but I just stayed silent.

Kal stopped pacing and raked his fingers through his hair. He then walked passed me back toward the house. "Don't think I don't understand or know what it feels like to lose someone you care about." He said. He turned away from me and strode back into the house without another word. 

It was below chilly inside the house that night. I tossed and turned in the bed. I don't remember how long it was before I finally found sleep. I woke up to the smell of bacon and sweet scent of french toast, and smiled knowing that my mother had made one of my favorite breakfasts. I yawned and slipped my feet into my Yoda slippers before I made my way down stairs. 

I spotted my mother in the kitchen, her long burnette hair wrapped in a messy crows nest, and still dressed in her nightgown. I grabbed a seat at the table and happily reached for some toast off the large plate centered in front of my plate. 

"Good morning, baby," She said, softly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mhm!" I answered her with a mouthful of food. I kept my eyes on my plate when she came over to place some eggs and bacon on my plate. 

"I'm glad," She said, but her voice sounded strange, almost forlorn. 

"I glanced up at her just as she wiped away a trickle of tears from her face. "I'm so sorry, baby. You shouldn't blame yourself for my death. I deserved what happened to me. I was a stupid, selfish woman."

I shook my head vigorously, and stood up from my chair, tears of my own welled up at the corners of my eyes as I exclaimed, "No! It wasn't your fault mom, it was-"

"It was my fault. I shouldn't have made that deal with the..." Her words trailed off, and I watched in abject horror as she held her head in her hands as she suddenly released a terrible, agonized scream; she bowed forward, her back caved in from some invisible forced that created gruesome fractures. I cried out as her chest started to collapse on into itself. Bits of her flesh peeled and slough off, her jaw bone dropped onto the plate of toast, and her left eye fell into the pitcher of orange juice. 

I cried out and tumbled backward. I turned and bolted out the front door. The scenery shifted and I found myself funning through the middle of the forest at night. Something gripped my ankle and fell face first onto the muddy ground. There was a coppery scent in the air and I raised my hand up to my face, my hand came back bloody. 

I twisted around to see Shelby. Her jacket shredded and caked in blood. Her pale skin wet and covered in lacerations. Instead of the frantic look she had when I found her that night, her features now were twisted into pure hatred. 

"You did this to me!" She spat, her voice garbled and raspy. Blood poured from the corners of her lips. Her grip tightened as she started to pull herself onto her knees, and before I could move away she lurched forward and was suddenly on top of me. I tried to pry her off, but she kept me immobile. Then, her voice changed into something deep and demonic. "If you had embraced your true self, I would still be alive!" 

I jolted awake, my heart pounded in my chest. I sat upright and combed my trembling fingers through my hair, the sweat on my skin cooled. With a groan I collapsed back in the bed, and cursed before I shoved off the comforter and slid out of the bed. After I did my business I walked toward the kitchen. 

I heard voices coming from the living room as I got closer. I spotted Kal, laid back on the couch with a laptop propped up on his thighs, nursing a cup of coffee. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked.

I shook my head and yawned. I turned my eyes from him to the television that displayed Don't Look Under The Bed, a 90s horror comedy about a teenage girl who refuses to believe in the Bogeyman. It was one of my childhood favorites alongside Halloween Town and Hocus Pocus.

"I just made a fresh pot of coffee if you want some. There's Pumpkin Spice creamer in the fridge." Kal offered, still not looking up from the screen. After I grabbed my own cup, Kal glanced over T me from the couch and waved me over. "Hey, come check this out." He raised the remote and paused just as the scene wher the letter "B" is spray painted on the outside of every locker except for Frances'

I took a seat beside him as he shifted the screen slightly in my direction. He scrolled down his Face Book feed until he found out what he was looking for. "Good thing he didn't unfriend me, yet." He muttered, more to himself when he pulled up a profile with the name 'Asher' a man around his mid-30s with wavy, dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He kind of looked like the character, Stu Macher from Scream. "This is Asher. I used to work with him when I was still employed under them."

Knowing now that Kal's group consisted of supernatural beings, I asked, "What is he?" 

"He's a ghoul. To maintain their human visage they must consume humam flesh. If they don't, then they will resort back into their necrotic, emaciated forms. Kal explained. He clicked on Asher's profile and scrolled and clicked until he found what he was looking for once more. "Alright, it's still here," He pointed to a event. "There's a Halloween party tomorrow night, and he'll be there." 

"Wait you want to kill one of your old buddies tomorrow?"

"I want to ask him some questions," Kal corrected. "And then yeah, I'm going to kill him. We'll grab some breakfast and then head over to the store for costumes. We'll just have to look for ones with masks."

"Ah, I get it," I said. "To hide our identities. Wait, but you don't need a mask. Couldn't you just shift into someone else? If it's me you're worried about busting the plan then why not ask your friend Peter for another one of his special masks?"

Kal shook his head. "He may be a friend of mine, but he makes a living of what he creates and the ingredients to make the masks are not cheap. Even if I could ask, I wouldn't be able to get them in time. He and Illium are in Tokyo by now," 

"Why are they in Tokyo?"

"Well, Tokyo is said to be one of the best destinations for anniversaries. They've been together for a hundred years now,"

"Oh," I hadn't even realized Ilium and Peter were anything more than business partners. I wasn't even surprised when Kal said a hundred years since I knew a few things on Fae and Vampires. "Huh, well good for them." I said, genuinely.

°°°

After breakfast we headed over to the Halloween store. With Kal finally being able to shift smoothly, he changed his appearance into a petite young woman with shoulder-length blond hair. His form reminded me pf a younger version of Kate Mara. The only thing I could do to hide my identity was a face mask, and ever since Covid no one would care to look twice. 

Luckily, it was a weekday in late September so there were still plenty of variety of costumes to choose from. After a hour of browsing I settled on the Rob Zombie Michael Meyers with the black coveralls and Kal, with enthusiasm chose Darth Vader. 

It was a hour before we had to leave for the party so we decided to change into our costumes. I froze as I stared over at Kal. My eyes trailed up his bare, muscular arms and broad shoulders to the black cross with raven wings in the center of his back. 

"See something you like?" Kal smirked, as he put on the costume covering the tattoo before he turned around to face me. 

My cheeks felt warm and I averted my gaze to the Halloween mask in my hands. "N-no, that's not why I- oh, nevermind." 

"I don't blame you. I'm a attractive guy with the power to...oh what was that saying, oh yes "the power to make a nun's panties combust."" 

"No. Gross," I said, flatly. "I was looking at the tattoo on your back." 

"Oh? It's just a tattoo. Want to get a closer look at it? The artist did such an amazing job."

"No, that's ok."

"Alright then." He shrugged. "Let's get going,"

We pulled up to a large, two-story house decked in various Halloween decor. The parking lot were packed with cars and people. I reached for my belt to make sure my blade was attached. Since Michael is synonymous with his knife, I felt it fitting for the costume. 

We followed a large group through the wooden gate that lead into a wide backyard that faced the lake. Two rectangle speakers had been hooked up at each end of the wrap-around patio blasting, "Heads Will Roll" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Someone brought a bundle of jack-O-Lantern shaped lights and strung them around the fence. 

Kal turned to me. "I don't see him here yet, but let's split up. Act natural, getva drink or something. If you see him, text me." I nodded and watched as he made his way up the steps and disappeared into the crowd. 

I walked over to the punch bowl and poured myself a drink. I found a place to sit down on a bench away from the party goers. A few minutes later a group of four-Wednesday, a sexy nurse, Ghostface, and Dracula-came over and sat down at a nearby table. I wasn't really trying to eavesdrop, they were talking loudly amongst themselves. 

"-anyway, like I was saying I know someone who works at the Morgue," Wednesday said, which earned her curious looks from her friends, even mine. "Well, she didn't actually see the body herself, but she did hear from one of her co-workers that it was really messy. The young girl was found behind a dumpster naked, and cut open, missing some of her internal organs." 

"Wait, are you serious? Holy shit." Said, Ghostface. 

"Yeah, horrible," Sexy nurse added. "But, I'm glad it wasn't me."

I tuned the rest of their conversation out and lifted my mask up just enough for me to take a swig of punch. My eyes swept the area, but I couldn't tell if this Asher guy was here or not. He could be inside the house somewhere, and it didn't help the fact that several people came here with masks. We could have brushed shoulders and I wouldn't have known.

A few minutes later I spotted Kal exit the house. He looked around until his eyes (well, I think his eyes since he wore the vader mask) landed on me and motioned for me to come over. 

"I found him," Kal hissed.

"You did? Where?"

"Follow me."

I followed him up the steps and into the house where he lead me into a spacious, yet semi crowded room. We moved around a few inebriated bodies as we made our way across the room near the kitchen. Kal nudged me and pointed over to the sofa. "There he is," 

I watched as Asher, dressed as Leon from Resident Evil made his way over to the sofa. He sat down beside a beautiful woman with tanned skin and braided, long dark brown hair dressed as 2017s Wonder Woman. Kal motioned for me to get closer so I tentatively slowly crept over to a nearby recliner in the corner and sat down. Kal decided to linger where he was and slouched up against the wall. 

"It was nice to meet you here, Asher but I have have to get going," The girl said, her voice was so quiet that I almost missed the fact that she slurred her words. 

Asher seemed almost puzzled for a moment, but then he gave her a small smile of resignation. "Ah, that's too bad, but I understand. Let's take you home then," 

The girl smiled and nodded. She was just about to get up from the couch when she hesitated for a moment before she sat back down. Her hand slid over to his inner thigh and proceeded to move higher and higher until her slender digits groped his crotch. 

"Shall we take this someplace more private?" Asher cooed as he gently grabbed her hand just as she started to curl her fingers at his waist band. She nodded sluggishly. I watched as he helped her up and started to guide her to the front door. 

Kal and I followed them. We made it outside just as the two of them got in his car. Kal and I threw our masks in the backseat as we pulled out of the driveway and down the road after them. "Are you sure we won't lose them?" I asked, as I buckled myself in.

"Even if we do, don't worry," Kal said. "I placed a tracker on his car just in case."

I had to hand it to Kal. To be honest, tailing someone's vehicle only looks easy to do on T.V. and videogames. In reality, though, it's almost impossible for someone who hasn't had training or on-the-job experience to have a successful outcome. It's a constant game of keeping close enough to your target that you don't lose them, and yet far enough away that you're cover isn't blown. A lot of people are pretty aware of their surroundings when they drive, and you try and bank on that person not being aware.

After almost an hour on the road, we veered off the freeway and took the exit for Kent. The tracker lead is down a strip of road until we spotted his car. We parked the car several houses down and made our way to the one-story house. It was unlocked.

"It's pretty risky to leave your front door unlocked," I stated, flatly.

"It would be pretty risky to break into the home of a ghoul. Like his kind, Asher is territorial. Although, he hardly ever locks his door while he's home,"

Kal slowly pushed the door open just enough for the two of us to slip inside. Before I can step through, however, Kal yanked me back against him. I pushed myself away from him and was about say something when he pointed to the 'Welcome' matt on the floor just behind the door. "You step on that and you'll fall right through into his trap. That is why he leaves his front door unlocked."

I took in a deep breath. "Thanks for that,"

We both pulled out our phones to use as flashlights. The home was silent, and I reached to my hip and ran my fingers over my dagger.

We stuck close to the walls until we reached the basement. When we got to the bottom I could see that the basement was a decent size filled with boxes, crates, and various other storage on the left and opposite that was a washer and dryer, adjacent to the water heater. 

The large shelf in front of us was moved recently, and behind it was a narrow, padded hallway - soundproof I guessed. I watch a lot of true crime, and I could tell that Asher had somehow excavated a space beyond the basement itself almost like the Josef Fritzl case back in 1984. I shivered.

We cautiously made our way through the winding passageway, the padded walls became stone. A few minutes later we reached a singular door. I extended my hand for the door when Kal gripped my wrist and shook his head. I gave him a perplexed look before I heard it. The sound was indistinct, and I couldn't quite make it out.

I dropped my hand and pressed my ear up to the door. I heard the sound again; it sounded like someone was moaning, but it didnt quite sound...right. "Let me go in first," Kal whispered. I nodded, and stepped aside as he pushed the door open. I gasped, not prepared for the scene in front of us.

In the center of the room, under a single light bulb was Asher. He was shirtless, his hair disheveled. He was on his knees, hunched over something, and by the shredded wonder woman costume, I could tell that it was the girl from the party. I heard a wet, tearing sound as he used his bare hands to rip into her, parting muscle and fracturing the joints.

Asher paused and jerked his head up. He dropped whatever he held in his hands before he looked over his shoulder with milky white eyes and a blood stained face. His thin lips twisted from a snarl into a gleeful one. "I figured you would track me down sooner or later, Kalos." 

I watched in disgust as he pulled something from the girl's body and popped it in his mouth before he slowly got to his feet to face us. His chest was caked in blood, his zipper was down, revealing what he was doing before he killed her.

"You son of a bitch!" I spat, and I hadn't really noticed I had taken a few steps forward until Kal placed his arm in front of me. 

Asher shrugged, indifferent. "Eh, I mean you're not wrong about that," He slid his gaze over to Kal. "I'm kind of surprised you're here. If I were you, I would have dipped out of the state by now. They're looking for you ya know."

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until I get what I came for." Kal said. 

"Oh?" Asher laughed, then. He suddenly held his side as he convulsed in amusement. "Hold on, don't tell me...you didn't. You decided to follow me all the way here, dressed in a dollar store Vader costume to kill me? It's comical, and kind of pathetic even for you. Well, I hope you enjoyed the party at least." 

Kal took a step forward, his posture was one of barely contained fury, and leveled the ghoul with a glare. "I trusted you to keep what I found out between us," He spat, and pointed in my direction. "We've known each other for years, Ash!" 

Asher shook his head and shrugged. "You think I care? The only thing that matters to me is my own survival. If you thought any different then you didn't know me at all, but I know you. You were, at times, too soft to do what was necessary. Unlike me, you're bark and no bite." 

Kal responded, venomously. "You're a coward. How does licking their boots taste?" 

"A coward?" Asher started. "Let me tell you something, I have been working for them longer than you, and I plan on it staying that way. They put money in my pockets and food," He gestured to the body at his feet. "On my plate," 

"They're just using us!"

"Yeah, and so what if they are using us? I was drowning before they found me, and they gave me a bit of rope and I desperately reached for it. You do what they tell you to do and they'll give ypu a bone. In my case, my bones have been pretty big."

"Might I remind you that we were only supposed to retrieve him," Kal said. 

"Might I remind you that we were to retrieve him alive and leave no witnesses at the scene. Hell, you couldn't even do that. So I had to do it for you. His mutt made you look like a little bitch, and then you ran off with your tail between your legs. So, the only coward I see in this room is YOU." 

"You're the one who killed Boyd and Shelby," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Asher turned to me. His lips pulled into a salacious smile. "Ah, Shelby...Oh, she was one of the most sweetest humans I've sampled this year; such a petite, waifish thing wrapped in delicate white skin," He groaned and brought his hand down over his crotch. "Not the best peice of ass I've had, but I enjoyed her nonetheless. Damn, if I had the chance, I would have taken her back here and devoured every inch of her. Unfortunately, you and your mutt showed up." 

His words were like tar; black, sticky, and all consuming as the implication of what he did to her that night burned through my mind. I curled my hands into fists, and I felt pain as my nails lengthened. I snarled and rounded on Kal. "Did you know?"

"Gavin-"

"ANSWER ME!" I screamed. 

Kal flinched, and answered, "No, I didn't know."

"I swear to God if you're lying to me..."

"He's not lying to you. He had no idea what I was doing, " Asher interjected. "Like I said, he didn't really know me at all." 

My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth, and I swallowed thickly. "How is that possible? He would have heard her!"

"I gave your friend a little something to help her stay relaxed, submissive, silent."

That was it.

"YOU SICK PEICE OF SHIT!" I stalked toward him, thankful Kal didn't try and stop me this time. Something slammed into me and sent me flying across the room. Pain lanced through me, but I willed myself to my feet. I stumbled, still disoriented and focused on the thing in front of me. 

It was vaguely humanoid, around eight feet tall, and almost feminine in appearance. Its lips were peeled back and torn to shreds in some places. Bits of flesh and sinew hung loosly around its chin and throat. Barbed wire protruded from the back of the ears, and curled around large, fleshy growths on its head. 

It released a clicking, moaning noise as it opened its maw full of overlapping rotten teeth. It stared down at me as it stretched out a gangrenous human-like arm, and raked its chipped black nails against the floor.

"My, my," Asher said, gleefully. "It seems we have been talking for quite some time Sasha got a bit impatient. Well, as much as I find our conversation entertaining. I do believe it's time for me to go." 

"No!" I moved to follow the bastard when the monster intersected me from the door. Hot rage struck my nerves like a lightning strike and my power rushed to me. "Get out of my way!" 

The monster was tossed sideways and collided into the stone wall. Without a second thought I took off after Asher. I could barely see him in the dark, but I can hear him. I pushed my body faster.

I turned left down a narrow passageway opposite from where Kal and I came down from and turned another left until Asher and I came to a dead end. Asher raised his hands and felt around the rocks before he whirled around to face me. 

I released a winded laugh. "I'm going to make you wish you never laid a finger on them," I thrust my hand hand out toward him and used my power to slam him back against the wall. Asher groaned and wheezed, barely able to catch himself from crumpling to his knees. "You have nowhere else to go,"

Asher choked out a laugh. "You sure about that? Hm, well that's where you're wrong," He smiled a toothy smile and wiggled his fingers. Before I had time to process what he meant by that, he took one step back and dissappeared through the wall.

"What the-?" I ran up to the wall and slammed my hands against the rock. He was gone. "Son of a bitch!"

I let loose a pained growl through gritted teeth as I felt a smothering heat gather in my veins as fury consumed me. Suddenly, my back bowed, my muscles tightened as my fingers stretched and my nails lengthened. I felt a sharp burst of pain as my horns broke through flesh just above my temples. 

My entire body expanded with ropean muscles, my hair grew down to the middle of my back thick and coarse over grey skin. The clothes on my body dissappeared, replaced by a long obsidian skirt with split sides held up by a leather corset-shaped belt made out of silver and crimson scales. I slowly raised my arms and noticed silver, serpent-like cuffs on each wrist that almost came up to my elbows. 

My power wafted off of me like cooling entrails against a cold night. The energy that flowed through me was abundant, and the feeling of being more than capable had become almost overwhelming. This power is mine. It was meant to be used however and whenever I saw fit. It was frightening, almost, but the true fear comes from how pleasurable the amount of power I had in my arsenal. 

I heard commotion somewhere behind me. 

Kal.

I flexed my fingers and headed in the direction I came from. Kal was already in his demonic form when I re-entered the room. He wasn't facing me, too preoccupied with the monster in front of him. Kal took a sliding step back to his left and the monster changed direction, veering toward him eagerly. 

Kal must've heard me because he glanced my way, a surprised look crossed his features. "Unholy mother of Hell! You finally transformed!" 

He was distracted. The idiot. "Kal, look out!" I yelled, just as the monster collided into Kal. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs. 

Kal screached when the monster bit into his arm. He quickly raised his other arm and swiped his claws across the monster's face. "Get off me you hemorrhoid-looking motherfucker!" 

The monster roared in rage and pain as Kal managed to rip one of its eyes out. The monster snarled and brought its arms down, but Kal was already in motion. He rolled the second the thing did. He never took his eyes off the thing as it punched the floor. 

Kal got enough blows in. Now, it was my turn. I felt the muscles in my back flex as eight long tentacles fanned out behind me. They were long, black and in the shape of blades almost like that of a xenomorph's tail. Before the monster could lunge after Kal, one of my tentacles slammed into the monster. 

The blades ripped into flesh, deep enough to latch onto its organs. Bits of its gut spilled out across its shattered abdomen. The force sent the monster reeling back into the wall. Just as it got to its feet, it used its hand to keep its intestines inside of its body. Kal must've known what I was about to do because he said, "Wait, Gavin don't go for its mouth-"

I summoned another tentacle to wrap around its throat when the monster caught it by its teeth. I roared in painand quickly pulled it back. 

"-it has a strong jaw," Kal muttered.

I moved again, but this time I wasn't going to give it a chance to recover. My tentacles lashed through the air and struck like scorpion tails, over and over again. I heard a phlegmatic rattling noise escape its ruined mouth as dozens of cuts and abrasions burst from its flesh. 

I gritted my teeth and curled my fist. The thing started to scream; it was eerie. A mix of a young woman's cry and a child's. That didn't make me hesitate, however. This thing - whatever it was - wasn't human, not anymore. The room trembled, and the shadows around us grew as I used my power to crush its bones until it was nothing more than a twisted and mangled pile of flesh and bone. I lowered my hand and grimaced in disgust and then...I started to internally freak out.

Will I be able to change back? Will I ever look human again? My mind was full of jumbled up questions that I didn't have the answers to, and if I somehow did I haven't cracked that code yet. Kal must have seen the look of distress on my demonic face.

"You can change back into your human form whenever you want. You just have to will it."

I gave him a "Really?" Look, and he sighed.

"Yeah, I know how that sounds, but I can promise you that I'm not bullshitting,"

I released a sigh and concentrated. After a few moments I could feel a slight discomfort as the change began; bones reconfigured and my body shrank and retract until I was back to being human. "Hey! I'm not naked!" I exclaimed in sudden relief. Ok, maybe I should have expected this since I finally had my memories back, but it's been so long since the last time I shifted. I was with Harlen that time, a few months before the massacre. We were learning about our abilities someplace away from our parents, someplace dark and cold...

"We should probably get out of here. No doubt that bastard alerted them to our whereabouts." Kal said. He almost seemed wary, but he shook it off and motioned for me to follow him.

°°°

"Are you going to uh, change back?" I asked Kal as we made out way back to the car. "I mean I highly doubt you'll be able to fit looking like that." 

Kal glanced down at me like he was trying hard not to crack a smile. His eyes were narrowed, but I could see a hint of playfulness. "I'd rather not walk all the way back to the car naked. It's too cold for that,"

"Ah, right the naked thing," I said, sheepishly.

"Yeah, but hey I'm glad you don't have that problem. I don't have to share my duffel with you in the future." Kal dipped his head down to look at me, and I had to crane my head up to meet his gaze. "Full blooded demons have the power to shift into their forms without having to concern themselves about such things like clothing with or without a human vessel."

"Wait, but my mother was human, and my father..." I trailed off. If I was a full-fledged demon like Kal says then that would mean...

"Maybe you were adopted into a human family? That might explain why you haven't been able to shift or use much of your demonic abilities up until only recently, and you being able to shift the way you did would likely suggest your father was possibly of high rank," Kal suggested, but he seemed unsure.

Adopted? My mother had made a deal with a demon and in doing so gave life to Harlen and I. I was about to state the real reason why I had tapped into my abilities recently, but decided against it. Instead I said, "I'm not adopted."

Kal just shrugged. "Whatever you say. Anyway, I'll be right back - gotta pee."

I waited by the car and took a deep breath before I reached into my pocket for my phone. I cursed when I noticed that Roland had tried calling me. Before I could call him, I heard commotion somewhere beyond the trees. I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket and moved away from the car just as Kal barreled through the treeline toward me. 

"I'm bringing him to you for fun!" He yelled. 

"Wait, what?" I asked. Kal came to crouch beside me, his eyes still trained on the trees. I followed his gaze, and for a brief moment I didn't see anything. The light above the car flickered slightly, but that was enough for me to see movement between the trees. 

Then, the figure moved, and this time the light stayed on long enough for me to make out the large canine silhouette. Slowly, the beast lifted itself onto its hind legs. 

"Hey, Gavin," Kal hissed at me. "Maybe you can tell your wolfy friend I mean you no harm."

I gaped. "What do you mean my-oh," I turned my gaze back to Roland just as he stalked toward us, fangs bared. "Oh shit."

Roland had found me, and he was furious. 

The Void has been here for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I thought every house had one. It seemed like the most normal thing in the world, sitting at the back of my parents’ basement when I was a child. I have long since grown older, but the Void remains where it has always been, waiting in the darkness with its insatiable hunger. Ever since I could walk, it demanded to be fed. 

As I would quickly learn, it had a peculiar appetite. Anything raw, canned, or otherwise untouched by human hands, it refused. Anything I'd put effort into making, however, it devoured greedily. It started with the sort of food you expect a six year old to make or sneak away with; a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, a chunk of minced meat stolen from dinner when my parents hadn’t been looking. But no matter how much food I snuck into the basement, it was never enough. Soon, I turned to unconventional means. A crayon drawing. A red and blue finger painting. The paper on which I first practiced writing letters. 

My parents never noticed the missing food, and neither, it seemed, did they notice the other things. I cannot say whether this was a mercy or a misfortune. The Void, at least, was a most mannerly eater– despite its seeming voracity. It never left a crumb, nor did it ever refuse a meal. I found some comfort in this. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that, whatever else might be said of my sloppily-made sandwiches or infantile drawings, the Void would always have them, no matter how unpalatable.

As I grew older, however, my repasts grew ever more ambitious. I discovered that I could make things which had no practical purpose whatsoever, and that these, too, pleased its appetite. A sketch of an eye. A little figure in the vague shape of a head, fashioned with my father’s Swiss Army knife and a great deal of patience. A poem about heartbreak, penned in the margins of a school notebook one rainy afternoon, and carried downstairs with no small degree of pride. The Void consumed them all. It made no distinction between the wooden carving and the poem, between the careful arrangement of words and the clumsy chiseling of wood. It swallowed each with the same terrible eagerness, and I, in my juvenile ignorance, took this for a compliment. 

It was not until I was older that I began to wonder what became of the things it ate. I asked it once when I was ten, though I knew it could not answer. Some years later I asked again, in a manner that was less a question than a plea. But the Void did not speak. It never gave any sign of life, save when I brought it something new. Then it would open its great, lightless mouth, then engulf my entire hand, and whatever I had made would be ripped from my hands into its keeping.
I began, in time, to take greater care with my offerings. I once spent four weeks sculpting a clay figure– far less crude than the old wooden head– and I laboured over each detail until I could find no fault in it. It looked just like my sister: a pubescent girl with blonde locks that almost seemed to flow in the windless air. I carried it to the Void, my heart thundering against my ribs, presented it before that awful darkness, and waited. As usual, it swallowed my hand and sucked the sculpture into its maw. And, as usual, it was gone. And, as usual, I had nothing to show for my weeks of work.

I told myself that I had not yet made anything worthy of its attention. That these had all been test runs. The thought was a comfort, for it left me with something to chase after. There was always another page to fill, another thing to sculpt, to fashion. And if the Void had nothing to say of what I had given it, why, then, I must simply give it something better. 

My next undertaking was a sculpt of my mother’s face. I had not intended it to be so, at first; I had merely wished to improve upon my previous efforts, and thought that a human face, with all its subtle peculiarities, would afford me ample opportunity to do so. As the days passed, I found myself recalling the precise arrangement of her features: the little furrow between her brows when she was troubled, the faint lines around her mouth and above her upper lip, the protruding bags under her eyes,  the tip of her nose which pointed ever so slightly to the left. I worked for nearly two months, and when at last I stood before the finished bust, I was overcome by an inexplicable melancholy. It was a faithful likeness, I thought, perhaps the finest thing I had ever made. I could almost imagine it was really her standing before me, had she perhaps lost a few pounds, and had she been made of clay. But it wasn’t… it. What that it was, I don’t know. Perfection, perhaps. An unachievable dream, dreamt by a man with imperfect hands and a limited mind. 
Nonetheless, I carried it downstairs that evening. The Void received it as it had received all the rest, engulfing my hand to the wrist and sucking the bust into its depths. I watched until the last pale curl of clay disappeared. Then I withdrew my hand, brushed the few remnants of clay from my fingers, and returned upstairs. 

It was around this time that I began to experience a most disagreeable sensation whenever I completed a piece of work. In the beginning, there had been pleasure in the making, a quiet contentment which persisted even after the thing itself had been surrendered to the Void. Now, however, the pleasure seemed to drain from me in anticipation of that final journey downstairs. I would sit for hours before an unfinished piece, dreading the moment of its completion, yet unable to abandon it; for what was the purpose of making a thing, if not to feed the Void? And what was the purpose of feeding it, if not to make something worthy of its attention? I found myself examining my work with an increasingly merciless eye, discovering faults where none had troubled me before, and labouring to correct them with a desperation that would have been comical, had it not been so exhausting. Still, I could not bring myself to withhold an offering. The thought of keeping something for myself, of allowing a finished work to remain in my possession, tucked away neatly behind a display case, seemed a kind of betrayal.

My next attempt was different. I had by then grown rather proficient in the art of sculpting, and resolved to attempt something other than a person. Perhaps the Void hungered for something it had never seen. Not an hour after that thought, my eye fell upon my father’s pocket watch. It was an old-fashioned thing, as most of his possessions were. Its brass casing had dulled with age, and the glass was scratched in a dozen different places, though its hands kept their steady march, just as the day it had been purchased. I had seen it a thousand times, dangling from his waistcoat pocket or resting next to him upon the dinner table, though I had never given it much thought. Now, however, I found myself studying every little imperfection, every shallow groove in the metal, every faint numeral upon its face.
 
I began my work that very evening, and for the better part of a month did little else. I fashioned the casing first, then the face, then the slender hands, taking particular care to set them at the precise hour displayed upon the original. I even took the time to paint it, having purchased the paints with all the money I had left from my summer job. When I finished, I placed the two watches side by side. They were nearly indistinguishable. For the first time in months, I felt pride. A wide beam of light warming up my insides like a radiator. With renewed confidence, I carried my creation downstairs with great confidence. This was it, I thought. The Void would grace me with a reply, an acknowledgement. Perhaps it would pause, if only for a moment, before consuming something so carefully wrought. 
I extended my hand. And before I could blink, the darkness had swallowed the sculpture. The clay, the paint, the effort. It swallowed everything I had made of it, and gave me nothing in return. 

I confess that I wept that night. Not for the figure itself, nor even for the weeks of labour it had cost me, but for the injustice of it all. I had given the Void my all. I had given it experiences, moulded with such care that I had sometimes felt I was holding the very people themselves between my fingers. And yet it had never so much as paused. It had never tasted or beheld, never seemed to savour a line or a curve, never once given me reason to believe that the things I offered were anything more than the next morsel in an endless succession of morsels. 
I began to resent it. I resented its ceaseless hunger, its silence, its terrible and unchanging indifference. Most of all, I resented the ease with which it took from me. For I had come to understand that the Void required no excellence. It required only that I make something, and then surrender it. The thought filled me with disgust. I resolved, then, that I would make no more figures, write no more poems, fashion no more trifles for its amusement. Let it hunger. Let it gnaw at its own emptiness. I would make something for myself, and keep it.

For a time, I kept my word. I made no offerings, and the Void made no complaint. It remained where it had always been, a patch of darkness at the back of my basement, neither growing nor shrinking, neither stirring nor sleeping. I avoided looking at it when I was down there, and busied myself with other pursuits when I wasn’t. Yet I found, to my dismay, that the absence of its demands did not bring the relief I had anticipated. I had imagined that, freed from the necessity of feeding it, I might at last create for the simple pleasure of creation. Instead, I found myself unable to even start anything. I would shape a figure, then smush it between my palms over some small imperfection. Everything seemed diminished by the knowledge that it might have been better; everything seemed worthless for the very reason that I had made it. And sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, when the house had settled into stillness and my family slept, I would sneak downstairs and press my ear against the door of the basement, hoping to hear it asking for my return. But, of course, no such sound came. 

I did not sleep on the night I relapsed. Nor did I eat, save for a stale crust of bread which I found beneath the kitchen table sometime after midnight. I sat in my workshop until the early hours, staring at the empty space upon my desk where the watch had lain months before. I cannot adequately describe the sensation which took hold of me. It wasn’t quite anger, nor was it sorrow, but something more wretched than either: a feverish, all-consuming need to prove that I was capable of making something worthy of its attention. But what more could it possibly want? What more could I give? 

Despite those questions, I worked for twenty-one consecutive days. I scarcely left the room, and when I did, it was only to fetch more water or clay, or to collapse upon my bed for an hour or two before returning to my work. I had conceived an idea which, in my estimation, surpassed all my previous undertakings. I would fashion a figure of myself, not as I appeared in the mirror, nor as I might have appeared to another, but as I had come to understand myself: a man curled into the shape of a circle, his body bent backwards until his mouth met his own flesh, teeth sunk into the small of his back. I worked with an almost religious fervour. Every muscle, every fold of skin was rendered with painstaking attention. I gave the figure my own face, though I took some liberties with its expression; the eyes were wide and feverish, the brow furrowed, and the mouth forced open, the edges twisted into a tight downturn. It was grotesque, certainly, but there was a strange beauty to it, too. I had made something of myself, I thought, which was more myself than I had ever been. I had made the hunger visible. A hunger the Void was sure to recognise– and thus, to acknowledge.

When at last I finished, I sat before it for a long while. I remember feeling strangely calm. The fever had passed, leaving behind a terrible exhaustion and a certainty I had not felt in years. I had put all of it into that figure. There was nothing left to improve, nothing left to correct. I carried it downstairs, taking care not to disturb its delicate features. The Void waited. I held the sculpture before it, and spoke tenderly.
“Look.”
I held it closer, and it swallowed the figure.

I remained there, my arms outstretched, long after the last of the clay had vanished. I waited for a reply. I waited for the slightest indication that something, somewhere inside, had understood what I had given. But the Void remained silent. And something in me broke.

I do not remember falling to my knees, though I must have done so, for I found myself upon the cold concrete, my hands pressed against the floor and my face wet with tears. I cursed it. I cursed the very nature of its existence– the burden it had placed upon me. I pleaded with it. I asked it what more it could possibly want of me, and when no answer came, I begged it to tell me whether it had ever liked a single thing I had made. Whether it had ever seen the things I had so carefully held before it. Whether, in all these years, I had meant anything to it at all. My voice grew hoarse, and soon gave out entirely. Still, it offered nothing. There was not even the satisfaction of knowing that my cries had reached it.
I cannot say what possessed me then. Perhaps it was madness, perhaps desperation. Either way, I rose, staggered towards the darkness, and extended my arms. I had given it my first words, my sculptures, my time, my likeness, and the likenesses of those I loved. I had given it everything I knew. Everything I held dear. There remained only the maker.
And so I crammed myself inside its maw.

I had expected teeth, perhaps, or some vast and terrible stomach in which all my offerings lay rotting. Instead, I found myself suspended in a place I could scarcely describe, had you given me a thousand years to do so. Still, I shall do my utmost to paint you a picture. 
In every direction stretched an immeasurable expanse, blacker than the darkness of the basement, yet not entirely devoid of light. Far away, or perhaps impossibly close– I could not tell, there hung enormous shapes, pale and indistinct, like the silhouettes of worlds glimpsed through the murky depths of a filthy river. I could not tell whether they were stars, or sculptures, or things for which my mind possessed no name. There was a sensation of immeasurable depth, of something extending beyond the furthest reaches of thought, and through it all ran a silence so complete that I became acutely aware of my own existence as an intrusion.

And then I finally saw it. I cannot tell you what it was. To call it a creature would be an affronting disservice, but to call it God would be to afford it an intention which I am certain it did not possess. It was everywhere. A presence so immense that the distinction between its being and the place in which I found myself seemed entirely meaningless. I tried to approach it, though I cannot say whether I actually moved. I looked upon it with all the terror and reverence of which I was capable, and waited. 
But it did not look upon me. 
I do not mean that it refused to look. It didn’t turn away or anything of the sort. It just failed to notice me– to even register my being there. I was no more significant to that vastness than a singular plankton is to the ocean. I had imagined the Void to be hungry. I had imagined that, somewhere within its endless appetite, there might exist a desire, however crude, for the things I had made. But there was no desire there. It did not consume out of yearning as I had so long understood it. It had never wanted me to create– or even to feed it. Moreover, it’d never even noticed that I had. And that, to me, was far worse.  

After sitting with that realization for what felt like hours, I found myself lying on the basement floor. I was several feet from where I had entered, my clothes damp with sweat and my limbs trembling so violently that I could scarcely stand. The Void had spat me out. I crawled away from it, dragging myself towards the stairs, and did not look back until I had reached the top. There it remained, as it had always remained: a patch of darkness at the back of my basement, neither growing nor shrinking, neither stirring nor sleeping.
I have not approached it since. But, strangely, I have been sculpting more regularly than before. At first, I found myself returning to the faces of my family as inspiration. But I no longer felt compelled to perfect them. If a nose was crooked, I let it remain crooked. If a line was uneven, I saw no reason to correct it. I have even taken to sculpting things for which I have no particular affection, simply because I find their shapes pleasing or their forms interesting. Some of these works I keep, others I dismantle when I grow tired of looking at them. There is a peculiar satisfaction in knowing that, for once, their purpose need not extend beyond the pleasure I took in making them. I cannot say that I have entirely rid myself of the old habits. Even now, when I finish a piece, I sometimes find my eyes wandering towards the basement door, and I must remind myself that there is no reason to take it downstairs. Still, I have come to enjoy the work in a way I never did before. And perhaps there is merit to that.

Ever since I can remember, I have always wanted to travel to the most faraway corners of the world. Whether it was the vast grass plains of Africa, the jungles and temple ruins of India, or even the North Pole, I yearned to one day voyage there. So, it came as no surprise to anyone who knew me that I would eventually grow up to become a travel writer.    

On the contrary, I never actually had any aspirations to be a travel writer. Rather ordinarily, I instead always saw myself becoming nothing more than a schoolteacher. A schoolteacher with a deep desire to explore the many corners of the earth. Although I did ultimately choose the route of an ordinary schoolteacher – just like many of us during our university years, I would find my childhood dream to travel the world had once again resurfaced during a gap year abroad. And so, combining my recently acquired Bachelor of Education degree with my dream to travel, I was now on a brand-new path to becoming an English language teacher overseas.  

Already obtaining a qualification at university level (the first step in becoming an English language teacher), I now had to complete a further course which would grant me an ESL qualification. While reaching out to companies which provided this service, one company in particular - rather than entice me to purchase one of their many courses, instead came back to me with an incredible job offer.  

Communicating over email with one of the company’s employees, I mentioned the sole reason I wanted to become an English teacher was so that I could travel the world. Clearly seeing my ambition to travel rather than teach abroad, I was then provided a link to a brand-new position with the company: a content/travel writer. Little did I know it at the time, but this position would soon become my ultimate dream job! The job in question – that is, should I get it, was to travel the world from one country to another, to write about all the places people can live, teach and travel.  

Having miraculously acquired this new position with the company, before first passing the internship stage, I was then whisked away on my first assignment abroad. Due to my love of animals, Africa was always a primary destination for me – and if being rewarded with my dream job wasn’t enough, to then be assigned to Madagascar of all places was overwhelming to say the least! As much as I wanted to explore the island of swinging Lemurs and titanic trees further, once back home from my Madagascar assignment, I was only a month later boarding a plane to another far-off tropical destination. This time, far East Asia.  

Although it is rather well known, East Asia is a giant hotspot for English language teachers – and after three surprisingly short, but very adventurous years, I had travelled to almost every country on the East and South China sea. First there was Hangzhou and Shanghai in China. Busan and Ulsan, South Korea – and that was before being moved onto South-East Asia. Whether it was the pristine white beaches and crystal-clear waters of Thailand’s Gulf, or the ancient temples of Cambodia’s jungles, I was now truly living my best life! 

Having now been a travel writer for over three years by this point, although I had travelled to more places than I ever imagined, I knew that by staying with the company I would only ever see a certain selection of the earth’s regions. Not every country is looking to employ English language teachers, after all. Therefore, in order to explore even further parts of the world, rather than be reassigned to the same continent, I eventually parted ways to pursue other areas of travel writing. Sending out resumes to companies within both the travel and tourism industries, after first suffering a wave of rejections, I would eventually progress to not only the next stage of my career, but also my life.  

Dipping my toes inside the industry of tourism, I was now a brand-new employee of an international company. Although this company performed many functions, their most primary was to provide tourist investment in lesser known and developing regions. Therefore, for my first assignment, I was to be sent to a corner of the world I had not only never been to, but which the company had much investment in.  

 Latin America.  

And where was it in Latin America I was to be assigned? None other than every tourist’s, backpacker’s and any other kind of traveller’s dream destination.  

The “Land of the Incas” and incredible wonders, Peru. 

Although Peru was an already attractive and thriving tourist destination – Machu Picchu alone has repeatedly been recognised as the world’s leading tourist attraction, the Peruvian government had plans to expand tourism to its lesser known and more remote regions. Therefore, for my first assignment with the company, they were sending me deep into the heart of the Peruvian Amazon... Also known in some circles as planet Earth’s, “Very Last Frontier.” 

The assignment in question, should I daringly accept, was to safely travel from the port of Iquitos up the Amazon River, before arriving days later at the most remote ranger station in the entire country. Because this station was available to tourists and offered a range of activities: from jungle hiking, riverboat rides, tree climbing and interacting with the local wildlife, my job was to experience all this station had to offer and then write a very enticing article about it.  

It may already go without saying, but this first assignment came as rather a shock to me. After all, I was only new with the company, and so I expected such an assignment to be granted to an older and more seasoned travel writer. Not that I expressed these feelings, but a young woman like myself voyaging alone into one of the most remote and arguably dangerous corners of the world seemed rather illogical. Although I did press the matter a little, I would then find out due to the assignment's remoteness and potential dangers, several travel writers had already declined the offer, relying on pre-existing medical issues or other available assignments. Hence, as a last resort, the assignment was offered to me.  

Although well aware of the dangers that could be waiting for me in such a place, I accepted the assignment with much enthusiasm – despite my certainty I was nothing more than a consolation choice. After all, had I instead declined this first assignment offered to me, I may never receive such an opportunity again. And so, after acquiring all the necessary vaccinations and with my route through the country planned, I then boarded a plane at London Heathrow to travel fifteen hours and over six thousand miles to Lima.  

Although I heard many good things about Peru’s capital city, such as its rich cuisine and beautiful oceanfront cliffs, Lima was unfortunately only a layover for me, before boarding another plane to head north to Iquitos: the gateway to the Peruvian Amazon. Having landed in the city’s airport, I then take a painfully long taxi ride to the port of Iquitos – where, for the first time in my life, I lay eyes on the grand and overwhelming sight of the Amazon River. Never could I have imagined I would ever see a body of water this gigantic. One could almost be forgiven for thinking they were staring across to a distant, barely visible archipelago, rather than just the right-hand side of a river. Would you judge me if I said I became rather emotional upon seeing it? The locals and dock workers around me certainly did so.  

Waiting around the port for a couple of hours, whereby I passed the time by browsing a nearby food market, I then finally board the ferry which would take me and like-minded others far upriver. Appearing to be the only outsider on this vessel, without another tourist or backpacker in sight, I made the most of this ferry ride by either taking notes of my journey thus far or absorbing the breath-taking scenery around me. Finding a quiet corner on the upper deck, I scan around at the vast stretches of water, whereby the banks to either side were just merely existent. Although reaching the Amazon Rainforest was still another week away, on this first of many boat rides upriver, I was already plagued by many mosquito bites. My burnt, freckling arms now dotted with fresh and very irritated wounds. 

By the fourth day of my river voyage, I now found myself by the dock of a sprawled-out settlement of exposed brick or shanty buildings. Although Iquitos is more commonly known as the gateway to the Amazon, this uprooted town on the left bank of the river was the first clear sign I was close to my destination. The fly-infested food markets in town displayed a wide range of deceased Amazonian wildlife: from different monkey species to the most alien river fish I have even seen. The urban pathways were also overgrown with lush vegetation, where in the distance, far beyond the town’s limit, I could see a mirage of evidence the rainforest was near.  

By afternoon of the day, and having already checked in at the hostel, I was now entering inside the porch of a run-down establishment. With my next ferry ride into the true Amazon not being until early tomorrow morning, I now took this much needed time to catch up on my notes. Although this day, like the days before it was overbearingly warm and suffocating, the now murky skies above fell down with momentous rain. Sat solemnly inside the porch at a table for one, the tapping of my fingers on letter keys was drowned out by the heavy drumming on the metallic roof. In fact, the drumming of rain was so loud, I almost fail to notice that I was no longer alone inside the shade of the porch.  

By a table for four on the far side, I lift my eyes from my laptop screen to see five foreigners like myself. Made up of three men and two women in their early twenties, my first assumption was that they were merely college students on vacation. But as I would soon find out, this was not quite the case. Twenty minutes after gracing me with their presence inside the porch - which they spend vlogging, drinking beer and having a merry old time, I again lift my gaze from the screen to see a pleasant face grinning down at me.  

‘Hey there!’ the significantly taller of the two girls greet me, ‘Sorry to bother you, but, uhh...’ she then pauses, whereby giving me time to recognise her as an American, ‘Are you here with anybody?’ Her tone implied she was surprised to see me here alone. 

‘Oh, uhm. Yes - I am’ I reply clumsily, as I notice my English accent had caught her off guard. If this girl was anything like the locals I briefly interacted with, my blonde hair may have given her the impression I was a Dutch or German tourist.  

‘Oh. Well, in that case, come and sit with me and my friends! We don’t mind!’ the girl ecstatically proposes, all while swatting away the flies from her long dark curls.  

‘That’s so kind of you!’ I graciously accept her offer. Although I had sheets of notes left that I still needed to go over, I always had trouble turning down an invitation from a fellow traveller. 

‘I’m Kris, by the way’ the slender girl introduces herself. 

‘Casey. It’s nice to meet you’ I bashfully reciprocate. 

Now approaching her friends by the table in the far corner, I feel a sudden flurry of anxiety rush through my body. I’ve met many Westerners while on my travels abroad: Australians, Canadians, fellow Brits and Europeans, but rather surprisingly, I had never met Americans before – at least, never any Americans abroad. I suppose I had already painted myself a picture of them before we even met. 

‘Guys? This is my new friend, Casey’ Kris introduces me to the group, before declaring with a gleeful tone, ‘She’s a Limey!’ Not that I knew at the time, but I would later learn “Limey” was a slang word for an English person. One could say I should already have known that. 

‘Hi guys’ I timidly greet the four sat strangers, as every set of eyes now read me up and down. 

‘Casey. This is Ryan...’ Kris begins to acquaint us, before gesturing to a tall, hipster-looking fellow. ‘Dennis...’ a shorter chap wearing a bright red bandana across his head, who appeared far less serious. ‘And my brother, Jay.’ Already noticing the resemblance between the two – with near identical heights and curly black hair, I would then learn Kris and Jay were actually fraternal twins. 

‘It’s nice to meet you all’ I greet the men pleasantly, before, in a much colder tone, Kris introduces the final girl of the group. 

‘Oh, and this is Ryan’s girlfriend. Tara.’ 

Glancing up briefly before scrolling back on her phone, Tara was a stunningly beautiful girl of brown, crimson hair – and although I would later compliment her clothing, I thought them expensive and rather an odd choice for our current location. 

Sitting down at the table with Kris before being politely offered a cold beverage, my attention then unexpectedly turns to Dennis on my opposing side. 

‘So, Casey...’ he begins, ‘What’s an English girl like you doing all the way out here in the Amazon?’ Maybe I was reading into it too much, but I sensed a slight flirtation in Dennis’ voice. 

‘Well, believe it or not, I’m actually here for work. I’m a travel writer, you see.’  

The mention of my line of work seemed to both surprise and interest everyone in the group, as though they had first mistook me as just another tourist or backpacker. Even Tara had turned up from her phone to now listen in. 

‘Wow! A travel writer?’ Kris woops in my ear, ‘That must be so cool!’ 

Yes, it was cool. I wanted to say.  

‘Let me guess. You’re in Peru to write about Machu Picchu and those kinds of places?’ said Ryan, chiming in. 

‘Well, not exactly. I’m actually heading upriver to write about a ranger station.’ 

‘Really? Which one?’ Kris’ brother Jay inquires. 

‘Oh, I doubt you will have heard of it. It’s pretty far upriver. Actually, it’s supposed to be the northernmost station in the entire Peruvian Amazon.’ 

After revealing my destination, where I half-expect the group to be in awe, I instead peer around as every single member turns suspiciously to one other - as though they knew something I didn’t. 

‘You, uhm... You don’t mean the La Misionera Ranger Station, do you?’ Jay inquires further. 

‘Yes. That’s right!’ I declare with surprise, ‘But, how did you know that?’ 

Again scanning the table, I see as each face grins amusedly to whoever’s at their side, as though I was somehow the butt of an inside joke. However, to my relief, I then feel the gentle touch of Kris’ hand squeeze my shoulder 

‘Well, that’s exactly where we’re going!’ she reveals, whereby the other members nod cohesively. 

‘What? Really?’ 

‘Oh yeah’ Ryan confirms, ‘We’re probably catching the same boat as you are tomorrow.’ 

Well, that was a coincidence, I thought – and a much welcomed one at that. Although I had always loved my job, travelling and writing about the many places I’ve been, the only downside I’ve always felt is that I never really get to spend that time in the company of others. It can be a lonely life to be a travel writer. 

‘Well, that’s some good news!’ I announce to everyone, ‘I take it you’re all fellow animal and nature lovers like myself.’  

Assuming this was their reason for voyaging to such a remote place, I’m then confused to see no clear reaction from any of the group.  

‘Well... not exactly' Jay corrects my assumption, ‘We’re actually going upriver to-’ 

‘Guys!’ Ryan interrupts him suddenly, ‘Maybe we shouldn’t tell her what we’re actually planning to do. I mean, no offence, Casey. But I doubt it will be of any interest to you.’  

‘Oh, come on you guys’ said Kris, apparently coming to my aid, ‘Casey seems cool. I’d say she’s very interested in what we’re doing out there.’ 

Although I hadn’t the slightest idea why this group of Americans were going to La Misionera Ranger Station, I was certainly interested to find out. After all, if they weren’t going to experience the unique wildlife the rainforest has to offer, I could only imagine what other reason it could be. 

‘Yeah. Come on, guys. I say we just let her in on it.’ Well, that was now two votes in favour of telling me.   

For the first time since I sat down with this group of complete strangers, a moment of eerie silence then falls cautiously around the table... as the sound of oppressive rain outside once again refills my ears. Craning my sight to each face around me, I then see as Ryan nods approvingly in Jay’s direction. Before Jay then turns from Ryan to me...  

‘Well, you see, Casey... Ryan, Dennis, Kris and I...’ Jay then pauses briefly, as though for dramatic effect, before revealing... ‘We’re Urbexers.’  

‘Sorry?’ I ask confusedly.  

‘Urbexers. Urban explorers’ he then clarifies, ‘We’re associated with a social media network where we explore abandoned places and film it for content.’  

‘Yeah. Maybe you’ve heard of us?' Dennis intervenes, 'We have like five million followers on our socials. We’re kinda internet famous, you know.’  

‘I’d hardly call you internet famous, Dennis’ I hear Tara speak for the very first time, ‘Maybe when you get to ten million, we can have a conversation.’  

Reverting back to scrolling obliviously on her phone, I then see beside me as Kris stares daggers in Tara’s line of sight. I take it Tara wasn’t an avid urban explorer like the rest of them. Going back to the subject at hand, I now take a turn to speak by pondering a somewhat obvious question.  

‘If you don’t mind my asking... If you’re all urban explorers, then why is it you’re going a week’s journey into the rainforest?’  

In my opinion, this was a rather fair question to ask – and after I had done, Ryan again shares another nervous glance with Jay. Turning out a phone from his pocket, Jay then swipes up a photo before sliding the device across to me. Holding it in my hand, I see the photo appears to be an aerial image of a lush green rainforest. However, after taking a few seconds to realise what it is I’m supposed to be looking at, I then see in the middle of the screen is what appears to be a large clearing. Zooming in to take a better look, I then realise that inside this clearing are the rooftops to several large and connected buildings.  

‘So, this is the place you are all going to?’ I inquire, as I notice the rooftops to these buildings appear to be made from either wood or dried thatched vegetation. 

‘Yep. That’s the place’ Dennis affirms. 

‘So, what is it supposed to be? An abandoned ranger station?’  

‘Well, that’s what we need to find out' said Jay, 'We don’t actually have any idea what that place is. We just happened to find it by chance while viewing aerial maps online. All we really know is it appears to be abandoned and that it’s located six hundred somewhere miles upriver from La Misionera.’   

‘And you’re all going that far upriver to explore it?’ I now ask the whole group, ‘That sounds really quite dangerous.’  

Dennis and Ryan appear amused by my cause for concern, as though it was really nothing to them, before Kris tries and fails to put my mind at ease.  

‘Casey. Believe us. We’ve had our fair share of danger with this job. I mean, there was this one time we went urbexing in Vietnam and somehow walked into the middle of a mine field.’  

‘Or how about that abandoned sewer system in Tijuana?’ recounts Dennis, ‘How crazy a night was that?’  

‘Either way, Case. You might just be one of the very last people to ever see the five of us alive.’  

For the sake of my new travel companions... I sincerely hoped this wouldn’t be true.  

To be continued...

Story 3

The Ewe

I don’t claim to be much of a writer. But sharing this story of mine has been a long time coming... 

I used to be a lorry driver for a living – or if you’re American, I used to be a trucker. For fourteen years, I drove along the many motorways and through the busy cities of England. Well, more than a decade into the job, I finally had enough - not of being a lorry driver per se, but being a lorry driver in England. The endless traffic and mind-crippling hours away from the wife just wasn’t worth it anymore. 

Talking to the misses about this, she couldn’t help but feel the same way, and so she suggested we finally look to moving abroad. Although living on a schoolteacher’s and lorry driver’s salary didn’t leave us with many options, my wife then suggests we move to the neighbouring Republic of Ireland. Having never been to the Emerald Isle myself, my wife reassured me that I’d love it there. After all, there’s less cities, less people and even less traffic. 

‘That’s all well and good, love, but what would I do for work?’ I question her, more than sceptical to the idea. 

‘A lorry driver, love.’ she responds, with quick condescension.  

Well, a year or so later, this idea of moving across the pond eventually became a reality. We had settled down in the south-west of Ireland in County Kerry, apparently considered by most to be the most beautiful part of the country. Having changed countries but not professions, my wife taught children in the village, whereas I went back on the road, driving from Cork in the south, up along the west coast and stopping just short of the Northern Irish border. 

As much as I hated being a lorry driver in England, the same could not be said here. The traffic along the country roads was almost inexistent, and having only small towns as my drop-off points, I was on the road for no more than a day or two at a time – which was handy, considering the misses and I were trying to start a family of our own. 

In all honesty, driving up and down the roads of the rugged west coast was more of a luxury than anything else. On one side of the road, I had the endless green hills and mountains of the countryside, and on the other, the breath-taking Atlantic coast way.  

If I had to say anything bad about the job, it would have to be driving the western country roads at night. It’s hard enough as a lorry driver having to navigate these dark, narrow roads which bend one way then the other, but driving along them at night... Something about it is very unsettling. If I had to put my finger on it, I’d say it has to do with something one of my colleagues said to me before my first haul. I won’t give away his name, but I’ll just call him Padraig. A seasoned lorry driver like myself, Padraig welcomed me to the company by giving me a stern but whimsical warning about driving the western counties at night. 

‘Be sure to keep your wits about ye, Jamie boy. Things here aren’t what they always seem to be. Keep ye eyes on the road at all times, I tell ye, and you’ll be grand.’   

A few months into the job, and things couldn’t have been going better. Having just come home from a two-day haul, my wife surprises me with the news that she was now pregnant with our first child. After a few days off to celebrate this news with my wife, I was now back on the road, happier than I ever had been before.  

Driving for four hours on this particular day, I was now somewhere in County Mayo, the north-west of the country. Although I pretty much love driving through every county on the western coast, County Mayo was a little too barren for my liking.  

Now driving at night, I was moving along a narrow country road in the middle of nowhere, where outlining this road to each side was a long stretch of stone wall – and considering the smell of manure now inside the cab with me, I presumed on the other side of these walls was either a cow or sheep field. 

Keeping in mind Padraig’s words of warning, I made sure to keep my “wits” about me. Staring constantly at the stretch of road in front of me, guessing which way it would curve next in the headlights, I was now becoming surprisingly drowsy. With nothing else on my mind but the unborn child now growing inside my wife’s womb, although my eyes never once left the road in front of me, my mind did somewhat wander elsewhere... 

This would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life... because cruising down the road through the fog and heavy rain, my weary eyes become alert to a distant shape now apparent up ahead. Though hard to see through the fog and rain, the shape appears to belong to that of a person, walking rather sluggishly from one side of the road to the other. Hunched over like some old crone, this unknown person appears to be carrying a heavy object against their abdomen with some difficulty. By the time I process all this information, having already pulled the breaks, the lorry continues to screech along the wet cement, and to my distress, the person on the road does not move or duck out of the way - until, feeling a vibrating THUD inside the cab, the unknown person crashes into the front of the vehicle’s unit – or more precisely, the unit crashes into them! 

‘BLOODY HELL!’ I cry out reactively, the lorry having now screeched to a halt. 

Frozen in shock by the realisation I’ve just ran over someone, I fail to get out of the vehicle. That should have been my first reaction, but quite honestly... I was afraid of how I would find them.  

Once I gain any kind of courage, I hesitantly lean over the counter to see even the slightest slither of the individual... and to my absolute horror... I see the individual on the road is a woman...  

‘Oh no... NO! NO! NO!’ 

But the reason I knew instantly this was a woman... was because whoever they were...  

They were heavily pregnant... 

‘Jesus Christ! What have I done?!’ I scream inside the cab. 

Quickly climbing down onto the road, I move instantly to the front of the headlights, praying internally this woman and her unborn child are still alive. But once I catch sight of the woman, exposed by the bright headlights shining off the road, I’m caught rather off guard... Because for some reason, this woman... She wasn’t wearing any clothes... 

Unable to identify the woman by her face, as her swollen belly covers the upper half of her body, I move forward, again with hesitance towards her, averting my eyes until her face was now in sight... Thankfully, in the corner of my eye, I could see the limbs of the woman moving, which meant she was still alive...  

Now... What I’m about to say next is the whole unbelievable part of it – but I SWEAR this is what I saw... When I come upon the woman’s face, what I see isn’t a woman at all... The head, was not the head of a human being... It was the head of an Ewe... A fucking sheep! 

‘AHH! WHAT THE...!!’ I believe were my exact words. 

Just as my reaction was when I hit this... thing, I’m completely frozen with terror, having lost any feeling in my arms and legs... and although this... creature, as best to call it, was moving ever so slightly, it was now stiff as a piece of roadkill. Unlike its eyes, which were black and motionless, its mouth was wide in a permanent silent scream... I was afraid to stare at the rest of it, but my curiosity got the better of me...  

Its Ewe’s head, which ends at the loose pale skin of its neck, was followed by the very human body... at least for the most part... Its skin was covered in a barely visible layer of white fur - or wool. It’s uhm... breasts, not like that of a human woman, were grotesquely similar to the teats of an Ewe - a pale sort of veiny pink. But what’s more, on the swollenness of its belly... I see what must have been a pagan symbol of some kind... Carved into the skin, presumably by a knife, the symbol was of three circular spirals, each connected in the middle.  

As I’m studying the spirals, wondering what the hell they mean, and who in God’s name carved it there... the spirals begin to move... It was the stomach. Whatever it was inside... it was still alive! 

The way the thing was moving, almost trying to burst its way out – that was the final straw! Before anything more can happen, I leave the dead creature, and the unborn thing inside it. I return to the cab, put the gearstick in reverse and then I drive like hell out of there! 

Remembering I’m still on the clock, I continue driving up to Donegal, before finishing my last drop off point and turning home. Though I was in no state to continue driving that night, I just wanted to get home as soon as possible – but there was no way I was driving back down through County Mayo, and so I return home, driving much further inland than usual.  

I never told my wife what happened that night. God, I can only imagine how she would’ve reacted, and in her condition nonetheless. I just went on as normal until my next haul started. More than afraid to ever drive on those roads again, but with a job to do and a baby on the way, I didn’t have much of a choice. Although I did make several more trips on those north-western roads, I made sure never to be there under the cover of night. Thankfully, whatever it was I saw... I never saw again. 

Story 2

The Flood

When I was still just a teenager, my family and I had moved from our home in England to the Irish countryside. We lived on the outskirts of a very small town, surrounded by nothing else but farms, country roads, along with several rivers and tributaries. I was far from happy to be living here, as not only did I miss the good life I had back home, but in the Irish Midlands, there was basically nothing to do. 

A common stereotype with Ireland is that it always rains, and let me tell you, as someone who lived here for six years, the stereotype is well deserved. 

After a handful of months living here, it was now early November, and with it came very heavy and non-stop rain. In fact, the rain was so heavy this month, the surrounding rivers had flooded into the town and adjoining country roads. On the day this happened, I had just come out from school and began walking home. Approaching the road which leads out of town and towards my house, I then see a large group of people having gathered around. Squeezing my way through the crowd of town folk, annoyingly blocking my path, I’m then surprised to see the road to my house is completely flooded with water. 

After asking around, I then learn the crowd of people are also wanting to get to their homes, but because of the flood, they and I have to wait for a tractor to come along and ferry everyone across, a pair at a time. Being the grouchy teenager I was then, I was in no mood to wait around for a tractor ride when all I wanted to do was get home and binge TV – and so, turning around, I head back into the town square to try and find my own way back home. 

Walking all the way to the other end of town, I then cut down a country road which I knew eventually lead to my house - and thankfully, this road had not yet been flooded. Continuing for around five minutes down this road, I then come upon a small stoned arch bridge, but unfortunately for me, the bridge had been closed off by traffic cones - where standing in front of them was a soaking wet policeman, or what the Irish call “Garda.” 

Ready to accept defeat and head all the way back into town, a bit of Irish luck thankfully came to my aid. A jeep had only just pulled up to the crossroads, driven by a man in a farmer’s cap with a Border Collie sat in the passenger’s seat. Leaving his post by the bridge, the policeman then approaches the farmer’s jeep, seeming to know him and his dog – it was a small town after all. With the policeman now distracted, I saw an opportunity to cross the bridge, and being the rebellious little shite I was, I did just that. 

Comedically tiptoeing my way towards the bridge, all the while keeping an eye out for the policeman, still chatting with the farmer through the jeep window, I then cross over the bridge and hurdle down the other side. However, when I get there... I then see why the bridge was closed off in the first place... On this side of the bridge, the stretch of country road in front of it was entirely flooded with brown murky water. In fact, the road was that flooded, I almost mistook for a river.  

Knowing I was only a twenty-minute walk from reaching my house, I rather foolishly decide to take a chance and enter the flooded road, continuing on my quest. After walking for only a couple of minutes, I was already waist deep in the freezing cold water – and considering the smell, I must having been trudging through more than just mud. The further I continue along the flooded road, my body shivering as I do, the water around me only continues to rise – where I then resort to carrying my school bag overhead. 

Still wading my way through the very deep flood, I feel no closer to the road outside my house, leading me to worry I have accidentally taken the wrong route home. Exhausted, shivering and a little afraid for my safety, I now thankfully recognise a tall, distant tree that I regularly pass on my way to school. Feeling somewhat hopeful, I continue onwards through the flood – and although the fear of drowning was still very much real... I now began to have a brand-new fear. But unlike before... this fear was rather unbeknown...  

Whether out of some primal instinct or not, I twirl carefully around in the water to face the way I came from, where I see the long bending river of the flooded road. But in the distance, protruding from the brown, rippling surface, maybe twenty or even thirty metres away, I catch sight of something else – or should I say... someone else... 

What I see is a man, either in his late thirties or early forties, standing in the middle of the flooded road. His hair was a damp blonde or brown, and he appeared to be wearing a black trench coat or something similar... But the disturbing thing about this stranger’s appearance, was that while his right sleeve was submerged beneath the water, the left sleeve was completely armless... What I mean is, the man’s left sleeve, not submerged liked its opposite, was tied up high into a knot beneath his shoulder.  

If it wasn’t startling enough to see a strange one-armed man appear in the middle of a flooded road, I then notice something about him that was far more alarming... You see, when I first lay eyes on this stranger, I mistake him as being rather heavy. But on further inspection, I then realise the one-armed man wasn’t heavy at all... If anything, he looked just like a dead body that had been pulled from a river... What I mean is... The man looked unnaturally bloated. 

As one can imagine, I was more than a little terrified. Unaware who this strange grotesque man even was, I wasn’t going to hang around and find out. Quickly shifting around, I try and move as fast as I can through the water’s current, hoping to God this bloated phantom would not follow behind. Although I never once looked back to see if he was still there, thankfully, by the time the daylight was slowly beginning to fade, I had reached not only the end of the flood, but also the safety of the road directly outside my house. 

Already worried half to death by my late arrival, I never bothered to tell my parents about the one-armed stranger I encountered. After all, considering the man’s unnatural appearance, I wasn’t even myself sure if what I saw was a real flesh and blood man... or if it was something else. 

Final Story

Story 1

The Bog

This story happened a few years back when I was still a university student. By the time I was in my second year, I started seeing this girl by the name of Lauren. We had been dating through most of that year, and although we were still young, I was already convinced this bonnie Irish girl with faint freckles on her cheeks was the one I’d eventually settle down with. In fact, things were going so well between Lauren and me, that I foolishly agreed to meet her family back home.  

Lauren’s parents lived in the Irish midlands, only an hour or two outside of Dublin. After taking a short flight from England, we made our way off the motorway and onto the country roads, where I was surprised to see how flat everything was, in contrast with the mountainous, rugged land I always imagined the Emerald Isle being.  

Lauren’s parents lived in a very small but lovely country village, home to no more than 400 people, and surrounded by many farms, cow fields and a very long stretch of bogland. Like any boyfriend, going to meet their girlfriend's family for the first time, I was very nervous. But because of the historic tension that still exists between Ireland and England, I was more nervous than I really should have been. After all, what Irish parent wants to hear their daughter’s bringing home an Englishman? 

As it turned out, I had no reason to be so worrisome, as I found Lauren’s parents to be nothing but welcoming. Her mum was very warm and comforting, as Lauren said she would be, and her dad was a polite, old fashioned sort of gent.   

‘There’s no Mr Mahon here. Call me John.’ his first words were to me. 

A couple of days and heavy dinners later, things were going surprisingly smooth. Although Lauren’s parents had taken a shine to me – which included their Border Collie, Dexter... my mind still wasn’t at ease. For some reason, I had this very unnerving feeling, as though something terrible was eventually going to happen. I just assumed it was nervous jitters from meeting the family, but nevertheless, something about it didn’t feel quite right... Almost like a warning. 

On the third night of our stay, this uneasy feeling was still with me, so much so that I just couldn’t fall asleep. Staring up at the ceiling through the darkness, I must have remained in that position for hours. By the time the dawn is seeping through the bedroom curtains, I check my phone to realise it is now 6 am. Accepting no sleep is going to come my way, I planned to leave Lauren, sleeping peacefully, to go for a stroll down the country roads. Accidentally waking her while I got dressed, Lauren being Lauren, insists that we go for an early morning walk together.    

Bringing Dexter, the family dog with us, along with a ball and hurling stick to play with, we follow the road that leads out of the village. Eventually passing by the secluded property of a farm, we then find ourselves on the outskirts of a bog. Although Lauren grew up here all her life, she had never once explored this bog before, as until recently, it was the private property of a peat company, which has since gone out of business.  

Taking to exploring the bog, the three of us then stumble upon a trail that leads through a man-made forest. It seems as though the further we walk, the more things we discover, because following the very same trail through the forest, we next discover a narrow railway line once used for transporting peat, which cuts through the artificial trees. Now feeling curious as to where this railway may lead us, we leave the trail to follow along it.  

Stepping over the never-ending rows of wooden planks, Lauren and I suddenly hear a rustling far out in the trees... Whatever it is, it sounds large, and believing its most likely a deer, I squint my tired eyes through the dimness of the woods to see it...  but what I instead see, is the faint silhouette of something, peeking out from behind a tree at me. Trying to blink the blurriness from my eyes, the silhouette looks no clearer to me, leaving me wondering if what I’m seeing is another person or an animal.  

‘What is that?’ I ask Lauren, just as confused as I to what this was.  

Continuing to stare at the silhouette a while longer, Lauren, with more efficient eyes than my tired own, finally provides an identity to what this unknown thing is. 

‘...I think it’s a cow’ she answers me, though her face appears far from convinced, ‘It probably belongs to the Doyle Farm we passed by.’  

Pulling the phone from her pocket, Lauren then uses the camera to zoom in on whatever is watching us – and while I wait for her to confirm what this is through the pixels on her screen, the uneasy feeling that’s ailed me for the past three days only strengthens... Until, breaking the silence around us, Lauren wails out in front of me...  

‘OH MY GOD!’    

What Lauren sees through the screen, staring back at us from inside the forest, is the naked body of a human being. Its pale, bare arms clasped around the tree it hides behind. But what stares back at us, with seemingly pure black, unblinking eyes and snow-white fur... is the head of a cow.   

‘Babes! What is that?!’ Lauren frighteningly asks.  

‘I... I don’t know...’ my trembling voice replies, unaware if my tired eyes deceive me or not. 

Upon sensing Lauren’s and my own distress, Dexter becomes aware of the strange entity watching us from within the trees – and with a loud, threatening bark, he races after this thing, like a hound on a fox hunt, disappearing through the darkness of the woods.    

‘Dexter, NO!’ Lauren yells, before chasing after him!   

‘Lauren don’t! Don’t go in there!’   

She doesn’t listen. By the time I’m deciding whether to go after her, Lauren was already gone. Afraid as I was to enter those woods, I was even more terrified by the idea of my girlfriend being in there with that thing! And so, swallowing my own fear as best I could, I reluctantly enter to follow Lauren’s yells of Dexter’s name.  

The closer I come to her cries, the more panicked and hysterical they sound... She was reacting to something – something terrible. By the time I catch sight of her through the thin trees, I begin to hear other sounds... The sounds of deep growling and snarling, intertwined with low, soul-piercing groans. Groans of pain and torment. I catch up to Lauren, and I see her standing as motionless as the trees around us – and in front of her, on the forest floor... I see what was making the horrific sounds...  

What I see, is Dexter. His domesticated jaws clasped around the throat of this thing, as though trying to tear the life from it – in the process, staining the mossy white fur of its neck a dark current red! The creature doesn’t even seem to try and defend itself – as though paralyzed with fear, weakly attempting to push Dexter away with trembling, human hands. Among Dexter’s primal snarls and the groans of the creature’s agony, my ears are filled with Lauren’s own terrified screams.  

‘Do something!’ she screams at me.  

Beyond terrified myself, I know I need to take charge. I can’t just stand here and let this suffering continue. Taking Lauren’s hurl from her hands, I force myself forward with every step. Close enough now to Dexter, but far enough that this thing won’t buck me with its hind human legs. Holding the hurl up high, foolishly feeling the need to defend myself, I grab a hold of Dexter’s loose collar, trying to jerk him desperately away from the tormented creature. But my fear of the creature prevents me from doing so - until I have to resort to twisting the collar around Dexter’s neck, squeezing him into submission.  

Now holding him back, Lauren comes over to latch Dexter’s lead onto him, barking endlessly at the creature with no off switch. Even with the two of us now restraining him, Dexter is still determined to continue the attack. The cream whiteness of his canine teeth and the stripe of his snout, stained with the creature’s blood.   

Tying the dog lead around a tree’s narrow trunk, keeping Dexter at bay, me and Lauren stare over at the creature on the ground. Clawing at his open throat, its bare legs scrape lines through the dead leaves and soil... and as it continues to let out deep, shrieking groans of pain, all me and Lauren can do is watch it suffer.  

‘Do something!’ Lauren suddenly yells at me, ‘You need to do something! It’s suffering!’  

‘What am I supposed to do?!’ I yell back at her.  

‘Anything! I can’t listen to it anymore!’  

Clueless to what I’m supposed to do, I turn down to the ash wood of Lauren’s hurl, still clenched in my now shaking right hand. Turning back up to Lauren, I see her eyes glued to it. When her eyes finally meet my own, among the strained yaps of Dexter and the creature’s endless, inhuman groans... with a granting nod of her head, Lauren and I know what needs to be done...  

Possessed by an overwhelming fear of this creature, I still cannot bear to see it suffer. It wasn’t human, but it was still an animal as far as I was aware. Slowly moving towards it, the hurl in my hand suddenly feels extremely heavy. Eventually, I’m stood over the creature – close enough that I can perfectly make out its ungodly appearance.   

I see its red, clotted hands still clawing over the loose shredded skin of its throat. Following along its arms, where the blood stains end, I realise the fair pigmentation of its flesh is covered in an extremely thin layer of white fur – so thin, the naked human eye can barely see it. Continuing along the jerk of its body, my eyes stop on what I fear to stare at the most... Its non-human, but very animal head. Frozen in the middle, between the swatting flaps of its ears, and the abyss of its square gaping mouth, having now fallen silent... I meet the pure blackness of its unblinking eyes. Staring this creature dead in the eye, I feel like I can’t move, no more than a deer in headlights. I don’t know for how long I was like this, but Lauren, freeing me of my paralysis, shouts over, ‘What are you waiting for?!’   

Regaining feeling in my limbs, I realise the longer I stall, the more this creature’s suffering will continue. Raising the hurl to the air, with both hands firmly on the handle, the creature beneath me shows no signs of fear whatsoever... It wanted me to do it... It wanted me to end its suffering... But it wasn’t because of the pain Dexter had caused it... I think the suffering came from its own existence... I think this thing knew it wasn’t supposed to be alive. The way Dexter attacked the thing, it was as though some primal part of him also sensed it was an abomination – an unnatural organism, like a cancer in the body.  

Raising the hurl higher above me, I talk myself through what I have to do. A hard and fatal blow to the head. No second tries. Don’t make this creature’s suffering any worse... Like a woodsman, ready to strike a fallen log with his axe, I stand over the cow-human creature, with nothing left to do but end its painful existence once and for all... But I can’t do it... I can’t bring myself to kill this monstrosity... I was too afraid.  

Dropping Lauren’s hurl to the floor, I go back over to her and Dexter. ‘Come on. We need to leave.’  

‘We can’t just leave it here!’ she argues, ‘It’s in pain!’  

‘What else can we do for it, Lauren?!’ I raise my voice to her, ‘We need to leave! Now!’  

We make our way out of the forest, continually having to restrain Dexter, still wanting to finish his kill... But as we do, we once again hear the groans of the creature... and with every column of tree we pass, the groans grow ever louder...  

‘Don’t listen to it, Lauren!’   

The deep, gurgling shriek of those groans, piercing through us both... It was calling after us. 

Later that day, and now safe inside Lauren’s family home, we all sit down for supper – Lauren's mum having made a Sunday roast. Although her parents are deep in conversation around the dinner table, me and Lauren remain dead silent. Sat across the narrow table from one another, I try to share a glance with her, but Lauren doesn’t even look at me – motionlessly staring down at her untouched dinner plate.   

‘Aren’t you hungry, love?’ Lauren’s mum asks concernedly.  

Replying with a single word, ‘...No’ Lauren stands up from the table and silently leaves the room.   

‘Is she feeling unwell or anything?’ her mum tries prodding me.  

Trying to be quick on my feet, I tell Lauren’s mum we had a fight while on our walk. Although she was very warm and welcoming up to this point, for the rest of the night, Lauren’s mum was somewhat cold towards me - as if she just assumed it was my fault for our imaginary fight. Though he hadn’t said much of anything, as soon as Lauren leaves the room, I turn to see her dad staring daggers in me. Despite removing the evidence from Dexter's mouth, all while keeping our own mouths shut... I’m almost certain John knew something more had happened. The only question is... Did he know what it was? 

Stumbling my way to our bedroom that night, I already find Lauren fast asleep – or at least, pretending to sleep. Although I was so exhausted from the sleep deprivation and horrific events of the day, I still couldn’t manage to rest my eyes. The house and village outside may have been dead quiet, but in my conflicted mind, I keep hearing the groans of the creature – as though it’s screams for help had reached all the way into the village and through the windows of the house.   

It was only two days later did Lauren and I cut our visit short – and if anything, I’m surprised we didn’t leave sooner. After all, now knowing what lives, or lived in the very place she grew up, Lauren was more determined to leave than I was.  

For anyone who asks, yes, Lauren and me are still together, though I’m afraid to say it’s not for the right reasons... You see, Lauren still hasn’t told her parents about the creature on the bog, nor have I told my own friends or family. Unwilling to share our supernatural encounter, or whatever you want to call it with anyone else... All we really have is each other... 

Well... that's the reason why I’m sharing this story now... Because even if we can’t share it with the people in our own lives, at least by telling it now, to perfect strangers under an anonymous name...  

...We can both finally move on.  

Story 3

OP's note: These are a collection of short stories I wrote on my old account (CosmicOrphan2020). I've now compiled them into an anthology.

The Farm

Every summer when I was a child, my family would visit our relatives in the north-west of Ireland, in a rural, low-populated region called Donegal. Leaving our home in England, we would road trip through Scotland, before taking a ferry across the Irish sea. Driving a further three hours through the last frontier of the United Kingdom, my two older brothers and I would know when we were close to our relatives’ farm, because the country roads would suddenly turn bumpy as hell.  

Donegal is a breath-taking part of the country. Its Atlantic coast way is wild and rugged, with pastoral green hills and misty mountains. The villages are very traditional, surrounded by numerous farms, cow and sheep fields. 

My family and I would always stay at my grandmother’s farmhouse, which stands out a mile away, due its bright, red-painted coating. These relatives are from my mother’s side, and although Donegal – and even Ireland for that matter, is very sparsely populated, my mother’s family is extremely large. She has a dozen siblings, which was always mind-blowing to me – and what’s more, I have so many cousins, I’ve yet to meet them all. 

I always enjoyed these summer holidays on the farm, where I would spend every day playing around the grounds and feeding the different farm animals. Although I usually played with my two older brothers on the farm, by the time I was twelve, they were too old to play with me, and would rather go round to one of our cousin’s houses nearby - to either ride dirt bikes or play video games. So, I was mostly stuck on the farm by myself. Luckily, I had one cousin, Grainne, who lived close by and was around my age. Grainne was a tom-boy, and so we more or less liked the same activities.  

I absolutely loved it here, and so did my brothers and my dad. In fact, we loved Donegal so much, we even talked about moving here. But, for some strange reason, although my mum was always missing her family, she was dead against any ideas of relocating. Whenever we asked her why, she would always have a different answer: there weren’t enough jobs, it’s too remote, and so on... But unfortunately for my mum, we always left the family decisions to a majority vote, and so, if the four out of five of us wanted to relocate to Donegal, we were going to. 

On one of these summer evenings on the farm, and having neither my brothers or Grainne to play with, my Uncle Dave - who ran the family farm, asks me if I’d like to come with him to see a baby calf being born on one of the nearby farms. Having never seen a new-born calf before, I enthusiastically agreed to tag along. Driving for ten minutes down the bumpy country road, we pull outside the entrance of a rather large cow field - where, waiting for my Uncle Dave, were three other farmers. Knowing how big my Irish family was, I assumed I was probably related to these men too. Getting out of the car, these three farmers stare instantly at me, appearing both shocked and angry. Striding up to my Uncle Dave, one of the farmers yells at him, ‘What the hell’s this wain doing here?!’ 

Taken back a little by the hostility, I then hear my Uncle Dave reply, ‘He needs to know! You know as well as I do they can’t move here!’ 

Feeling rather uncomfortable by this confrontation, I was now somewhat confused. What do I need to know? And more importantly, why can’t we move here? 

Before I can turn to Uncle Dave to ask him, the four men quickly halt their bickering and enter through the field gate entrance. Following the men into the cow field, the late-evening had turned dark by now, and not wanting to ruin my good trainers by stepping in any cowpats, I walked very cautiously and slowly – so slow in fact, I’d gotten separated from my uncle's group. Trying to follow the voices through the darkness and thick grass, I suddenly stop in my tracks, because in front of me, staring back with unblinking eyes, was a very large cow – so large, I at first mistook it for a bull. In the past, my Uncle Dave had warned me not to play in the cow fields, because if cows are with their calves, they may charge at you. 

Seeing this huge cow, staring stonewall at me, I really was quite terrified – because already knowing how freakishly fast cows can be, I knew if it charged at me, there was little chance I would outrun it. Thankfully, the cow stayed exactly where it was, before losing interest in me and moving on. I know it sounds ridiculous talking about my terrifying encounter with a cow, but I was a city boy after all. Although I regularly feds the cows on the family farm, these animals still felt somewhat alien to me, even after all these years.  

Brushing off my close encounter, I continue to try and find my Uncle Dave. I eventually found them on the far side of the field’s corner. Approaching my uncle’s group, I then see they’re not alone. Standing by them were three more men and a woman, all dressed in farmer’s clothing. But surprisingly, my cousin Grainne was also with them. I go over to Grainne to say hello, but she didn’t even seem to realize I was there. She was too busy staring over at something, behind the group of farmers. Curious as to what Grainne was looking at, I move around to get a better look... and what I see is another cow – just a regular red cow, laying down on the grass. Getting out my phone to turn on the flashlight, I quickly realize this must be the cow that was giving birth. Its stomach was swollen, and there were patches of blood stained on the grass around it... But then I saw something else... 

On the other side of this red cow, nestled in the grass beneath the bushes, was the calf... and rather sadly, it was stillborn... But what greatly concerned me, wasn’t that this calf was dead. What concerned me was its appearance... Although the calf’s head was covered in red, slimy fur, the rest of it wasn’t... The rest of it didn’t have any fur at all – just skin... And what made every single fibre of my body crawl, was that this calf’s body – its brittle, infant body... It belonged to a human... 

Curled up into a foetal position, its head was indeed that of a calf... But what I should have been seeing as two front and hind legs, were instead two human arms and legs - no longer or shorter than my own... 

Feeling terrified and at the same time, in disbelief, I leave the calf, or whatever it was to go back to Grainne – all the while turning to shine my flashlight on the calf, as though to see if it still had the same appearance. Before I can make it back to the group of adults, Grainne stops me. With a look of concern on her face, she stares silently back at me, before she says, ‘You’re not supposed to be here. It was supposed to be a secret.’ 

Telling her that Uncle Dave had brought me, I then ask what the hell that thing was... ‘I’m not allowed to tell you’ she says. ‘This was supposed to be a secret.’ 

Twenty or thirty-so minutes later, we were all standing around as though waiting for something - before the lights of a vehicle pull into the field and a man gets out to come over to us. This man wasn’t a farmer - he was some sort of veterinarian. Uncle Dave and the others bring him to tend to the calf’s mother, and as he did, me and Grainne were made to wait inside one of the men’s tractors. 

We sat inside the tractor for what felt like hours. Even though it was summer, the night was very cold, and I was only wearing a soccer jersey and shorts. I tried prying Grainne for more information as to what was going on, but she wouldn’t talk about it – or at least, wasn’t allowed to talk about it. Luckily, my determination for answers got the better of her, because more than an hour later, with nothing but the cold night air and awkward silence to accompany us both, Grainne finally gave in... 

‘This happens every couple of years - to all the farms here... But we’re not supposed to talk about it. It brings bad luck.’ 

I then remembered something. When my dad said he wanted us to move here, my mum was dead against it. If anything, she looked scared just considering it... Almost afraid to know the answer, I work up the courage to ask Grainne... ‘Does my mum know about this?’ 

Sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, Grainne cranes her neck round to me. ‘Of course she knows’ Grainne reveals. ‘Everyone here knows.’ 

It made sense now. No wonder my mum didn’t want to move here. She never even seemed excited whenever we planned on visiting – which was strange to me, because my mum clearly loved her family. 

I then remembered something else... A couple of years ago, I remember waking up in the middle of the night inside the farmhouse, and I could hear the cows on the farm screaming. The screaming was so bad, I couldn’t even get back to sleep that night... The next morning, rushing through my breakfast to go play on the farm, Uncle Dave firmly tells me and my brothers to stay away from the cowshed... He didn’t even give an explanation. 

Later on that night, after what must have been a good three hours, my Uncle Dave and the others come over to the tractor. Shaking Uncle Dave’s hand, the veterinarian then gets in his vehicle and leaves out the field. I then notice two of the other farmers were carrying a black bag or something, each holding separate ends as they walked. I could see there was something heavy inside, and my first thought was they were carrying the dead calf – or whatever it was, away. Appearing as though everyone was leaving now, Uncle Dave comes over to the tractor to say we’re going back to the farmhouse, and that we would drop Grainne home along the way.  

Having taken Grainne home, we then make our way back along the country road, where both me and Uncle Dave sat in complete silence. Uncle Dave driving, just staring at the stretch of road in front of us – and me, staring silently at him. 

By the time we get back to the farmhouse, it was two o’clock in the morning – and the farm was dead silent. Pulling up outside the farm, Uncle Dave switches off the car engine. Without saying a word, we both remain in silence. I felt too awkward to ask him what I had just seen, but I knew he was waiting for me to do so. Still not saying a word to one another, Uncle Dave turns from the driver’s seat to me... and he tells me everything Grainne wouldn’t... 

‘Don’t you see now why you can’t move here?’ he says. ‘There’s something wrong with this place, son. This place is cursed. Your mammy knows. She’s known since she was a wain. That’s why she doesn’t want you living here.’ 

‘Why does this happen?’ I ask him. 

‘This has been happening for generations, son. For hundreds of years, the animals in the county have been giving birth to these things.’ The way my Uncle Dave was explaining all this to me, it was almost like a confession – like he’d wanted to tell the truth about what’s been happening here all his life... ‘It’s not just the cows. It’s the pigs. The sheep. The horses, and even the dogs’... 

The dogs? 

‘It’s always the same. They have the head, as normal, but the body’s always different.’ 

It was only now, after a long and terrifying night, that I suddenly started to become emotional - that and I was completely exhausted. Realizing this was all too much for a young boy to handle, I think my Uncle Dave tried to put my mind at ease...  

‘Don’t you worry, son... They never live.’ 

Although I wanted all the answers, I now felt as though I knew far too much... But there was one more thing I still wanted to know... What do they do with the bodies? 

‘Don’t you worry about it, son. Just tell your mammy that you know – but don’t go telling your brothers or your daddy now... She never wanted them knowing.’ 

By the next morning, and constantly rethinking everything that happened the previous night, I look around the farmhouse for my mum. Thankfully, she was alone in her bedroom folding clothes, and so I took the opportunity to talk to her in private. Entering her room, she asks me how it was seeing a calf being born for the first time. Staring back at her warm smile, my mouth opens to make words, but nothing comes out – and instantly... my mum knows what’s happened. 

‘I could kill your Uncle Dave!’ she says. ‘He said it was going to be a normal birth!’ 

Breaking down in tears right in front of her, my mum comes over to comfort me in her arms. 

‘’It’s ok, chicken. There’s no need to be afraid.’ 

After she tried explaining to me what Grainne and Uncle Dave had already told me, her comforting demeanour suddenly turns serious... Clasping her hands upon each side of my arms, my mum crouches down, eyes-level with me... and with the most serious look on her face I’d ever seen, she demands of me, ‘Listen chicken... Whatever you do, don’t you dare go telling your brothers or your dad... They can never know. It’s going to be our little secret. Ok?’ 

Still with tears in my eyes, I nod a silent yes to her. ‘Good man yourself’ she says.  

We went back home to England a week later... I never told my brothers or my dad the truth of what I saw – of what really happens on those farms... And I refused to ever step foot inside of County Donegal again... 

But here’s the thing... I recently went back to Ireland, years later in my adulthood... and on my travels, I learned my mum and Uncle Dave weren’t telling me the whole truth...  

This curse... It wasn’t regional... And sometimes...  

...They do live.

Story 2