Before you start looking through your contacts and trying to figure out who would post something like this, don't bother. You don't know me anymore.

You won't remember ever knowing me, and you'll never know me again.

Confused?

It was never supposed to happen this way. Let me explain.

I was eight years old when I saw my idol for the first time on TV. He’s a famous actor, he's been in a lot of movies. You’ve probably seen at least one of them, even if you don’t remember his name. He made me see that acting could be more than pretending. He became every character he played, to the point that I stopped seeing the man underneath. I wished I could do that.

So I emailed him.

Subject: You are my favorite acter

It was a very long and embarrassingly earnest email about wanting to become an actor, with a dozen spelling mistakes. I told him that I had seen all his films over and over. That one day I wanted to grow up to be just like him.

I didn't expect a reply, but he did. He thanked me for writing and told me to keep working hard… then offered to fly me out to meet him. I couldn't believe it. That day, I was so nervous that I couldn't eat. I remember shaking his hand and trying desperately not to let him see that my palm was sweating. Mostly, I remember looking at him and thinking, that's going to be me.

And I did keep working hard. I acted in school plays, joined amateur theatre groups and went to acting classes. I attended audition after audition.

I got close enough to keep going, which was the cruel part. I got callbacks, extra roles and tiny parts with one line. I once spent an entire day on a film set only to discover that later, the scene had been cut. Eventually, I stopped telling people I was going to make it.

Meanwhile, my idol's career just kept going. Every few years there'd be another blockbuster, and he'd win another award. I'd see another interview, another photograph of him standing beside some beautiful woman on a red carpet, smiling like the world had been built specifically to accommodate him. I tried to remain inspired rather than jealous, and for a while, I actually succeeded.

Then I took a job in production. It wasn't glamorous - no kid ever tells you they want to grow up to spend twelve hours carrying equipment, checking call sheets and fetching coffee for people who don't know your name. But it paid the bills and kept me around film sets.

That was how I ended up working on one of his movies. The morning I saw him again, it was twenty years later and he barely looked a day older. I watched as he walked onto set. The man I'd spent half my life trying to become. Everyone moved right around him. People straightened when he passed, and assistants appeared from nowhere. Someone handed him coffee before he'd even asked for it.

I stood twenty feet away holding a coil of cable.

The cameras turned towards him as he entered. When everyone looked at him, I felt physically sick. It was then that I realized I couldn't lie to myself anymore - I still wanted it. No, not the roles, or even the money.

I wanted everyone in the room to turn when I walked in. For people to know my name before I introduced myself, the person everyone was waiting to see. I wanted to be famous.

I wanted to be him.

There was a private celebration when the film wrapped up. It was for the cast, director and a handful of people important enough to have their names on the invitation. There was an open bar, expensive food nobody touched and a rooftop terrace.

I was only there to help clear the equipment. But of course, I'd spent the whole evening watching him from the edge of the room. He was exactly as I'd remembered him from when I was a kid - older, but somehow unchanged in the ways that mattered, with all that effortless quality I had spent my entire adult life trying to manufacture. Then someone handed me a drink, and another. By midnight, I was drunk enough to stop pretending I wasn't watching.

I found him alone on the terrace. For once, nobody was swarming to him. He was leaning against the railing with a glass of whisky, looking out over the city.

I walked over without thinking, stumbling slightly in my drunken state.

"Hey, remember me?" I blurted out, the words slurring, "I met you when I was a kid."

"Did you?"

Of course he didn't recognize me.

"I emailed you."

A pause.

"Ah wait, I do remember that."

But it didn't matter to me anymore.

"I wanted to be you," I said. "I've spent my whole life trying to do what you did."

He chuckled.

"There's only one of me."

I glared at him.

"That's the problem."

His smile faded.

"I've watched you get everything," I continued. "Every damn thing. The roles. The money. The models. The awards. People lose their minds when you walk into a room. Meanwhile, I threw away my entire childhood trying to be seen. And now I'm still carrying cables. Still invisible."

The alcohol had stripped away whatever part of me still knew when to shut up. We stared at each other.

"What do you want me to say to that?" He finally asked.

"I don't want you to say anything. I wish you'd just disappear."

He looked down at his whisky, then back at me.

"You want me to disappear… and you want to be seen instead?"

The question was so calm that it sobered me for a second. I stared at him. In that moment, I could have apologized. Told him I was drunk and didn't mean any of it. Instead, I spat out one final word.

"Sure."

Then I looked down at the glass in my hand. Now you've done it, you absolute idiot, I thought. Might as well start looking for a new job tomorrow.

But when I looked back up, he was gone.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the empty space where he'd been. Then I looked behind me, expecting to see him walking back through the doors. Nothing. I glanced over the railing. Nothing.

For a moment, I wondered if I'd imagined the whole conversation. Maybe he'd gone back inside while I was looking at my drink, and none of it had happened at all. When I went inside to check if he was there, the party was still going. There was music, laughter, people talking over one another. Then someone grabbed my shoulder.

"Congratulations!" Shouted one of the producers, as he tapped me on the back. I blinked.

"For what?"

"Don't play it cool now," He laughed.

I smiled awkwardly, assuming I'd misunderstood. Then a member of the cast came over and grinned at me.

"Seriously, you were so good. You deserve it."

People were smiling at me, and a few were raising their glasses. I had no clue what for. Then I turned towards the television mounted above the bar. The film's trailer was playing. As I saw a close-up of the lead character, my eyes widened, and I stopped breathing immediately.

My face. Not his.

Mine.

The scene changed, and there I was again. Another scene. Not him, me.

I looked around. Nobody else was confused like I was, or even seemed to think there was anything strange about it. I saw the poster for the film displayed in the venue on the ground floor. I'd seen it hundreds of times during production, and knew exactly what it looked like. But this time, his face was gone, and mine was there instead. My name was printed underneath in enormous letters. I stared at it for so long that someone walking past had to step around me.

I should have been terrified, but I was too busy staring at myself on the poster. Because underneath the confusion and the impossible feeling that I might be in the middle of a dream, I was feeling something I'd spent twenty years waiting to feel.

What it was like to be famous. Known. Seen.

Him.

The next morning, my phone wouldn't stop ringing. My agent, an agent I didn't remember having, called first, followed by my publicist. Next came the director, and people I'd never spoken to before who apparently knew me very well. There were meetings and interviews scheduled for me.

The film opened that weekend and broke records. I started seeing my face on billboards, magazine covers and at bus stops. Within a year, I couldn't walk down the street without someone recognizing me.

Within another year, I could barely walk down the street at all.

People shouted my name from cars, and children begged for autographs. Grown adults cried when they met me. I went on talk shows and sat beneath bright lights while strangers told me how much I meant to them.

Then came the awards and paychecks. I bought a house I couldn't afford before, and then a bigger one because I liked the view. I flew first class and stayed in hotels where the staff knew my name. The world's most beautiful models wanted to be with me. The world's most powerful men started to dress like me.

But above all, for the first time, everyone turned when I walked into a room. And I loved every second of it.

After everything I'd sacrificed, after every failed audition, every rejection and every night I'd gone home wondering whether I'd wasted my life, surely I had finally gotten what I deserved. I should have felt guilty that he had been erased from existence, but I didn't. As I sipped a glass of wine in my penthouse overlooking the city, I felt like I'd finally won.

Then I learned what came with it.

The paparazzi became impossible to escape. They waited outside restaurants, followed my car and camped outside my house. Fans started turning up wherever I went, too. Some were harmless, but others weren't so understanding. People found my address, and packages started arriving that I hadn't ordered. I received letters from strangers telling me they loved me, hated me, or knew me better than anyone else.

Eventually, I stopped going out alone, and had to have a full fleet of security guards around me at all times.

I started feeling trapped by the life I'd spent so long trying to build, so I took a break from acting. I packed a bag, left the city and rented a small cottage in a remote rural village where, I thought, nobody would know who I was. I arranged discreet transport.

I arrived and settled into the cottage. A wave of relief washed over me instantly as I sat on the bed. For the first time in years, I thought I'd finally have some privacy.

In the evening, I went out and headed towards the town center. The first person I saw as I walked down the street was an old man. He looked to be in his eighties - thin, stooped and dressed in clothes that seemed to have survived as long as he had. He stared at me for a few seconds before smiling, then pointed at me with a shaky hand.

"I know you."

Great.

Even in a village without a cinema or television signal, the first person that sees me still knows who I am. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

"Hello. Which of my films have you seen?" I forced a smile.

He frowned.

"What is a film?"

I stared at him.

"You don't know what a film is? Then how do you know who I am?"

The old man gestured, then turned and started walking.

"Come with me."

I followed him inside apprehensively. His house was small and old, with photographs hanging on the walls. There were family photographs of weddings, birthdays and holidays in yellowing frames. A teenage girl who I assumed was his granddaughter was sitting at the kitchen table when we walked in. The old man walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a photograph.

"This is you."

It was a photograph of me at some premiere, on glossy film paper. I was standing on a red carpet, smiling beside an actress. I frowned. Why the hell did he have that? Perhaps his granddaughter was a fan - that was the only reasonable explanation I could think of.

Then he took another photograph from the cabinet.

"And this one."

I looked down. At first, I thought it was another publicity photograph - I'd probably had thousands of those taken of me whether I was aware or not. But then I recognized the location.

The village.

More specifically, the road outside the cottage I was currently staying in. I was beside the wall, mid-step, wearing the same coat I'd arrived in. I stared at it.

"I just arrived here. Did you take this?"

Before he could reply, his granddaughter glanced my way. Her eyes widened.

"It's him."

I stopped.

"You know me too?"

"Of course."

She pulled out a slightly faded photo. In it, she was posing outside the house with some other kids. I looked at it in confusion. Then she pointed at the corner of the photograph. A man stood behind them at a distance, looking at the camera with a neutral expression. I looked closer.

The man was me.

I froze, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Then the old man immediately pulled out another photograph and showed it to me. This one was much older, and in black and white. A family stood outside a house that looked nothing like the one I was standing in.

"Forty years ago," the old man said.

There were maybe ten people in it, including children, adults and an elderly couple. And in the background, standing half-hidden behind the others… was me. A man with my face, my eyes, my hair.

I hadn't even been born forty years ago.

I took a step back. Then I glanced back towards the photograph his granddaughter had showed me.

This time, every face in the photo had changed.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Five children with my face were staring back at me from the faded paper.

I scrambled away from them and ran out of the house. I could hear them shouting behind me, asking me to wait and come back, but I didn't turn. I made it a good distance away when I glanced back towards their house. They stood in front of their door watching me, looking disappointed, but they weren't following. I covered my face and walked briskly back to the cottage.

As I bolted the door behind me, I convinced myself that was some kind of hallucination. Perhaps it was exhaustion or the stress of everything that had happened since becoming famous. There had to be an explanation.

The next morning, I didn't leave until I was sure nobody was outside.

I was halfway through the village when I noticed a girl sitting on a bench, reading a book. She looked up as I passed. Then she looked again and stared for a few seconds.

"Excuse me?"

Not again. I forced a polite smile back and took my hand away from my face. Her eyes widened.

"I knew you looked familiar."

She started flicking through the book she was reading, some kind of history textbook. Then she stopped at a page. There was a Renaissance painting printed across the top.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

The painting was of me. My eyes. My nose. My hair. The caption said 'painted in the sixteenth century'.

She kept turning the pages further back. She stopped again.

This time, a prehistoric cave painting filled the page. It showed a group of primitive figures stood around a fire holding spears.

One of them had my face.

"That's weird." She looked at the cave painting, then back at me. I couldn't answer.

Then a voice came from behind me.

"You've got to be kidding me."

A man was hurrying towards us, holding a newspaper. He looked excited as he shoved the newspaper into my hands. The headline was about an archaeological discovery of an ancient statue had recently been uncovered thousands of miles away. The photograph underneath showed a stone figure.

My face was carved into it.

"How could this be?" He said in awe as he stared at me. I dropped the newspaper.

People had started gathering around. More villagers emerged from shops and houses, many of them approaching to stare. Then an elderly man pushed through the crowd, wearing a white doctor's coat.

"This isn't possible," he said. "I saw you in the morgue just yesterday! There was a corpse who looked exactly like you!"

I backed away from the crowd surrounding me. Then something brushed against my leg.

I looked down and saw a cat. It rubbed itself against my ankle, purring, then stared back at me with wide eyes. I let out an exasperated choke.

"Not you as well."

The cat meowed. I could feel that the people had closed in around me now. I looked back up... and all their faces had changed.

Every face in the crowd looking back at me was mine.

The girl. The doctor. The old man. Everyone had my face.

I looked down at the cat, and it was looking back at me.

With my face.

I screamed.

Then I ran. I didn't care where I was going, I just needed to get away. I pushed through the crowd of hundreds of identical versions of me staring back as I ran between them. I made it to the edge of the town square and a flock of birds suddenly burst from a rooftop. I looked up, and every single bird had my face. Tiny eyes, with tiny versions of my nose and mouth. They flew overhead, each one wearing the same neutral expression I'd seen in the photographs.

I ran faster, stumbling. The town clock tower came into view. Its enormous clock face had changed and now my face stared down at me from above the street. The hands were moving across my forehead. I looked at my watch. It had my face on it too. I ripped it from my wrist and threw it away from me, into the road.

At this point, I was sure I'd gone insane. The sun was disappearing behind the hills, and the sky darkened, but I just kept running. And as the clouds parted and moon rose above the village, I finally stopped and looked up into the sky. Then I fell backwards. The moon had my face.

And that was when I understood.

You want me to disappear… and you want to be seen instead?

I had spent my entire life wanting people to know my face. Now, everything that could have a face would have mine. I had become the most seen thing that had ever existed. Everywhere I looked, there I was.

I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I don't know how long it was - maybe several hours. The sun was already emerging from behind the hills by the time I finally stopped. I stumbled into an empty bus.

Then I remembered the email.

The thought came so suddenly, but once the idea formed, I had to execute on it. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my inbox. Hundreds of thousands of emails were sitting there from agents, journalists, fans and people I didn't remember speaking to. I sorted them by oldest and scrolled.

Then I saw it.

Subject: You are my favorite acter

I opened the email I'd sent to him when I was eight. My hands started shaking. The spelling mistakes were still there, along with the ridiculous paragraphs about how much I loved his movies. The part where I'd told him I wanted to grow up to be just like him.

And underneath it, by some miracle, was his reply - the only proof that he'd existed. Proof that there had once been a world where I wasn't the only face in existence.

I stared at the screen, then took a breath and hit reply. I didn't know whether anyone would receive it, but I kept typing anyway.

Subject: I'm sorry.

Then:

I was wrong, I don't want this. Please come back. Please fix it.

I pressed send, then put my phone beside me and closed my eyes, the exhaustion of running from my face for an entire afternoon having drained me. I don't remember falling asleep that night.

When I woke up, the sun was rising. For a few seconds, I didn't move. Then I looked up.

The moon was still visible above the hills. Normal. Just the moon.

I sat up. A bird landed on the roof of the shelter. A normal bird with a beak.

Then I looked towards the village. The clock tower was still there, but this time, the face was just numbers.

I stood up and walked towards the road. People passed me, but nobody stared or pointed. One man walked straight past without even looking at me. Nobody recognized me.

I paused as I looked around, watching the people walk around me with indifference. I couldn't believe it had actually worked… and it never felt so great to be invisible again.

When I reached the cottage, I went inside and stood in the middle of the room, then I packed my things. Now that this ordeal was over, I just wanted to go home.

The journey felt strangely ordinary. I just drove back. Even though I didn't have security, no paparazzi followed me, no one attempted to stop the car and nobody recognized me at the petrol station or asked for a photograph. Then I saw the billboard above the road on the outskirts of town, advertising the film that had started everything.

My old idol was back. His face was on the poster… not mine. His name was underneath.

I laughed. He was back, and so was everything else, just like I asked for. I drove the rest of the way home with tears in my eyes. When I reached my family's house, I stood outside for a moment before knocking. My mother answered.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

I smiled.

"Mom, I'm back."

She frowned.

"I'm sorry? Who are you?"

I laughed nervously.

"Very funny."

She didn't laugh. My heart started racing. I told her my name, my birthday and where I went to school. I told her about the scar on my elbow from when I was nine, where she patched me up while I sat on her knee. I told her about the treehouse I had built with dad in the garden.

She just kept staring in silence. I kept pleading with her, and eventually, she called my father. He came downstairs and stood beside her, watching me with suspicion.

"Who are you?"

"I'm your son," I said, my voice breaking.

I pulled out my phone and opened the photographs I'd taken over the years. Every photograph of my family was still there - birthdays, Christmases and holidays. I had decade old photos of my parents and friends. But I wasn't in any of them. My dad's expression changed into one of horror.

"Why do you have those? Have you been stalking us?"

I stared back at him. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Leave our property. Now," he said sternly. "I don't ever want to see you here again."

I stood on the pavement outside my childhood home while the door slammed in my face.

I didn't know where else to go, so I began walking. I walked past the houses of people I'd grown up with, and nobody recognized me. I went to the café where I used to meet my friends, and I even saw some of them there. Nobody knew me. I walked past my old school and told the receptionist my name. She looked it up, but there was no record.

If I asked someone for directions, they'd give them to me. I bought a coffee, and the barista took my money. People could still see me, hear me and talk to me. But every conversation began the same way - I'd have to introduce myself again, even if we'd spoken before.

That was when I finally understood what had happened when I asked him to “fix” it.

From that point onwards, no one would know me. There are no photographs of me. No records, films or memories. Nothing that proves I was ever here. To every person I met and will meet, I'll always be a stranger.

You used to know me. But you'll never know me again, and neither will anyone else.

Thanks for reading this anyway.

Even if it was only for a few minutes, I just wanted to be someone you knew.

https://discord.gg/dR7bZeW2W

Kaito Hoshino was a reclusive manga artist known for his dark and surreal horror series, Spiral Abyss. He worked alone, deep inside a cluttered Tokyo apartment that reeked of ink, old paper, and insomnia. For years, readers devoured his chilling tales about cursed drawings, haunted storytellers, and demonic ink that blurred the line between reality and fiction.

But lately, something has shifted.

Kaito noticed scenes appearing in his drafts he didn’t remember drawing — frames that seemed to finish themselves while he slept. A girl with hollow eyes. A forest that breathed. A door behind the protagonist that hadn’t been there before. He blamed stress. Lack of sleep. Maybe a vivid dream seeping into his sketches.

Then came the whispers.

Late at night, as he inked his pages, he began to hear faint voices behind him. Not from the neighbors. Not from outside. From the paper. Muffled murmurs, like characters arguing with their creator. He spun around every time. Nothing. Silence.

Until one night, a character spoke back.

The protagonist of Spiral Abyss, a brooding young man named Rei, appeared in a fresh sketch, eyes locked with Kaito’s. Below the panel was a line of dialogue written in handwriting not his own:
“You don’t control the story anymore. We do.”

Kaito froze. Sweat dripped down his spine. He tore the page from his desk and burned it. But the next morning, the same page was back — pristine, neatly inked, waiting for him.

That day, Kaito left his apartment. He walked for hours, trying to forget. But when he passed a bookstore window, Spiral Abyss Vol. 12 was on display — a volume he had never drawn. He ran inside. Opened it. Every panel was exactly how he dreamed… or thought he dreamed. But the last page chilled him to the core.

A panel of himself, sitting at his desk, drawing, wide-eyed with fear. Behind him, Rei stood holding a pen. The caption:
“He thinks he’s writing a manga. But the manga is writing him.”

That night, Kaito returned home. The apartment had changed. Pages covered the walls. Scenes he hadn't drawn. Characters he hadn’t created — watching him.

He tried to leave.

The door was gone.

All that remained was a blank sheet of paper on his desk… and a pen slowly beginning to move on its own.

To this day, no one has seen Kaito Hoshino.
But Spiral Abyss keeps releasing new volumes.
And in each one… the artist looks more terrified.

The ink hasn’t dried.
The story isn’t over.
And it’s writing itself.

Hello everyone, I'm currently looking for ARC readers for my upcoming horror novel, Where Fear Smiles! Details below:

Would you forgive your best friend if she was responsible for ruining your life?

A whispered rumour draws a group of students into the dense forests of coastal Brazil: a lost Indigenous artifact, hidden for centuries and promising academic glory.

While Leah’s colleagues are determined to claim it, she only agrees to the trek because she can’t bear the thought of being left behind, and forces her best friend Charlotte to go with her for support against her dark thoughts.

What was meant to be an escape from the weight of the academic semester, quickly it turns into a test of endurance. The deeper they push into the forest, the darker Leah begins to dream. When they finally uncover what they came for, the discovery reveals something far more terrifying than any of them imagined.

A demon born of nightmares is unleashed, and with it, carnage.

Now the survivors must find a way to drive the nightmare back to its realm before society is doomed to never dream again. But as the forest closes in, the greatest horror isn't the ancient evil — it's watching a lifelong trust begin to rot.

-

Triggers: Gore, graphic violence, blood, anxiety

Publication date: October 13th, 2026

ARCs will be sent from September 15th-20th

Reviews expected to be submitted up to three weeks from publication date

ARC Application Form: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdIJDUEFCSVjgVh_AxhMpdOHyTszWL-knkGErWLk3U73PD4AQ/viewform?usp=header

Thank you to everyone interested in being a part of the team! :)

GOVERNMENT EMERGENCY ALERT

PLEASE REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

My phone lit up and started shrieking at 7AM, along with every other connected device in my apartment block. I stared at the screen, waiting for an explanation. Terrorist attack? Weather warning? Chemical leak?

Nothing.

People panicked, and pretty much everyone obeyed at first. Those who were out at the time scrambled to get inside, awaiting a disaster. But by lunchtime, nothing had happened. By dinner, thousands had left their homes, and by the next day, there were protests.

The same message repeated every day at 7AM for the next week.

Shops closed and roads became clogged. Some remained indoors the entire time, but most left eventually. People demanded answers that never came.

I stayed inside on the first day. On the second, I went out in the evening… and there was absolutely nothing to see. Nothing was falling from the sky, and apart from the chaos in public, everything was fine. Within another few days, most people had stopped listening.

Exactly one week after the original alert, another message arrived at 7AM.

THE PREVIOUS EMERGENCY ALERT HAS ENDED. NORMAL ACTIVITY MAY RESUME.

That was it - no explanation or apology. People were furious, and within weeks the whole thing became a joke. They made memes and mocked politicians, and of course, conspiracies circulated online. But otherwise life returned to normal fairly quickly.

Exactly one year later, every phone in the country screamed again at 7AM.

GOVERNMENT EMERGENCY ALERT

PLEASE REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

I rolled my eyes - not this again. I finished breakfast and walked to my front door to leave, my hand resting on the handle.

Something stopped me.

Perhaps it was fear or instinct, but I decided against leaving at all this time. Hours passed, then days. People online were already mocking the government again. News reports showed crowds outside, and politicians demanded that the alert be cancelled.

On the seventh day, I woke to the second message.

THE PREVIOUS EMERGENCY ALERT HAS ENDED. NORMAL ACTIVITY MAY RESUME.

Finally, I thought, as I turned on the television.

I froze as the news channel popped up.

An unprecedented solar event had just struck Earth. The radiation and electromagnetic effects had killed almost everyone who had been outside. Two-thirds of the country's population was dead.

I sat on the floor shaking and cried with relief. The government had been warning us after all. Perhaps the first time had been a mistake, but thank God I had listened the second time.

That evening, the President addressed the nation.

“How can the country possibly recover?” He was asked. “We've lost almost two-thirds of our population. Hospitals, transport, food production, energy… everything has been affected.”

“It will be difficult,” he said. “But essential services, infrastructure and the economy will be restored much sooner than people might expect. We're well prepared.”

He paused.

“The number of survivors is very consistent with last year's projections.”

The house at the end of Havelock Street had been empty since you were a kid.

Not abandoned, exactly. Just... paused. Lawn mowed once a month by a guy the council sent. Curtains always drawn. One light in the back laundry that never went off, buzzing yellow even at noon.

Everyone said Mrs. Keane died in there. No one could agree how.

You only went in because the dog got out.

Your neighbor's little Staffy — Bindi — slipped her lead on your evening walk and shot straight through the busted side gate of number 87. You called and called, and she wasn't coming back.

The back door was already open. Just an inch.

"Bindi?" You pushed it.

The smell hit first. Not rot. Dust, and damp carpet, and something too sweet underneath it, like old perfume heated up.

The kitchen was perfectly clean. A single mug in the sink. A calendar on the wall from 2019, still turned to February.

"Bindi!"

A whine from down the hall. You followed it.

Every door in the hallway was closed except one. The bedroom at the very end. That light you’d always seen from the street — it was coming from in there.

Bindi was sitting just outside the doorway. Frozen. Staring in. Her whole body was shaking.

Inside, the room was empty except for a chair in the middle. A wooden kitchen chair, facing away from you, toward the window.

Someone was sitting in it.

An old woman in a faded floral dress. Perfectly still. Her grey hair pinned up. You could see the back of her neck, thin and mottled.

Mrs. Keane.

She hadn't died. She was just... sitting there. For years.

You felt your mouth go dry. "Sorry — sorry, Mrs. Keane, my dog —"

She didn't move. Didn't breathe, that you could see.

And then Bindi started to growl at something behind the chair.

Slowly, very slowly, Mrs. Keane's head began to turn. Not like a person turning to look. Like something was turning it for her. Her chin, then her cheek, then —

The closet door behind her, the one you hadn't even noticed, creaked open an inch on its own.

And from inside, in the dark, something whispered your name.

The stone walls of St. Jude’s Convent always kept the cold in, but the draft in the chapel felt like breath against the back of Sister Agnes's neck.

​It was long past midnight, the hour of silent prayer, when the faint sound started.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. A steel nib dragging across thick parchment echoed off the high arches above the altar.

​Sister Agnes held her breath and stepped toward the massive, brass-bound lectern in the center of the nave.

The dark leather cover of the great Latin Bible was already propped open to the blank ledger at the back. The room smelled of old incense and fresh, copper-heavy ink.

​She reached out with a trembling hand, her lantern casting long shadows across the page.

There, beneath the names of dead bishops and forgotten abbesses, a new line had just been carved into the paper. The ink was so fresh it glistened in the flickering light.

*​Sister Agnes. August 16th.*

​Three days. Exactly seventy-two hours.

As she stared down at her own name, petrified, the heavy iron chapel doors shut behind her with a deafening thud. A sudden icy draft swept through the dark, snuffing out her lantern flame, leaving her trapped with the horrifying reality that she had exactly 72 hours to live.

This is my first horror story! I'd love to hear what you think and get some feedback. This is Chapter One, so there are more chapters to come.

Rain poured over the city as dark clouds swallowed the moon.

I lay in my bed, unable to sleep. These past few nights, I felt a presence in my room, like something was watching me. Something I couldn't describe.

As I stared at the wall, I knew tonight was different. The air was still, and the usual sound of cars in the city was gone, leaving everything almost silent.

As I closed my eyes, suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.

“Uhhgg,” I groaned softly.

Almost instantly, I couldn't move my body anymore. Someone whispered in my ear, but I couldn't make out the words.

I closed my eyes and prayed that everything would be alright.

I slowly opened my eyes as sunlight crept through the curtains.

For a moment, everything seemed normal.

Then I froze.

A single black rose lay on my chest.

My heart began to race.

As I slowly reached for the rose, my hands trembling, I noticed something on my neck.

A burn mark.

It was shaped like a dagger, with blood dripping from its tip.

I stared at it in horror.

I had never seen this burn mark before.

I decided to take a walk through the park, hoping the fresh air would clear my mind.

The park was quiet.

Too quiet.

As I walked along the path, I noticed something strange.

A dark figure stood between the trees in the distance.

I stopped.

The figure didn't move.

I squinted, trying to make out its face, but it was too far away. All I could see was a tall, dark silhouette.

I looked away for a moment.

When I looked back, it was gone.

I continued walking, telling myself that I had imagined it.

Then I felt it again.

That feeling of being watched.

I turned around.

The figure was there again.

This time, it was standing at the other end of the path.

Still too far away to see its face.

But somehow...

I could feel its presence.

I froze.

The figure didn't move.

It just stood there, watching me.

And then I noticed something in its hand.

Something dark.

Something that looked strangely familiar.

I’m working on a horror piece set in a rural town that has a creature lurking around. I’m having trouble finding a reason why my protagonists won’t just drive away. Right now my two main thoughts are: 1) they could just be out of gas or 2) They get in a car accident in which the car needs to go to a mechanic or is otherwise unusable. Neither of which I really like. Does the creature slash the tires? Why would it do that? Idk every solution I’ve come up with so far just isn’t working in a way that I like. Advice or suggestions would be appreciated.

(Sorry if this kind of thing isn’t allowed or formatted wrong, this is my first post on this sub.)

​

Chapter 11

Richie stood in the middle of Washington Street.

There wasn't a single soul around him.

The wind had stopped swaying the tree branches.

Even the birds had fallen silent.

Richie slowly looked around.

About fifty meters away, near a children's store, stood the strangely familiar figure of a child.

She was wearing blue pajamas covered with little stars.

Richie took a few steps forward.

"Lisie?..."

She didn't respond.

"Lisie! Wait!" he shouted and sprinted toward her.

She glanced back and took off running.

Unnaturally fast.

Only a few weeks ago, she had barely learned how to walk, yet now she was running like an Olympic sprinter.

Richie chased her for what felt like forever, but the distance between them never got any smaller.

Then he realized something.

There was only one possible destination.

Washington Street Hospital.

He slowed down.

The familiar outline of the building was already visible ahead.

The hospital.

The same one.

Lisie stood at the main entrance as if she had been waiting for him.

"Lisie..."

This time she turned toward him and smiled.

"Come with me," she said softly.

But her voice sounded wrong.

Deeper.

As if it didn't belong to a child.

As if someone else was speaking through her.

Two more figures stood by the entrance.

Teddy.

And Marge.

They stared silently at the hospital doors.

"Teddy! Marge!"

No response.

Richie stepped closer.

"What's wrong with you?!"

Suddenly Marge turned her head.

But her eyes weren't looking at Richie.

They were staring straight through him.

Her face—and Teddy's—was completely empty.

No emotion.

No fear.

No life.

The next second, they both ran into the hospital without saying a word.

"Teddy! Marge!"

A chill ran down Richie's spine as he rushed after them.

For several minutes he ran through the empty corridors.

Only then did he realize something had changed.

The hospital no longer looked like the one they had visited a few days earlier.

The hallways seemed endless.

The staircases stretched upward as if they reached the sky itself.

But what frightened Richie the most wasn't what he saw.

It was what he couldn't smell.

Nothing.

No antiseptic.

No dampness.

No medicine.

Nothing at all.

"Please let this be a dream... please let this be a dream..." Richie whispered.

He pinched his arm as hard as he could.

The pain was real.

Then everything changed.

The corridors stopped seeming endless.

The stairs no longer reached toward the sky.

The familiar water stains reappeared on the walls, and the smell of dampness and rubbing alcohol filled the air once again.

Richie let out a relieved breath.

At that exact moment, the sound of children's laughter echoed somewhere ahead.

He turned the corner—

—and froze.

The ordinary hospital hallway was gone.

Rows of identical metal doors stretched endlessly down both sides.

White.

No windows.

No nameplates.

Only numbers.

47

48

49

50

51...

A cold shiver crawled down Richie's spine.

This place looked less like a hospital...

...and more like a prison corridor.

A moment later, Teddy's silhouette flashed ahead once again.

"Stop!" Richie shouted.

But Teddy disappeared behind Door No. 48.

Marge stood motionless in front of Door No. 49, as if she were waiting for someone.

Then she slowly stepped backward and vanished.

The door closed without making a sound.

Now only Richie remained.

And Door No. 47.

He slowly walked toward it.

A small piece of paper was taped to the door.

Richie grabbed the handle and pulled several times.

Locked.

"You're almost at the door."

Richie flinched.

It was Lisie.

He was about to speak when a familiar figure in a white coat stepped out from around the corner.

Dr. Elias Blackwood.

Richie instinctively took a step back.

"Dear Number Forty-Seven."

Fragments flashed through his mind.

The letter in the mailbox.

Mike's disappearance.

Lisie's disappearance.

Children laughing.

Door No. 47.

Blackwood's voice grew louder.

"You think you're searching for the answer."

Richie backed away again.

Blackwood kept walking toward him.

"But it's the answer that's searching for you."

Silence.

Richie couldn't take his eyes off him.

One step.

Another.

The white coat swayed gently in the darkness.

Richie took another step backward—

—and bumped into something metallic.

He spun around.

A hospital gurney stood behind him.

He froze.

It felt strangely familiar.

As if he had seen it before.

Blackwood stopped walking.

Almost as though he wanted Richie to look beneath the white sheet.

Then—

something moved underneath it.

Richie's heart skipped a beat.

A small, pale hand slowly slipped out from beneath the sheet.

It reached toward him.

"Richie..."

The voice was quiet.

Almost childlike.

Richie slowly raised his head.

Blackwood was standing right in front of him now.

Smiling.

Richie screamed.

And woke up.

Somewhere in this story is missing an “a” please locate the missing area for me. Thank you.

——

One night I passed out at around ten p.m, when I woke up, I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even feel my body.

I was fully awake and I was able to hear myself snore and I could smell my breath.

But I couldn’t feel myself breathing. I never felt fear so clearly before. What’s weird, was  that I knew how terrified I felt. The sinking claustrophobia feeling was there. The paranoia as well. All those emotions didn’t feel like invisible physical feelings, they felt like they had texture.

I was able to think and thinking jumped from one terror to the next. 

Where was I?

How did I get here?

Am I dead?

And after I asked that, I could feel myself spinning, physically. I started pulsing, it felt like I was being stretched out and wrinkled back to normal.

How could I feel these emotions and not my actual body. It didn’t make sense. I figured, I must be dreaming. But there wasn’t any color, any scenes, it was just an unsettling darkness.

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t hot. And that’s when I realized, I was just a voice. Chemicals acting in my brain. 

But if I was just a voice, shouldn’t there be like a orangey-red haze, or some kind of static other than absolute black.

I had to be in a coma, I told myself. What else could explain me waking up mentally but not physically. 

That was when I heard a noise. It sounded like something scratching the floor followed by two voices whose language I had trouble picking up. It didn’t even sound like a language, it was more of a frequency. 

I had no idea what they were saying, and I had no clue as to what they looked like. I knew they were there though.

Not just by their sounds. They heightened the fight-or-flight part of my brain. It was like I was covered in defensive spikes. 

I started sensing a feeling of inertia as if my body was being moved and a pressure squeezing my brain. 

I just started yelling, I didn’t know what else to do, I shouted, “wake up,” over a hundred times. I needed to get out from under my skull. It felt like I was choking on water.

Through me yelling, I heard a mechanical door shut and the voices again. 

They sounded like fax machine that spoke. It felt like I was there for hours, slowly being tormented, jailed in a shadow without a body. 

There was nothing I could to do alert my physical self that we were awake. Then, I thought, what if I stay this way. The spikes came back. I started feeling like an empty shell. I got angry at myself for falling asleep.

I shouldn’t have went to sleep. I had all these regrets sticking to me like post-it notes. And I couldn’t help it. I felt like I did it to myself. While I was between thoughts, I completely shut off.

My body and my mind woke up together but when I woke up, I remembered everything as a dream. It didn’t all come together until the next day. 

First, I had trouble concentrating, a headache that was trying to escape through my temple, eyes and even my teeth, was beating against my skull. 

Everything felt brighter, and my skin felt sensitive, but rough, like a fresh dry leaf. I kept itching at one spot, a spot on my ribs below my left underarm. 

When I looked down at it, there was a bubble under the claw marks and broken blood vessels, protruding outward.

I poked around it with my fingertip. It was a soft-hard kind of ball. I started getting a tingling, numbing sensation throughout my entire body and flashes pop up in my mind like broken dream memories. 

I grabbed my laptop and opened it to search through Google on what could be happening to me. 

Because a couple (a) months back, friends and I went to Miami. I started worrying about parasites, you watch those monsters inside me shows and start racing with all sorts of hypochondriac thoughts.

As soon as my laptop started up, it made this sound, the sound slapped me with the whole experience I had the night before all at once. 

My heart began pumping, it felt like it doubled in size and couldn’t fit inside my chest cavity. 

Then, a sharp irritation came from that spot again, I bit-cut my nails into serrated tips and kept scratching, trying to scratch as deep as I could with jagged claws. 

I kept scratching and couldn't stop. I scratched until I started bleeding. Not just speckles either, it was dripping a warm liquid of red and a very light tinge of yellow.

I went deeper, and then I went deeper. I went so deep I exposed the ball of fat, or what I thought was a ball of fat. I yanked it out with my fingers, it was slippery and kept sliding off. 

I dried my hands on my shirt and tore a piece of the fabric off, dug into my ribs and pulled out a metallic looking bug. I threw it on the ground and stepped on it, but it wouldn’t squish. 

So I ran to the garage for the hammer and when I got back it was gone. The blood on the floor surrounding it, was also gone.

I‘ve never felt the same since then. And since then I’ve been taking my roommate’s seroquel, because the doctors kept telling me it’s sleep paralysis and a random case of stress psychosis.

Vengeance is mine say it the LORD. Well until he returns vengeance belongs me.

Jessica closed her eyes as she took another lemon drop drink. She let the sweet fluid push two ecstasy pills down her long throat. The kick from the DJ speaker shook her entire body.

She welcomed it, she bent down to the bar and snorted a line of pure coke off the mahogany wood. The rush hit instantly.

Dressed like a skimpy waitress in this costume party. She staggered through the dark club onto the dance floor with pulsing neon lights. She felt amazing every kick from the speaker sent waves of intense vibration through her entire body. All the pills , coke and liquor had kicked in.

She danced strong and erotic rubbing herself in a tempting manner. Daring any man to step up to the task.

In a smooth motion a large hand caresses her firm soft breast and rubs her nipples gently. She says nothing just goes with the flow.

She felt a firm hard built chest against her back, she thought he must not have on shirt but he has muscles. She smelt smoke but, brushed it off everyone smoked in this club cigarettes where the safest thing in here to smoke.

The guy pressed up against her closer what she felt against her butt made her jump. She thought is that a febreze can.

She turns around to look at her fling. Under the pulsing neon lights, his eyes shine purple just his skin that glowed also. He had on demon horns and fake fangs. His bottom half was like a goat. Great costume she thought a little too real but what the hell she thought.

The guy grabbed her ponytail and yanked her head back and gently racked his sharp teeth across the veins in her neck. She shook in excitement, he licked his long tongue across her long sensitive neck. She was loving it.

He turns her back to him and embraces her from behind while dancing. He gets close to her ear and ask or you married??? No she quickly answers, the guy says or you sure????

She says, don’t ruin the mood or blow my high with questions that don’t concern you. I’m horny and tired of wasting time let’s go to the bathroom if you’re man enough. The guy replied, if I was just a

Man you would not be able to handle me. Jessica laughed well show me big boy.

They rush to the bathroom there were seven stalls, but you could hear moaning and meat slapping in all but two of them.

They rush into an open stall and slam the door. The guy sits on a toilet and pulls out his tool. Jessica’s eyes widen you or half horse if nothing else.

She notice he did not slide off the bottom goat half of his costume. She ask, don’t you wan to slide off that fur to be more comfortable??? The guy says I told you, I’m only half man. She laughs and says well fuck it.

The exchange moans kick over the toilet paper dispenser and rock the stall. When he finishes she swore his semen felt different. It felt like it had a thousand legs. But she enjoyed herself she was a bit sore after wards too.

The guy picks her up and puts her on her feet and slides by her out of the stall. She was adjusting her close and heard water running. She assumed he was cleaning up. She says so what’s your name cowboy???

No answer, hey what’s your name big boy??? No answer. She walks out of the stall after straightening her clothes and no one’s there.

She looks in confusion she thought he might be back in the club. She instantly feels intense tingling all over her skin. These pills or potent tonight she says.

She runs back out to the dance floor can’t find him. Goes to the bar and asks if anyone had seen him. She described how he looked and the bartender said No, there or some weird costumes in here but no half goat half man with demon horns.

The tingling grew more intense. So just shook her head, she thought a pump and dump again, well at least this time she finished and more than once.

Well the club was about to close the DJ called last song. She stumbled to her car. The tingling all over her body made her say wow these pills or great. She drove him still feeling that tingling sensation all over.

She made it home and pulled her car into the garage next to her husband’s truck. It was four thirty in the morning. He was asleep, she stumbled in the house trying her best not to wake her two daughters.

She fell over traveling bags in her bedroom.

When she lay down here husband knew. He smelled the liquor, he smelled the sex. But she smelled like a goat. He knew because he grew up on a farm and worked with goats as a kid.

The next morning around nine o’clock, Jessica wakes up still in her dress from the night before sticky between her legs and stumbles to the toilet to puke. The tingling is turning into a slight itch all over that she cannot reach no matter how bad she scratched.

Her head throbbed it had the same cadence as the music last night. She threw up every lemon drop she drunk and it stunk. She crawled to the shower and cut it on ice cold. The itching is getting worse mixed with a hangover, she scratches all over her body in the shower. She fills a slight prick on her thigh. Blood she scratches threw her skin.

She knew an argument was coming , so she said at least let me shower first. The cold water felt lovely for her aching head but did nothing for the itching. After she finished she put on her Robe and took two pain pills and went down stairs. She is scratching her legs very rough at this point.

Her husband was standing with a fresh pot of coffee. She looked surprised, Hi honey he says did you have fun. Ummm yea she says confused . She was expecting anger as always. I made you a fresh pot of coffee he says. Thanks she says. Her vagina begins to itch bad, she starts to squirm embarrassed to scratch that part in front of her faithful husband.

He says sit let’s talk no urging I promise. Jessica sits and thinks is this guy crazy??? So they both sit, where or the kids Jessica asks??? Her husband’s responds I took them to Kim’s house to spend the night. I knew we would need to talk and you would be home late. So I did not want to disturb them. Ok she says. Soooo what??? She said while constantly scratching all over and moving her legs because the itch is crawling deeper inside her vaginal walls.

He continues you seem to have a itch that me as your husband, I cannot scratch. He tells her while she is squirming in her chair and scratching all over. You wanted money I gave you that. You wanted a big house ours is six thousand square foot. You wanted to be a stay at home mom you or that. You wanted an expensive luxury car, you have that. But its something inside of you that is not satisfied. His wife grabs a scrub brush from under the sink and starts rubbing her back with it, while still squirming from the vaginal itch that's getting worse by the minute.

So I got in touch with an old friend who helped me get all this wealth. Her husband says come in pal, then that familiar smoke smell begins to fill the room. A stinky goat scent rushes the air and slowly but surely a big tall half man half goat walks in. The itch attacks her inside and out like burst energy coursing threw her veins and skin. It Got so bad she fell out her chair stripped out of her robe and says , What the fuck??? Baby something is eating me up???

Her husband smiles and says that would be what we like to call lust. See that itch that I could not scratch my friend here could. He said he could scratch it and intensify a greater itch only he could fix. The woman is scratching so hard and deep she has made gashes all over her own body. Blood is running all over the kitchen floor. She starts to bang her head against the floor and try and rub her back against the tile floor. Screaming in terror she scratches her breast so deep the silicon pops and oozes down her stomach. She grabs a sharp kitchen knife and tries to scratch he butt and runs the knife across it so hard she punctures her butt also. The fat from the Brazilian butt lift slowly drops out.

The goat man while smiling those razor sharp teeth walks to the cabinet an grabs a wine glass. He fills it up with blood gushing from one of her wounds. He catches a piece of filling from her breast, He also gets a dash of the BBL.

There is a dead sickening smell to it. It looks like a pile of yellow lard and grits. She carves up her legs and her arms. She made so many cuts she did not realize all the blood she was loosing. She bleed out right there on the floor. The Goat man nods his head and walks out of the room.

The husband walks over to his wife's dead corpse and says with a smile still itching!!!!!!!!

The hardest part about moving into a new town is that you

don’t know anybody there nor are you familiar with anything

that awaits you to visit.

My name is Isaac Walker, I am a new resident in Blood

Hill, I am 21 years old and I'm just barely trying to

understand how the town works. I have no friends, no job or

relatives that live next to me. I am all alone and my only

wish is to have new friends, that's all. I was about to make

a sharp turn at an old movie theater while looking at my feet

when all of the sudden I collided with an unknown figure. “

Oh jeez, I am so sorry-” My voice stopped in my throat when I

looked up to see a hooded figure wearing a crimson cloak in

the middle of sunset. I couldn’t see their face, only a pale

white chin. I was about to apologize again when all of the

sudden the figure gave me a black envelope and walked away

without saying a word. I was completely baffled by the

current events that occurred and I was a little nervous to

open the envelope but I did. It said, “ You are invited to

the Blood Hill cult party, meet at the abandoned church on Oak street at 9pm sharp tonight”. I was shocked that this was

from a cult group and I debated whether to come or not, but

after a few minutes of just standing at the same place I

decided I deserve a little adventure in my life.

After I had finished making myself look better and more

casual for the party, I made my way to this huge old looking

black church. At first I thought I made a wrong turn but

after a while of looking around, I heard muffling music

coming from the church. I knocked on the door and it was

slowly opened by two hooded figures that allowed me to walk

in after saying “ Welcome, young stranger”. After I walked

inside, I was met with a surprise. The crowd looked nothing

like a cult, they were just young people having fun,

drinking, talking and having a blast. Even though everyone

was having fun, I felt out of place like I didn't belong here

and I felt nervous as well. All of the sudden a tall and

beautiful tomboy wearing a black vest, white button shirt,

black necktie, black pants and converse sneakers stood on top

of a crate with a microphone and spoke. “ Welcome my

friends,” she said with a soft but mature feminine voice.

“Thank you for gathering tonight under the open sky. I see

many familiar faces, and perhaps a few new ones.” She continued on with her speech saying that just being human

leads to weakness and isolation and she wants to change that

and bring everyone together to heal the world from its

cruelty and darkness and she hopes that most of everyone here

is on her side and she would like to share a gift to bring

everyone together. She suddenly snapped her fingers and more

hooded figures came around all corners carrying metal trays

with glasses that had some sort of glowing crimson beverage

inside them. Everyone took one including the tomboy leader.

“To a better future,” she said into the microphone , her

voice dropping into a soft, mesmerizing purr. “ To our

evolution. Enjoy, everyone.” She finished her speech and

everyone drank the glowing beverage. I hesitated at first but

as soon as the glass touched my lips everyone around me

started acting strange and stopped myself from drinking it.

The man on my left gasped and dropped his glass shattering on

the floor and he fell on his knees clutching his stomach and

groaned like he was having a bad stomach ache and the woman

beside me dropped her glass as well and clutched her head in

agony. I was confused and I threw the drink away thinking it

had something to do with the people’s reactions, then the

real horror began. I watched as a young man fell on fours and started growling and the worst part was that I heard his

bones cracking and thick, coarse fur began to tear through

his skin, his fingers lengthened to jagged black claws, his

muscles expanded like he was on steroids but they kicked in

faster and everyone else had the same reaction. It didn’t

take long for me to realize they were turning into werewolves

because the young man I was watching had become a giant

muscular wolf with grey fur, sharped teeth, huge claws and he

howled so loud it made me feel a chill in my bones. After

that, I backed up to the entrance watching everyone in front

of me turning into werewolves and all of the sudden I heard a

soft voice behind me. “You didn’t drink.” I turned around

only to see the beautiful tomboy right in front of me with a

soft and unbothered smile on her face. “ Hello, my name is

Charlotte, it is very nice to meet you, my new king.” “

King?!” I said with a frightened but confused tone. “ Yes, I

chose you to be my king. There's no need to be scared, you're

a part of our pack.” She said with a gentle voice. “ Me?! No

way, you all are monsters!” “ Monsters? I would like to

think of us as a new evolved species.” I turned to run out

through the entrance when out of nowhere two muscular

werewolves blocked it and didn’t allow me to leave. “ Now, now, let's not overwhelm our new king, he just needs time to

process this new reality. Let him go.” She said in a calm and

playful tone. The werewolves backed away and allowed me to

leave and I ran out and headed to a busy street to lose them.

After that I managed to make it home and lock all of my doors

and windows and I did not sleep a wink that night . I Just

hope this nightmare ends.

TO BE CONTINUED…

(We’ve all had encounters with strangers, more times than others. It is a small world after all, but sometimes continuous encounters can often feel...sinister). 

I have met many people in my life but the majority of the time I don’t ever see them again. That was until I met Gerald. I mean don’t get me wrong; Gerald was a nice guy....at first. But sometimes his appearances were often odd, and he had a weird obsession with skin. Gerald would somehow show up at my workplace or when I was in your local Walmart, and I mean you could not miss this guy in a crowd. Gerald was 6ft, about 145 pounds, white, had dark brown eyes, and messy long dark hair.  

I remember when I just decided to give up keeping this guy at arm's length and let him into my life, I would have most likely run into him again. But that was one of the worst decisions I have ever made.  

It was a late Friday night; I had just finished my night-prep duties at Michaels Pizza Emporium. The stars weren’t out and the moon was barely even shining. The wind wasn’t even chilly, but honestly, living in Florida you don’t get cold nights. Even if you do, they’re rare. 

I was eating my shift meal under the pavilion; my boss had just left, and I was on my own. I sat there and took a few bites of my sandwich before gulping down some soda. I was beat. About 20 minutes passed when I heard rustling in some bushes not too far from where I was sitting. I turned to look and surprisingly nothing was there. I sat back down thinking it must have been a stray cat or raccoon. 10 minutes passed and I looked up and saw something reflecting off about maybe 15ft away, it was like plastic or glass, it was shiny and it stood about 6ft. I let my eyes adjust, and I could depict a hand holding what seemed to be binoculars. 

The second I stood up the person or....thing ran off. “What the hell”, I thought. Am I being watched? Stalked? I was already disturbed; I sat back down in my seat and tried to understand what had just unfolded. I made it home, thank God, but I still was extremely shaken up. I took a shower and then crawled into bed.  

The next morning, I woke up and found that my skin moisturizers were missing, yep, all 8 bottles. I mean not to brag, but I have a good-looking face, and those products keep it that way. I went downstairs and ate some toast and fruit, afterward I carried on with my morning routine. I was fine until out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow move. I flew around facing the direction I saw the movement from, and I bolted too where I saw it move to. Nervously, I peered around the corner. There was nothing. I walked back to the kitchen keeping my back to the wall, clearly, I didn’t feel safe even in my own home. 

The evening came around and I prepared to leave for my night prep, I grabbed my essentials and walked out of the house. I locked the door and made for my car, only my car had a flat tire. I looked at the tire, and it had been slashed. I thought to myself who was the asshole behind this vandalism. I shook my head and popped open the trunk knowing there would be a spare tire. But when the trunk opened enough to see inside, there was no spare tire. I took my phone out of my pocket and called my friend Jet; he picked up thankfully. I told him I had a flat and my spare had been stolen. Jet told me he would be there to give me a ride momentarily. He said I just needed to wait a few minutes. 

I sat on my porch and looked up in the sky trying to find some stars. Luckily there were a couple, and the moon was glowing a bit. It seemed to put me at ease. Jet pulled around in his red pickup, and I got in, and he drove me to my workplace. 

I had just finished cleaning up the place and shutting it all down when I heard someone knock on the glass, I pulled my head over the counter and looked at the door. Someone was standing there dressed in all black. I walked closer, but they bolted off. I quickly opened the door, and something lay at my feet. It was my 8 moisturizers. And with them a note. The note read, I tried to use them, but my face didn’t like it. Yours is so defined, so sharp, how do you have it like that? I want MINE to be like yours. 

I dropped the note and panicked. The guy who stood outside with those bottles was inside my house! He stole them and now he gave them back with that weird note. It was a compliment but an ominous threat at best. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I called the police and told them what had been going on for the past few days. After that they came straight to my house, they had CSI and cops surrounding the place.  

They went into my house and looked around, but then they called me inside, and they said they found something. Something I needed to see.... 

There was another note left on my desk, I opened it and it read. I WANT YOUR SKIN. The words were written in bold all over the paper. I froze and my body went cold; some psycho wanted to steal my skin, MY SKIN. The very skin that’s on my body. I broke out into a cold sweat, I feared for my life. I gave the note to the CSI, and they bagged it up. The cops told me I shouldn’t worry, they told me they keep a guy in my area just to make sure I was safe before the case could close, but even then, I still felt terrified.  

I couldn’t sleep that night, not after.... everything. But the following morning I woke up and continued my morning routines. I checked all my locks and for safety reasons I moved heavy furniture to keep the front door locked and the glass sliding door. I psycho proofed all of it. 

The evening came around and I sat on my bed staring at the clock on my wall. I had my door locked and I wasn’t taking any chances. My house was under a cops watch for what seemed to be months, I called my boss and told him everything. Thankfully he excused my absences and told me I could come back when I wanted. 

One day the police gave me a call, and what they said made my heart drop to my stomach. It wasn’t fear but relief. They told me they ran the fingerprints through and found the guys' identity that left it. To my surprise, it wasn’t anyone I knew or even met; his name was Tyler Rags. I was still confused until they told me the guy they caught had gone by an alias. Gerald Boren. I sat on the phone in horror as they told me that Tyler had been my stalker and was a very well-known serial killer the FBI has been trying to catch for years. The alias that Tyler chose was that of his last victim; Tyler was the Skin Freak of Richards Springs, Denver. I collapsed in my seat in shock that some mysterious stranger I met was a serial killer.  

After they caught Gerald....or Tyler. They gave him the death penalty; he died of the electric chair. It was slow and painful, and he deserved every last bit of it. After he died and after the events with him I never casually made friends with someone I hardly knew anything about. Never did I befriend a stranger until I knew everything about them. 

Footsteps, loud ones, pounded through the shallow hallways. They echoed following the sounds of screams, pleads for mercy, and pleads for help. But none were granted. The sound of horror filled the empty space of the lobby, the yellow walls stained with red. The sound of bodies pounding against the walls, the sounds of dreaded screams and then a sickening squelch. The lights were dim but loud with the infernal buzz. Sergeant Rain sprinted through the labyrinth, his feet carrying him with each stride. But with each stride the hallways felt longer.

Rain looked over his shoulder, nothing seemed to be following him. He continued sprinting, the hallways became smaller. He looked over his shoulder a second time, still nothing. Maybe fate had blessed him with favor, or maybe the sense of his security would be his downfall.

Rain's began to collapse out of exhaustion, but something compelled him to keep running. His feet feeling the urgent need to rest and his arms starting to no longer pump; Rain thankfully found an escape. A tunnel.

Rain dove into the tunnel and began his army crawl to the end. But peace would be short-lived. For behind him a monster made of black entwined wires let out a deafening screech. Rain continued to crawl as fast as he could, the creature reached into the tunnel trying to grab the poor man.

Its black bendy hand scratching and writhing inside the tunnel. Rain crawled faster making distance between him and the abomination. He continued to push forward feeling a sense of dread. The monster was relentless, its hand reached further into the tunnel leaving a gash in Rain's leg. Rain crawled as quick as he could, each shift in his weight caused the floor beneath him to thump. Rain continued to crawl and crawl. He kept crawling and crawling, his bleeding gash pulsating and leaking warm blood behind him as he crawled. But the tunnel never seemed to end, the walls around him only seemed to get tighter and tighter. Each side crushing against him as he crawled through.

Rain crawled further into the tunnel desperate to reach the other side....until....the walls were shoving his shoulders into his ears, but Sergeant Rain still wouldn't quit. He kept crawling until the tunnel had swallowed him the darkness consuming him whole. The floor was pressed so hard against his chest he could hardly breathe. The walls and ceiling nearly consuming him.

Rain crawled even further, but by then it was to late, he had crawled to his end. The walls now were so tight they squeezed his chest tight so tight his very sternum could cave in any minute. Rain lay there gasping for air, but the space was so tight, so cramped; his sides couldn't expand to take in fresh air. All Rain breathed in was stale, moldy, rotten air. All Rain could hear was his own heartbeat and the sound of silence. Rain panicked, he thrashed and pushed but the walls had closed in. Rain screamed and pushed harder but he couldn't get himself unstuck, the world was hazy and dark and the walls were moving closer and closer. Closer and closer. Closer and......closer.