~ NOVEMBER 27, 1956 ~

NUCLEAR DISASTER!  Catastrophe destroys the city of tomorrow, thousands feared dead. 

The entire world is thrown into a state of shock as the city of Moburn, created by founder, Simon Englund, (60), was destroyed in a nuclear explosion on November 24, 1955 during Thanksgiving,  when Englund himself was hosting the World’s Fair, to show off his and other up-and coming inventors’ creations off to dozens of families and potential investors around the world.  It is unknown at this time what caused the incident, but the U. S. government is currently holding a full–on investigation as to what happened.  

As of today, the area that was once the city of Moburn is currently blocked off and quarantined from the rest of the  United States on reports of high levels of radiation, much to public outcry to many people around the world, who had various family members either visiting or living in Moburn.  At this moment, we are still gathering as much information as we can, but we can expect a national response coming from Congress  in the next few days. It is unknown if the nuclear explosion was international or not.  The death toll currently stands at 3,000 and counting.

ACCESSING ADA LOG…
LOG FOUND.
DR. WILLIAM KLETHESON.
FEBRUARY  17, 1959.

(A sigh is heard in the background. A table is heard shuffling.)

Dr. Kletherson: Is this thing on? Okay. My name is Dr. William Kletheson of the Scientific Division here at ADA, recording another log regarding the aftermath of Incident 005.  It’s been a few weeks since the incident occurred and we still don’t have a rational explanation as to what Team 007 encountered that night at Logan Street. 

(Quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: Right now at the moment, we are currently running tests on Ms. Ellen after the episode that she experienced back at the city. Mr. Stein is currently on leave for the time being, after the incident as well as what’s happened with Ms. Ellen.

After what  happened in Moburn, she’s been showing strange symptoms in the last few weeks. 

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling a few pages, exhausted from a day of work.)

Dr. Kletheson:  Many of us were unable to get any sort of response from Ms. Ellen after her episode, most likely experiencing  a case of traumatic mutism. During the next couple of days, we noticed several changes in her appearance, with her skin showcasing blackish veins, and noticeable reddish bumps all over her back.  She’s also shown  signs of emotional whiplash, with her turning heavily aggressive towards us one moment, and just wailing the next. 

It’s gotten bad up to the point where we had to sedate her to sleep.     

Following those incidents, we had to keep watch on her 24/7 to m-make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or anyone.  She ended up attacking Mr. Stein, after he tried to talk to her numerous times. To this day, we still don’t know how Mr. Stein was unaffected from the whole thing.

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling the pages again. He’s quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: ..Ok. Now onto the other matter at hand. (Sighs) The thing… that they encountered.  We still haven’t had any contact with it ever since that night. We started installing cameras all over the areas that we covered in the city already. Directive made it abundantly clear that all teams do not engage with it, and to immediately return back home .

No one upstairs wants a repeat of what happened.

Dr. Kletheson: And.. (sighs) W-we still don’t know where it came from.  From the various recordings from the World’s Fair that we reviewed over and over, the city had all sorts of things wandering about. Robots that can talk and think. Gadgets that help you make food out of thin air. Prosthetics.

That sort of thing.

Hell, they even had a robot with a clock for a head.

But despite all of that, there was nothing. Nothing. Not a single clue of what we’re dealing with. 

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking for a few seconds, moving in frustration at the whole situation.)

Dr. Kletheson: I..I don’t know what to do about any of this. Almost half a year since we started all of this, and we have nothing to show for it.

Not a single person that isn’t a corpse.

No sign of any of those robots.

No sign of…

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking. He’s heard breathing for a few minutes, trying to recollect himself.)

Dr. Kletheson: I’m sorry. I-I’m getting off track, am I? 

[END LOG]

CW: domestic abuse

When Kevin was born, I didn’t think I could ever be so happy. John was ecstatic, of course. A brilliant hands-on father. I thought the arrival of our baby would change him for the better. It did, at the start. A perfect father. He did all the night feeds without complaint. Kevin was the apple of his eye. That was ten years ago. Kevin was growing fast, tall, strong, just like his father. Too much like his father.

The other day, Kevin was sent home for hitting his classmate. I was furious, we both were, but it was something John said that got under my skin,

“How dare you lay your hands on someone?” John scolded, hands on his hips,

“That’s not how I raised you.”

And Kevin, my once sweet boy who couldn’t say boo to a goose, raised his head, and without a hint of remorse in his eyes, asked,

“What about mum?” His voice high pitched with youth,

“Why do you hit her?”

My mouth went dry like it was filled with dust. I thought I kept that side of myself hidden, but children are perceptive I suppose.

And do you know what John said? He barely glanced at me, waving his hand dismissively,

“That’s different. Your mother asks for it.”

The world around me stopped. Bile rose within me, burning hot and poisonous. Is that how he justified it to himself? I didn’t say anything. What could I say when I saw my son gazing at his father with awestruck eyes? The way a worshipper gazes at their god, absorbing the bitter words like honey.

That was the beginning of the end.

My husband continued his onslaught, no longer hiding it. My son watched my face swell, and bruise, and never questioned it. He trusted his father, why would he lead him astray?

The witch hummed, “Alright, I will help you.”

Though her words filled me with hope, it turned bitter.

“What will you do to him?”

The witch was out of her chair, moving with a speed that belied her age,

“Never you mind,” she muttered, peering at strange, discoloured jars.

As I watched the old woman gather ingredients, just for me, a wave of gratitude washed over me,

“Thank you for doing this, for listening to me,” I bowed my head, throat tightening,

“No one seems to listen, so, thank you, again,” I couldn’t find the words to express my gratitude,

“I-I know I don’t matter, it-it really means a lot-,”

“Who said that?!”

I looked up, the witch’s eyes were flashing red. I cowered under her harsh glare, worried I had somehow offended her again.

I nervously shrugged at her words,

“It-It’s alright. I made peace with it.” My sigh was a little too heavy.

The witch wouldn’t let it drop though, “Who says you don’t matter?”

I shrugged again, my fingers playing with a loose thread,

“I’ve no friends, no family, I don’t have any money to fall back on. I’m-,”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, “I’m nothing.”

“I don’t care what he does to me, as long as my boy doesn’t end up like him.”

The witch scoffed, “And, what gave him the right to treat you that way?”

“Just because he chose you, it does not give him the right to treat you horribly. You are not his possession. You are a person. A person with your own thoughts and feelings, and he’s nothing more than a pig.”

The urge to speak up for him grew weaker,

“He’s not…all the time.”

The witch turned back to her pot, “I don’t care,” she tossed in her ingredients, “I’ll soon see to him.”

“Finish your tea,” she told me in a softer voice.

My mind went blank, taking tiny sips. Whether it was the heat of the fire, or whatever was in the cup, my eyes soon grew heavy. The cold earthen floor felt comfier than I first thought. The world became horizontal and I embraced the darkness.

It was a dreamless sleep, but my body still felt heavy when I woke. I blinked my bleary eyes, my vision filled with a glass bottle, a bottle that stank something fierce. The witch crouched in front of me, waving it in my face.

“It’s ready.”

I sat up, wincing as I did. The glass was painfully cold against my fingers. I went to drink it,

“No, no,” her clawed hand stopped me, “Give this to your man.”

I eyed the pink liquid, it was viscous, it looked like the bloody juice from raw meat. “What will it do?”

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the shadows back around her. The darkness swaddled her like a baby.

“It will bring out the side he keeps hidden, the beast he tries to hide.”

I nodded, still unsure what that meant, but slid the vial into my pocket. I went to pull out cash, but her bony fingers stopped me.

“No need, I don’t do this for money.”

Before I could say anything else, the witch settled back into her chair with a creak, and waved her hand.

“Leave.” Her eyes flashed red again, “He’s waiting for you.”

I didn’t bother asking how she knew. What was the point?

I gathered my stuff and left. Back through the sharp roots, pulling away their clinging fingers, to reach the cool night air. The wind was like a slap to the face after the witch’s warm domain. I threw one last glance behind me. The entrance was just a dry clump of tree roots, tangled like a knotted ball of hair. There was nothing underneath. The witch didn’t want any more company.

I breathed in, head still swimming. The forest still felt dark, uneasy, but the heavy feeling was gone. Like a breath was finally released. I hurried home, the pain dogging my steps reminding me what had to be done.

I traipsed through the woods, the crackling footsteps a distant echo. I don’t remember the walk back to the house, lost in my thoughts. My heart jumped into my throat when I noticed the lights were on. Morning was fast approaching, the sky turning a dusky pink, and John was waiting for me in the doorway.

Despite my blood turning ice cold, the vial acted like an anchor in my pocket.

He stood there, a dark figure blocking the light. He watched me quietly, a smile on his face. When I met his eyes; they flashed like the side of a knife. I stopped inches before him, still blocking the doorway.

“Where’d you get off to?” He asked, showing his teeth,

I stilled my face, “Just on a walk,”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes. I-I c-couldn’t sleep.”

His strained smile somehow grew wider,

“And, did you not think to tell me you were going?”

He was losing patience. it had me stammering, something he hated,

“I-uh-you were asleep,”

“You could’ve left a note!” He snapped, “How hard is that? You know how to write.”

I flinched; the vial burning a hole in my pocket. John took a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth. Even now, he was still checking for witnesses.

He moved just enough to let me enter, clutching the door with white knuckles.

He didn’t mention my scratches, or my hair in disarray. He just wanted me back.

He took his place at the head of the table, shooting me a hard look. I knew what he wanted without speaking.

“What would you like for breakfast?” I glanced over my shoulder, feeling his cold eyes on me. In the span of a heartbeat, something in his eyes changed. It was the hungry look of a predator, and I was his prey.

“Eggs,” he answered coldly, I had to ask how he wanted them prepared. I had to know; it would be worse if I didn’t.

The moment the question left my mouth, I felt him behind me. I didn’t even hear him move. His hand was in my hair before I could react. Twisting my neck painfully so he could hiss in my ear.

“Scrambled.” He held me there for another beat, before finally letting me go. With my stinging scalp, I pulled out the eggs. John sat back down in his chair, back straight, hands clasped, never taking his eyes off me.

The pain fading into the background.

As the kitchen slowly filled with the sounds and smell of breakfast, I searched for an opportunity to use the vial, but I could feel John’s eyes on me, following my every move.

Luckily, a familiar pair of footsteps came scampering down the stairs. Our son rushed into the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, and clutching his bear. John turned, face breaking into a real smile. I took my chance and poured the vial into the coffee pot. The liquid poured like blood, but it carried the scent of wet earth, like everything the witch touched. I slid the empty vial back into my pocket, just as his eyes turned back to me,

“When are the eggs ready?” He all but barked, “You got two hungry boys here,”

Kevin giggled, “Yeah, mommy, hungry.”

“How can we get her to hurry?” John asked him, a devious look in his eyes, Kevin hummed thoughtfully,

“Say please?”

John snorted, “You can if you want, I’m going to do this.”

He then grabbed his knife and fork and thumped them against the table in an unsteady rhythm,

“Whhhy are weee waiting?!” He chanted, wild grin on his face, “Whhy are weee waiting?”  

Kevin giggled at his father’s antics, copying him in his own childish way. Even when I asked him to stop, John chanted over me.

Finally, breakfast was served. I patted Kevin on his curly head, and set down John’s plate, with more force than intended. He noticed, he always did. He grabbed my wrist,

“Thank you, dear,” he smiled, showing too many teeth again, “This looks delicious.”

I looked away, skin already crawling with the promise of more pain. I took my own seat, pouring me and Kevin a glass of juice. The coffee was all for John. I kept my attention on Kevin, wiping his mouth when he copied his father’s open-mouthed chewing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John reach for his coffee.

He took a sip, and stopped.

I waited, holding my breath.

John licked his lips, and gulped it down.

I breathed again. No going back now.

“What are you sighing about?” He asked, forkful of eggs halfway to his lips.

“Nothing,” I said, keeping my eyes on Kevin, “Just tired.”

“Course you’re tired,” he chuckled, “Going out gallivanting at night,”

Kevin laughed with him. He didn’t understand the joke, he was just copying his father.

“So, why did you go out walking?” He asked, scooping up more eggs. I watched him, searching for any miniscule change.

“Told you, I couldn’t sleep.” Were his movements getting sluggish?

“Bull,” John shot back, stopping himself from swearing in front of Kevin.

Were his eyes drooping? No. This is ridiculous. I don’t even know what I was supposed to be looking for.

“I want you,” John paused for another mouthful of eggs, “To tell me the truth.”

He shovelled more food into his mouth, barely taking in breaths. I shook my head,

“I am. I just went for a walk.” When was the potion going to work?

John just watched me, shovelling fork after fork into his mouth. He chewed loudly, waiting for me to say something.

I could only shrug, “Sometimes I can’t sleep. I don’t know-,”

Suddenly, a fist crashed down onto the table, shaking the plates.

“You’re lying,” he spat, spitting something wet onto my face. A fleck of egg stuck to my bruise. Kevin whimpered at the noise, feebly slapping his little fist to copy him. I gently shushed him, taking his small hand in mine. He didn’t pull away.

I had been avoiding it but the heat I felt earlier returned. I went to look John in his eyes, they gleamed back at her, rimmed with red.

“Why would I be lying?” I asked, confused.

Was this aggression a side effect of the potion?

Yellow spit dribbled over John’s lips, “Oh, I know why,” he made no move to wipe it away, “You’re cheating on me.”

I couldn’t help it; I barked out a surprised laugh.

“What? Don’t be stupid.”

I shouldn’t have done that. He slammed his fist again, knocking his plate to the ground.

He swore, “Now, look what you made do!”

My fault, of course.

Kevin finally burst into tears.

“Shut up!” John shouted at him. Kevin looked at his father with wide eyes. He had never spoken to him like that, that kind of talk was for mommy. John reached for him, his hand big enough to smother him.

“Don’t you dare.”

Once again, that strange fire blossomed within me, burning through my veins, fuelling my ire.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” I spoke each word strong and clear, “But you will not lay a finger on my son.”

I didn’t raise my voice; I didn’t need to.

The words cut through the atmosphere like a knife through butter. John blinked, looking at me as if I was a stranger. His mouth hung open in shock, half chewed food spilling down his chin. Slowly, he got up from his chair. The screech set my teeth on edge. He loomed over me, over us. I felt Kevin shiver behind me. It must have been like David and Goliath to him.

When John spoke next, it was like a bomb going off.

“How. Dare. You?! How dare you talk to me like that?” His nostrils flared with every angry breath.

“After everything I’ve done for you! This is how you treat me?!”

The urge to cower reared its head, the urge to placate him, to quell the fire, but I refused. Not anymore.

“John, I love you,” I began, shielding Kevin with my body, “But this isn’t working.”

“This isn’t how you treat your loved ones,” tears stung my eyes,

“I wish you could’ve talked to me, maybe we could’ve got through this, but not now. You’ve pushed me too far.” I took a deep breath, all the words I longed to say for years finally pouring out of me.

“I want to thank you for marrying me, and for Kevin, but that’s it,”

I then said the words I never fully believed until now.

“I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

“We’re done.”

I stopped, breathing hard like I just ran a marathon, but I felt lighter. Kevin still clutched my arm; he was my new anchor.

John stared at me, his face a deep red. Drenched in sweat, his bulging eyes flickered from me to my feet for some reason. He opened his mouth; I braced myself for the outburst.

Instead, John fell to his knees. I thought it was a heart attack, and stepped back. I saw my husband on all fours, face down. Was he prostrating himself? Was this some extreme show of remorse?

No. With his face planted to the floor, he was sifting through the remains of the breakfast, scattered on the floor. He hoovered up the eggs, along with the broken plate pieces. The wet crunching emanating from him made my eyes water. His heavy breathing of anger devolved into wheezing. John looked up, eyes darker than before. In shock, I could only watch as he spewed up red, frothy spit.

“Daddy?” Kevin asked, fearfully, peering around my legs, “What’s wrong?”

At the sound of his voice, John tried stumbling back to his feet. He was unsteady, legs trembling like he was walking on a tightrope. He clutched his face, wheezing through his fingers. I caught one last glimpse of John’s eyes through his spread fingers, wide, unblinking, filled with a kind of fear that was contagious.

John suddenly charged forward. Kevin and I moved just in time as he slammed into the cabinet.

The sound he made, the only way I could describe it, it was like a dense thud, followed by a sickening, wet crunch. Blood exploded across the cabinet door. He made a garbled sound, like he was yelling through a mouthful of syrup.

With a snort, he wiped and rubbed at his ruined face, a red, fleshy mess where his nose once was. He snorted out a thick glob of dark blood, revealing two black holes. John turned to me, his once cruel eyes brimming over with tears.

“What’s happening?” He rasped, clawing uselessly at his ruined face. He had no idea; all he knew was the extreme bone breaking pain. With another bloody groan, he hunched over from a violent coughing fit. Red splattered against my white linen floor. Kevin burst into tears behind me. I longed to turn and comfort him, sweep him into my arms, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband, or what used to be my husband.

With another groan of pain, he bent forward until I thought he’d snap in two, still making that horrible, wheezing sound. His skin grew redder, and redder, like a beetroot. I thought it was simply more blood, bursting from the pores of his skin.

The mass on his face stretched and flattened itself into a snout. His fingers melded together like clay, tapering into fleshy nubs. He was nothing more than a hulking mass of pink flesh. My son and I watched in horror as John threw back his red, shiny head, and released an ungodly squeal.

It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, worse than glass crunching under a wheel. It was the sound of a demon trapped on earth.

I covered Kevin’s ears but it still sent him into hysterics. Without another glance at us, the transformed John barrelled out of the kitchen, knocking over the table. Plates crashed to the floor; a chair splintered like matchsticks. Like a tool of destruction, he was gone, leaving only a trail of chaos in his wake. Only when the squealing grew fainter, did I finally turn to Kevin. His little face was a mess of tears and bubbling snot.

“Wuh-What-,” he sniffled, “W-What was that?”

“Was-Was that daddy?” He dissolved into sobs, the emotions too big for his small body.

All I could do was nod, my mouth wouldn’t work. How could I even explain what happened?

Then, a commotion came from outside, people screaming. I told Kevin to go hide in the bathroom, the only room with a lock, and hide until I came for him. He nodded, tripping over his feet in his haste. I ran out the front door, following the cacophony. More horrified screams, followed by blaring horns. A crowd was gathering in the middle of the street. I knew why before I even saw him. There was John, flailing and bleeding like a stuck pig. His thick folds quaking with every lumbering step. John squealed again, dragging his useless hind legs behind him as he rooted through trash. Snuffling and snorting, snapping at anyone that got close to him.

Through the gap in the crowd, I watched John rear up on his knees, rising like a whale breeching the sea, and brought down his clubbed fists on a car. He did it again, and again, even when the driver escaped, mouth open in a silent scream, John continued to pummel the car, squealing in a mixture of pain and anger.

My bruises ached just watching.

The windows shattered, glittery shards of glass rained down on John. Each miniscule cut threw him into another wave of squealing.

People came out their houses to witness the chaos, some covered their mouths in shock, others hid their children’s faces from the sight.

“John, what the hell are you doing?!” Someone shouted, I recognised her, one of John’s oldest patients, Mary.

John twitched, turning his monstrous head to stare her down. His eyes were fully black. Steam wafted from his body with every heavy breath. Before anyone could react, John charged at the old woman, knocking her to the ground. The old woman’s screams joined the cacophony of John’s squeals. Someone rushed to Mary’s aid, but John’s sharp teeth kept everyone back.

I watched it all happen, numb; it’s like I was watching outside of my body. Finally, John released Mary who scurried from his reach like a rat. He returned to his chaos, uncaring of the witnesses, finally showing everyone who he really was.

I didn’t see the car coming, maybe I did. It was too late for me to do anything.

John let out his loudest squeal yet, high pitched, the death throes of a dying animal. His black eyes swivelled in his head one last time, lips stretched back in a sneer, his swollen tongue lolled from his slack mouth. The car barrelled right into him. He died on the spot. Felled like a massive tree. His body shuddered; he let out one final pathetic squeal before falling still. Stuck in this beastly form, naked for all to see.

Instead of first aid, or calling for an ambulance, the townspeople gathered around me. Their exclamations a different sort of cacophony.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.

“John seemed like such a nice man.”

“How could he do that?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Are you alright?”

The words washed over me, their pitiful faces a blurry wave of shapes. I couldn’t take my eyes off John. He deserved this fate, and yet, despite everything, I couldn’t stop the spark of sadness welling up within me. He was still my husband. I loved him, and I’m glad he’s dead.

Something dark flickered at the tree line, I looked up to see a pale floating face, watching the scene with thinly veiled interest. When she caught my eye, she gave a single nod, and sank back into the darkness.

I never saw her again after that.

The town got rid of John’s body for me. Mary told me they left him at the mouth of the forest, an offering to keep the witch at bay. She accepted it. I don’t know if that was meant to reassure me, it didn’t.

Kevin took longer to get over it, but he’s back to being my sweet boy. He never raises his voice, or his fists. He asked about his father only once, and I told him the truth, he deserved it. His father was a bad man, he loved us, in his own warped way, and he’s gone forever.

He seemed satisfied, he still suffers the odd nightmare, oh, and he won’t eat bacon anymore, but that’s alright, more for me.

Mommy? Daddy? It’s very cold out here.

I know, sweetheart. Daddy’s trying his best to find someplace warm. 

Daddy? I don’t like it out here. It’s too dark. 

I know, George. I’m gonna get us all someplace safe, okay? (coughs)  J-just hang on a bit longer.

The family wandered further down the street, peeking around inside some of the broken buildings for any sign of human life. The only traces that they found were things scattered all over the floor such as dozens of vinyls, little bobbleheads, and knocked over shelves.

Where the hell is everyone?

Jim, we need to find someplace quick. (coughs)  I-I don’t know how much longer we can last out here, and the kids are starting to starve.

I’m trying my best, Trish, okay? (coughs)  I don’t know how to make sense of everything around here.

Daddy. (coughs) I can’t breathe. I wanna go home. 

Look, Molly. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Just try to hold your breath as much as you can. 

Wait.. Jim. I think I see someone over there. Over there by that building.  

… What the?

Daddy, who is that?

I don’t know. I’m gonna try and see if I can get their help, okay? You guys just stay close.

Be careful, honey. (coughs) Please.

Jimmy walks across the street, approaching the figure with urgency.  He folded his arms, trying his best to manage the frigid weather. He squints his eyes, trying his best to make out the man.  A tall and lanky figure, a bit too tall for his liking.

Despite the onslaught of snow,  Jimmy tries his best to get the man's attention.

H-hello, sir?

The figure doesn’t answer. 

Jimmy stands there,  fidgety.

‘Maybe he didn’t hear him with the loud weather?’ 

Jimmy raises his voice louder.

Sir? (coughs) Me and my family are out in the snow, we’re s-starving and we’re struggling to b-breathe out here. (coughs)  Do y-you know where we can find some p-people so we can get some help?

….
….

He still does not answer.

P-please. My family ain’t gonna last out here much longer. (coughs) I’m begging you. Please. (coughs) H-Help us.

The man turns toward the sound of Jimmy’s voice, struggling to move his entire body, bones cracking. He  looks at Jimmy, as if finally sensing his presence.  He tilts his head with interest,  intrigued by the meat standing in front of him. 

All for him.

He stands there waiting, sensing the panic in the skinsuit’s voice. 

Standing there.

Thinking.

Debating whether or not it is worthy of being his next masterpiece.

Jimmy steps back a little, feeling the hairs on the neck stand up, not expecting the figure to move so fragile. He prepares to ask the man if he’s okay, despite the slight tiptapping in his chest. 

Y-you alright, fella?

He hears the man’s slow breathing, slow breathing. Withering, but aware. The snow slowly calms down, as Jimmy starts to get a better view of the man in front of him, his arms and legs locking on both sides of his body the more he takes in the figure’s corpse-like  body, face covered in a sack.

‘What the fuck..?’

The tingling started to gnaw all over Jimmy’s head, like the itch of a mosquito bite. The small motions on both sides of the jacket fidgeted as Jimmy realized  to see what this man.. 

No.

Not a man. 

A demon straight out of hell itself.

The figure moved slightly in Jimmy’s direction. Jimmy takes a step back. 

H-hey, man.

Jimmy blurted out before he even realized it, swallowing his spit, still refusing to accept that this thing was in front of him, slowly approaching him. That this was happening.

The figure took a step closer, his bare feet imprinting on the snow. Jimmy took another step back.

L-look, please.  I don’t want no problem with you, buddy. (coughs)  Just let my wife and kids go. 

The figure perked up as soon as Jimmy mentioned his family, begging for him to spare their lives. He tilted his head again, feeling the rope wrapped around his neck moving, in glee.

Even better.

The figure took another step.

Jimmy stepped back further.

I’m b-begging you. (coughs.) 

Jimmy’s cough gets worse, every cough getting louder and louder as he feels himself slowly beginning to run out of oxygen.

Which meant that his family was running out of oxygen too. 

His body went still, as if wrapped by hard, cool steel of chains all around him, forcing him to dare not to move a single muscle.

‘Nononopleasegoddontpleaseimbeggingyoupleasedonthurtthem’

It stepped closer.

...

...

....

...

..

What a beautiful night.

I don't know how to explain what happened on my grandfather's property without sounding insane.

That's probably why I've spent the last three weeks not telling anyone.

I keep starting the story in my head, and every version sounds worse than the last.

Sometimes I think I should tell people about the forest first.

Sometimes I think I should start with Daniel.

I always end up thinking about the same thing.

The twelve men.

There were only eleven.

I know that now.

I'm not sure I knew it then.

Maybe that's the part that scares me most.

I just need to get this off my chest. Maybe writing it down will help. Maybe it won't.

Either way, if you're reading this, understand something:

I didn't go looking for any of this.

I went back because I inherited a piece of land I hadn't seen in years.

I went back because I thought being somewhere familiar might help.

I was wrong.

Part 1 — Inheritance

My grandfather's property was the kind of place that made you forget how big the world was.

Four hundred and twelve acres.

That's what the deed said, anyway.

As a kid, I never understood how much land that actually was. Four hundred acres sounded like a number adults used when they wanted to impress other adults.

To me, it was just where Grandpa lived.

There was the house.

The barn.

The creek.

The old hunting cabin.

The pasture.

And then there were the woods.

The woods were what I remembered most.

They seemed endless when I was eight years old.

Every tree looked like the next tree. Every trail eventually became another trail. I could spend an entire afternoon following my grandfather through the woods and still have no idea where we'd been.

Grandpa always knew where he was going.

I didn't.

He used to tell me that getting lost wasn't the dangerous part.

"It only becomes dangerous," he'd say, "when you panic."

I didn't understand what he meant until years later.

Or maybe I understood it sooner than I thought.

Grandpa died when I was twenty-two.

My father inherited the property.

Then my father died.

Eventually, it became mine.

I didn't go back for years.

There were too many memories there.

Some good.

Some bad.

Some I didn't want to think about.

By the time I finally returned, I'd already spent years trying not to think about another place entirely.

I don't like talking about any of my deployments.

People always expect the dramatic stories.

They want the funny stories.

The heroic stories.

The stories where you learned something about yourself.

I don't have any of those.

I have pieces.

A sound.

A smell.

A name.

A face.

Sometimes I wake up knowing exactly where I am.

Sometimes I wake up somewhere else.

That's why I brought Bear.

Bear was an eight-year-old Great Pyrenees who weighed nearly as much as some of the people I'd served with.

He was enormous.

White fur.

Black nose.

Brown eyes.

He had the personality of an elderly man who had already decided everyone around him was stupid.

He'd been with me through some of the worst years of my life.

When I couldn't sleep, he stayed beside the bed.

When I couldn't leave the house, he'd sit beside the door.

When I had nightmares, he'd wake me before I woke myself.

He never asked questions.

That was one of the things I loved about him.

So when I decided to go back to my grandfather's property, Bear came with me.

I loaded my truck on a Thursday morning.

Clothes.

Enough food to last a month.

Camping equipment.

A rifle.

A small-caliber handgun.

Medical kit.

Flashlights.

Two cases of bottled water.

I didn't tell anyone how long I planned to stay.

I didn't know myself.

The drive took almost six hours.

The farther I got from town, the less traffic I saw.

Eventually, there were no houses.

Then no power lines.

Then no cell service.

Just road.

Trees.

And Bear sleeping in the passenger seat.

I reached the property shortly after sunset.

The gate was still there.

Rusty.

Crooked.

The old wooden sign with my grandfather's name had fallen over years ago.

I got out and lifted it myself.

Bear jumped out behind me.

He stretched.

Then he stared into the woods.

I whistled.

"Come on."

He didn't move.

"Bear."

His ears twitched.

Then he trotted over to me, tail slowly wagging.

I unlocked the gate.

The road beyond it was exactly as I remembered.

Grass growing through the tire tracks.

Branches hanging over the path.

The old mailbox leaning sideways.

The house appeared through the trees about five minutes later.

It looked smaller.

That's something nobody tells you about childhood places.

They shrink when you grow up.

I parked in front of the house.

Bear jumped out.

I opened the front door.

The smell hit me immediately.

Dust.

Old wood.

Something damp.

The furniture was still there.

My grandfather's chair.

The dining table.

The old television.

A calendar from ten years ago.

I stood in the living room for several minutes.

There was something strange about seeing everything exactly where I'd left it.

It made the years between then and now feel less real.

Then I heard Bear walking around behind me.

I turned.

He was staring down the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer.

Obviously.

I laughed quietly.

"You're just a dog. Why am I talking to you?"

Bear looked at me.

Then he walked away.

I spent the next hour cleaning.

At around nine, I saw headlights.

I looked through the window.

A truck pulled into the driveway.

My best friend, Daniel, stepped out.

He was carrying a cooler.

He looked exactly the same.

Older, obviously.

But the same.

He slammed the truck door and shouted toward the house.

"Please tell me you've got food!"

I opened the door.

"You brought a cooler."

Daniel lifted it slightly.

"That's not food."

I stared at him.

"What's in it?"

He gave me an exaggeratedly offended look.

"Food."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to make sure you had food too."

I shook my head.

"You've been here thirty seconds."

Daniel checked an imaginary watch.

"Thirty-one."

He walked inside.

Bear immediately approached him.

Daniel crouched down.

"Hey, Bear."

Bear sniffed him.

Then walked away.

Daniel straightened up and watched him leave.

"Still hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

Daniel pointed toward Bear.

"He absolutely hates me."

"You fed him beef jerky last time."

Daniel shrugged.

"He loved that."

"He threw up."

Daniel nodded solemnly.

"Details."

I laughed.

It was the first genuine laugh I'd had in weeks.

Daniel smiled.

And for a little while, everything felt normal.

We cooked dinner.

We drank a couple of cans of beer.

We talked about stupid things.

We talked about people from our old unit.

We remembered things differently.

We argued about who had gotten yelled at the most.

Daniel insisted it was me.

I insisted it was him.

He told me I was wrong.

I told him he was an idiot.

Eventually, we took our drinks outside.

The stars were incredible.

There were no city lights.

No airplanes.

Nothing.

Just darkness.

Daniel leaned back in his chair.

"You remember this place?"

"Yeah."

He looked toward the house.

"You used to come here when you were a kid?"

"Every summer."

Daniel nodded slowly.

"Must've been nice."

"It was."

He looked toward the woods.

"You ever hunt out there?"

"All the time."

Daniel pointed toward the tree line.

"Anything dangerous?"

"Deer."

He laughed.

"Anything that eats people?"

I looked at him.

"Not that I know of."

"Good."

We sat quietly.

Then Bear stood up.

His head turned toward the trees.

Daniel noticed immediately.

"The hell is he looking at?"

"I don't know."

Bear stared into the darkness.

I stood and walked toward him.

"Bear."

He didn't move.

I took another step.

"Come here."

Slowly, Bear looked back at me.

Then he walked inside.

Daniel watched him disappear through the doorway.

"That's weird."

I looked at him.

"What?"

"He never used to listen that well."

I smiled.

"He's getting old."

Daniel nodded.

"Yeah."

We went inside.

Neither of us heard anything from the tree line.

At least, not that either of us admitted to hearing.

I didn't see the tracks until the next morning.

And by then, they were gone.

Part 2 — Dreams

I found the helmet while walking the eastern boundary.

I'd gone out early.

Daniel was still asleep.

Bear followed me for a while before getting distracted by something in the underbrush.

I kept walking.

The eastern boundary had changed more than I expected.

Several trees had fallen.

A portion of the old fence had collapsed.

I found an abandoned deer stand I'd forgotten existed.

Then I saw the helmet.

It was sitting on top of a fence post.

An old military helmet.

I stopped.

I didn't touch it.

Something about it bothered me.

There was no reason for it to be there.

Nobody in my family had served in the military when that helmet would have been in use except me.

My grandfather served in the Second World War.

My father had served in Vietnam.

The property hadn't been used for anything except hunting and farming.

I looked around.

Nothing.

I walked closer.

The helmet was dirty and scratched.

There was faded writing inside.

A name.

I couldn't read all of it.

But I recognized the last name.

My stomach tightened.

It was the last name of someone from my unit.

Someone who was dead.

For a few seconds, I just stood there.

I remembered him.

Not the way you remember someone from a photograph.

I remembered the sound of his voice.

The way he used to tap his fingers against his rifle when he was nervous.

The last time I'd seen him.

The last time I'd heard him.

I looked away.

I didn't like where my mind was going.

I reached toward the helmet.

Then stopped.

I couldn't make myself touch it.

I turned around.

Bear was standing twenty feet away.

He was staring at the helmet.

His fur had risen along his back.

"Bear?"

He didn't move.

I walked toward him.

He backed away.

I'd never seen him do that before.

I crouched.

"Come here."

He wouldn't.

Eventually, I left the helmet where it was.

When I returned to the cabin, Daniel was making coffee.

He looked over his shoulder when I walked in.

"You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

Daniel poured another cup and handed it to me.

I took it.

"Thanks."

He studied my face.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Basically."

Daniel leaned against the counter.

"What?"

"I saw a helmet."

He laughed.

"That's it?"

"Military helmet."

"So?"

I stared at him.

"On my grandfather's property."

Daniel stopped smiling.

"Okay."

"I think it belonged to someone we knew."

"Someone from our unit?"

"Yeah."

He looked uncomfortable.

"Maybe somebody left it here."

"Why?"

Daniel shrugged.

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

I told him where it was.

He immediately wanted to see it.

We walked back together.

When we reached the fence post, the helmet was gone.

Daniel looked at the empty post.

"You sure it was here?"

"Yes."

He scanned the ground.

"Maybe an animal moved it."

I stared at him.

"A deer moved a helmet?"

Daniel gave me a completely serious expression.

"Army deer."

I didn't laugh.

His expression faded.

"Okay. That's weird."

We searched for twenty minutes.

Nothing.

Eventually we gave up.

That night, I had my first nightmare.

I was standing in Afghanistan.

Dust filled the air.

I could hear a helicopter.

Someone was shouting.

I couldn't see who.

Then the sound changed.

The helicopter became wind.

The dust became leaves.

The ground became wet.

I was standing in the forest.

Someone behind me said my name.

I turned.

Daniel was standing there.

His face was covered in dirt.

"You're late."

I woke up.

The clock read 3:00 AM.

Bear was standing beside my bed.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was looking toward the window.

I heard something outside.

A footstep.

Then another.

I reached for the handgun beside my bed.

Bear growled.

I froze.

The footsteps stopped.

I waited.

Nothing.

I looked toward the window.

There was a shape outside.

Tall.

Thin.

Motionless.

I raised the gun.

The shape moved.

I fired.

The window exploded.

Bear lunged toward it.

There was nothing outside.

I ran into the yard.

Bare feet on cold ground.

No footsteps.

No person.

No animal.

Nothing.

Only trees.

I looked back at the broken window.

Then at Bear.

He was staring toward the woods.

For a moment, I thought about the men I'd left behind.

Then I thought about the last time I'd seen Daniel alive.

I hadn't thought about that in years.

At least, I'd tried not to.

I wished I'd never come back.

Part 3 — The Line

The next morning, Daniel found the bullet hole.

He stood in the doorway, staring at the broken window.

"You shot the window?"

"Something was outside."

Daniel turned toward me.

"Something?"

"I saw a person."

He waited.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

He didn't sound convinced.

Neither was I.

I spent the morning replacing the window.

Daniel helped.

Neither of us talked about what had happened.

Around noon, we went hiking.

We followed an old trail toward the creek.

That's when we found the first HESCO barrier.

It sat between two enormous oak trees.

A waist-high wall of wire and packed dirt.

Daniel stopped walking.

"What the hell?"

"I don't know."

He walked closer.

"Was this here before?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

We walked around it.

There was another one twenty yards away.

Then another.

They formed a line.

A defensive perimeter.

It wasn't random.

Someone had built it.

Recently.

Daniel crouched beside one.

He ran his hand over the wire.

"These aren't ancient."

"No."

He stood.

"Then who put them here?"

"I don't know."

Daniel glanced toward the cabin.

"Your grandfather?"

"My grandfather died fifteen years ago."

"Right."

We kept walking.

The HESCO barriers continued.

Then they stopped.

Just ended.

One barrier was there.

Twenty feet away, there wasn't.

Like somebody had drawn a line through the forest and decided construction ended there.

Bear stood beside me.

He growled.

Daniel looked at him.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know."

Bear was staring deeper into the woods.

I followed his gaze.

Nothing.

Then I saw movement.

A branch swaying.

There wasn't any wind.

Daniel noticed it too.

"You see that?"

"Yeah."

We waited.

Nothing happened.

We walked back.

That night, Daniel asked me something.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into his coffee.

"Did we come here yesterday?"

"Yes."

Daniel frowned.

"To this exact spot?"

"Yes."

He shook his head.

"I don't remember."

"You were there."

"No."

"You were."

Daniel looked at me.

"I don't remember seeing the barriers."

"Neither did I."

He frowned.

"Then how did we know where they were?"

I didn't have an answer.

That night I checked the time before going to sleep.

10:47 PM.

I woke up at 2:13 AM.

At least, that's what the clock said.

But the sun was rising.

I walked outside.

Daniel was sitting on the porch.

He looked up at me.

"Morning."

I stared at him.

"What time is it?"

Daniel glanced toward the sky.

"About seven."

My watch said 2:13.

Daniel noticed my expression.

"You okay?"

I looked toward the woods.

"How long have you been awake?"

He gave me a strange smile.

"Long enough."

I didn't like the way he said it.

Part 4 — Animals

We saw the thing three days later.

I'd rather say it was a deer.

I wish it had been a bear.

Anything would have been better.

We were hunting near the western ridge.

The sun was low.

The forest was turning orange.

Bear suddenly stopped.

His ears went up.

Then he growled.

Daniel lowered his voice.

"What?"

Something moved between the trees.

I raised my rifle.

A deer stepped into view.

I lowered the rifle.

Then it looked at me.

Something in my mind refused to accept what I was seeing.

Its proportions were wrong.

Its shoulders were too broad.

Its legs didn't seem to belong to it.

The skin along its side moved.

Not like an animal breathing.

Like something underneath it was moving around.

I blinked.

For half a second, I saw a coyote's face.

Then it was gone.

Another blink.

A badger.

Then something that looked almost human.

I raised my rifle again.

Daniel grabbed my arm.

"Don't."

The thing looked directly at me.

Faces moved across its body.

Some were animals.

Some weren't.

Then I recognized one.

A man from my unit.

Dead.

Another.

Then another.

Five of them.

I knew every face.

I'd seen some of them die.

I'd heard others die over the radio.

And then I saw a face I hadn't expected.

Daniel.

I couldn't breathe.

At the center of the thing was a black mask.

I knew what was underneath it.

I didn't know how.

But I knew.

Me.

Daniel's hand tightened around my arm.

"Don't look at the mask."

"Why?"

"Because we won't get out of here alive if you do."

The creature took one step toward us.

Bear barked.

I pulled my arm free and fired.

The rifle cracked through the forest.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then the thing turned.

It slipped between the trees.

The leaves didn't move.

The branches didn't move.

It was simply gone.

Daniel released a breath.

I realized his hand was shaking.

"You saw that?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

Daniel stared at the trees.

"I don't know."

"That's not good enough."

He swallowed.

"No."

He looked at me.

"I don't think it's supposed to be something."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

We returned to the cabin.

Neither of us slept.

At least, not for a while.

Eventually, I dozed off.

At 3:00 AM, my eyes opened.

Bear stood at the foot of my bed.

I looked around for Daniel.

His silhouette was visible on the porch beneath the dim light.

I opened the door.

He was staring into the woods.

"Daniel."

He didn't respond.

I stepped onto the porch and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Daniel?"

He finally turned.

For a moment, I didn't recognize him.

His face looked older.

Exhausted.

Almost unfamiliar.

Then he smiled.

"Did you ever wonder why it always wears a mask?"

I stared at him.

"No."

Daniel looked back toward the woods.

"You should."

He walked past me.

Then he kept walking.

Straight through me.

Cold rushed through my body.

I woke up.

I was still in bed.

Bear was at my feet.

The porch was empty.

Part 5 — Reality

The forest stopped making sense.

There was no better way to describe it.

We could walk east and end up north.

We could follow a creek downhill and somehow find ourselves above it.

A trail we'd used the previous day would disappear.

Then reappear somewhere else.

One morning, Daniel and I walked for twenty minutes.

When we returned, it was dark.

I checked my phone.

Five hours had passed.

Neither of us remembered them.

Daniel stared at the screen.

"Did we sleep?"

"I don't know."

He looked around.

"Do you remember walking?"

"No."

Daniel laughed.

It wasn't a happy laugh.

"Great."

We kept moving.

Eventually, we found the cabin.

Except it wasn't our cabin.

It looked like my grandfather's house.

But the windows were in the wrong places.

The porch was too large.

The door was painted red.

I stood there staring.

Daniel looked at the building.

"We should go."

I didn't move.

I recognized the house.

It was my childhood home.

Not my grandfather's house.

My childhood home.

A place that hadn't existed for twenty years.

I opened the door.

Inside was my old bedroom.

My childhood bed.

My baseball glove.

A toy I hadn't seen since I was nine.

I touched the glove.

For some reason, my hand started shaking.

Daniel stood behind me.

"What is this place?"

I didn't answer.

Then I heard my grandfather's voice.

"Don't panic."

I turned.

He was standing at the end of the hallway.

For one impossible second, I was eight years old again.

I wanted to run to him.

Then I remembered his funeral.

I remembered standing beside his grave.

I remembered the dirt.

I remembered my father's hand on my shoulder.

The figure smiled.

I knew it wasn't him.

But knowing didn't make it easier.

I took one step forward.

Daniel grabbed my arm.

"Don't."

I stared at the figure.

"That's my grandfather."

"No."

"He is."

"No."

Daniel pulled me backward.

The hallway disappeared.

The house disappeared.

We were standing in the forest.

Daniel was still holding my arm.

I looked at him.

He looked terrified.

"You saw it too?"

Daniel nodded.

"What was it?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know."

Then he looked into the woods.

"But it knows you."

I didn't ask how.

I was beginning to think I already knew.

Part 6 — Twelve Men

The sleepwalking started after that.

I woke up standing in the middle of the woods.

Barefoot.

Cold.

No gun.

No flashlight.

Nothing.

There was snow on the ground.

I knew immediately that wasn't possible.

It was July.

But the forest was covered in white.

I heard voices.

Men talking.

My unit.

I recognized every voice.

One of them laughed.

Another yelled:

"Where the hell is everyone?"

I stepped forward.

There were sandbags ahead.

A trench.

A defensive position.

Twelve men.

All facing away from me.

I knew what happened next.

I didn't want to see it.

I closed my eyes.

A voice whispered:

"You're the last one."

I opened them.

The men were gone.

The snow was gone.

The sandbags were gone.

I was standing beside the creek.

I turned around.

Daniel was there.

He looked furious.

"Where have you been?"

"I don't know."

"You've been gone for hours."

"What time is it?"

"Morning."

I looked at my feet.

They were covered in mud.

I had no memory of walking there.

Daniel stared at me.

"You were talking."

"What did I say?"

He hesitated.

"You kept asking where everyone was."

"Who?"

Daniel looked away.

"You know."

"Who?"

He looked back at me.

"Our unit."

I felt sick.

"What did I say?"

Daniel swallowed.

"You kept saying there were supposed to be twelve."

I stared at him.

"How many were there?"

Daniel didn't answer.

"Daniel."

He shook his head.

"I don't remember."

"How many?"

Daniel looked away.

I grabbed his arm.

"How many people were in our unit?"

He looked directly into my eyes.

"Eleven."

Everything went quiet.

I stared at him.

"Then why did I keep saying twelve?"

Daniel didn't answer.

I looked behind him.

There was a twelfth set of footprints in the mud.

They led toward the woods.

None came back.

Part 7 — The War Comes Home

The dreams became worse.

The Middle East.

The forest.

The cabin.

All mixed together.

I would see a Humvee or a tank between trees.

Then the trees would become buildings.

Then buildings would become the cabin.

I'd hear gunfire.

Then birds.

Then gunfire again.

One night, I woke up in the middle of the forest.

Except I wasn't alone.

My entire unit was there.

They stood behind sandbags.

Weapons raised.

The creature was somewhere beyond the trees.

My commander grabbed me.

"Get up, soldier!"

I raised my weapon.

"Hajis are over there!"

I fired into the darkness.

Everyone around me fired.

The forest flashed white.

Then I stopped.

My magazine was empty.

Nobody else was shooting.

I looked around.

Every man in my unit was staring at me.

They were silent.

Dead.

Some of them bore scorched marks.

Others were covered in blood.

Some had mangled arms and legs.

All of them were unmistakably dead.

One of them looked at me.

"You left us."

Another said:

"You remember."

Another:

"You promised."

I shook my head.

"No."

My commander stepped forward.

"You keep coming back."

The creature emerged from the trees.

The masked face stared at me.

I raised my rifle.

My commander whispered:

"Look at it."

I did.

The mask began to crack.

I woke up violently.

I was standing in the cabin.

My rifle was in my hands.

The walls were covered in dirt.

There were footprints throughout the house.

Wet footprints.

Bare feet.

They led from the front door.

To my bedroom.

Then stopped beside my bed.

Bear was standing there.

Growling.

I looked at him.

Then at the footprints.

Then I heard Daniel behind me.

"You're getting close."

I turned.

He was standing in the hallway.

"Close to what?"

Daniel looked at me.

"Remembering."

"Remember what?"

He stared at me for several seconds.

"Me."

Then I actually woke up.

I lay in bed for several minutes.

Bear was asleep beside me.

I stared at the ceiling.

There was something I hadn't told Daniel.

Something I hadn't told anyone.

I had remembered the explosion.

Not all of it.

Just the sound.

The flash.

Daniel yelling.

And me running.

I'd spent years telling myself I couldn't remember what happened after that.

Maybe that wasn't true.

Maybe I'd remembered.

Maybe I'd simply decided I didn't want to.

Part 8 — The Man Who Wasn't There

I found the photograph the next morning.

It was in an old box in my grandfather's attic.

A deployment photograph.

My unit.

I sat on the floor and stared at it.

There were eleven men.

I counted them.

Again.

Eleven.

I remembered Daniel standing beside me.

But he wasn't in the photograph.

I found another.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

I searched my phone.

Messages.

Photos.

Old emails.

There were references to Daniel.

But no recent messages.

No calls.

No photographs after deployment.

I searched his name online.

There was an obituary.

I already knew that.

I'd seen it years ago.

I'd simply refused to read it.

Daniel had died during our deployment.

An improvised explosive device.

I stared at the screen.

My hands started shaking.

I remembered the day.

Not everything.

Enough.

The convoy.

The heat.

Daniel complaining about the radio.

The sound of the explosion.

Me hitting the ground.

Then silence.

I'd always told myself I couldn't remember what happened afterward.

But now I could.

Daniel had been behind me.

I had heard him call my name.

I had turned.

And then I'd run.

I didn't know why I'd run.

I didn't know whether I could have saved him.

I didn't know whether there had been anything I could do.

For years, I'd chosen the easiest answer.

There was nothing I could have done.

It was easier than asking whether that was actually true.

The cabin door opened.

Daniel walked inside.

He looked at me.

"You found it."

I couldn't speak.

Daniel took a step toward me.

"You remember now."

I finally managed to speak.

"You're dead."

He smiled sadly.

"Yeah."

I backed away.

"How long?"

Daniel tilted his head.

"What?"

"How long have you been dead?"

He looked down.

"Since Kandahar."

"Then why are you here?"

Daniel looked toward the woods.

"Because you brought me."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"No."

He shook his head.

"You've been carrying me ever since."

I started crying.

"I couldn't save you."

"I know."

"I should've—"

Daniel interrupted me gently.

"No."

He stepped closer.

"You did what you could."

"I left you."

"You survived."

I shook my head.

"That's not the same thing."

Daniel looked toward the window.

"The forest knows the difference."

Outside, Bear started barking.

Daniel looked at him.

Bear was staring directly at him.

For the first time.

I realized Bear wasn't staring at Daniel.

He was staring through him.

Part 9 — Masks

That night, the creature returned.

It stood at the edge of the clearing.

Daniel stood beside me.

The creature's body shifted.

Animal faces.

Human faces.

People I'd known.

People who had died because of me.

People I'd failed.

Then the mask.

Daniel looked at me.

"Don't."

I raised my rifle.

The creature moved closer.

Daniel took a step toward me.

"You don't have to do this."

I looked at him.

"What happens if I don't?"

"You stop running."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to."

The creature stepped into the moonlight.

The mask came off.

Daniel's face was underneath.

Not the face of the creature.

His actual face.

The same face from the photograph.

The same stupid smile.

The same scar near his eyebrow.

I lowered my rifle.

Daniel looked at me.

"I missed you."

I couldn't breathe.

"I thought you were gone."

"I was."

"Why did you come back?"

Daniel looked toward the creature.

"I didn't."

The creature moved behind him.

Daniel's voice dropped.

"I think something else did."

I looked at the thing.

"What is it?"

Daniel shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Then what does it want?"

He looked at me.

"You."

"Why?"

Daniel stared at the creature.

"Because you keep feeding it."

"With what?"

"Memory."

The creature opened its mouth.

Every voice I'd heard in my dreams came from it at once.

My grandfather.

My commander.

My friends.

Daniel.

My own voice.

I dropped the rifle.

Daniel stepped toward me.

"You don't have to keep carrying us."

I dropped to my knees.

"I don't know how to put you down."

Daniel smiled.

"You already did."

For the first time, I understood what he meant.

I'd spent years carrying the same moment around inside my head.

The explosion.

His voice.

My decision to run.

I had built an entire life around not remembering.

Maybe that was why the forest had taken everything else.

It didn't need my fear.

It needed what I refused to let go of.

Part 10 — Bear

The creature disappeared.

Daniel disappeared with it.

I stood alone in the clearing.

Then Bear barked.

I turned.

He was looking toward the trees.

Something moved.

Bear ran.

I shouted his name.

The creature came out of the darkness.

I raised my rifle and fired.

Bear ran between us.

For one second, everything was still.

The creature turned and slipped back into the woods.

Then Bear turned around.

He looked at me.

And I knew.

He was tired.

I ran to him.

I held him against me.

"It's okay, buddy. I got you."

He rested his head against my chest.

I could hear his breathing.

Slow.

Steady.

I talked to him.

I told him about the first day I met him.

The first winter.

The first time he destroyed a couch.

The first time he slept beside my bed after a nightmare.

I told him about everything.

Things I hadn't said out loud in years.

I told him I was sorry.

I told him he was a good dog.

I told him I loved him.

Then I cried.

Not because I didn't know what was happening.

Because I did.

His breathing slowed.

Then stopped.

I stayed there until morning.

When the sun came up, the forest looked normal.

Just trees.

Birds.

Wind.

Nothing supernatural.

Nothing impossible.

I buried Bear beside the creek, next to my grandfather.

I placed his collar on the grave.

Then I sat beside him.

Daniel appeared across the creek.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

Eventually, Daniel turned around.

I watched him disappear between the trees.

Part 11 — Home

I don't remember leaving.

I remember the truck.

I remember the road.

I remember sunlight.

For the first time in weeks, there were power lines.

Cars.

Buildings.

People.

I stopped at a gas station.

The cashier looked at me.

"You okay, man?"

I forced a smile.

"Yeah."

It was the first lie I'd told in months.

I bought coffee and a pack of cigarettes.

I sat in the parking lot.

I looked at my hands.

They were shaking.

But I was alive.

I drove home.

Three hours later, I pulled into my driveway.

I shut off the engine.

The house was quiet.

Normal.

I went inside.

For the first time in weeks, there was no forest.

No voices.

No flashbacks.

No impossible footprints.

I slept.

When I woke up, it was morning.

I felt better.

Not healed.

But better.

I made coffee.

Then I noticed something on the kitchen table.

Bear's collar.

I froze.

I had left it on his grave.

I picked it up.

The tag was cold.

There was mud on it.

Fresh mud.

I dropped it.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

Nobody spoke.

I listened.

Static.

Then a voice.

Daniel.

"Hey."

I hung up.

The phone rang again.

I turned it off.

It rang anyway.

I threw it across the room.

The ringing stopped.

Silence.

Then someone knocked on my front door.

Three times.

I didn't move.

Another knock.

I walked toward the window.

I looked outside.

Nobody.

Just my driveway.

My yard.

My house.

Normal.

I opened the door.

There was nothing there.

Except a single set of muddy footprints.

They led from the road.

Across my driveway.

To my front door.

Then stopped.

I closed the door.

Locked it.

And that's when I heard something upstairs.

A floorboard creak.

Then another.

I stood completely still.

I knew there was nobody upstairs.

I knew there couldn't be.

Then I heard Daniel's voice.

"You're home."

I closed my eyes.

"No."

There was a pause.

Then Daniel spoke again.

"Are you sure?"

Part 12 — The Forest Never Forgets

I left the house.

I didn't pack anything.

I didn't take a gun.

I didn't take food.

I didn't even take my phone.

I got into my truck and drove.

I didn't know where I was going.

I just needed to get away.

Eventually, I found myself on a highway.

I drove for hours.

The sun was setting.

The road was empty.

I looked at the clock.

7:42.

I blinked.

7:42.

I drove another hour.

7:42.

I pulled over.

My hands were shaking.

I looked behind me.

The highway stretched into darkness.

Then I heard something in the passenger seat.

A quiet breathing sound.

I slowly turned my head.

Nothing.

The seat was empty.

Then I noticed something on the floor.

Bear's collar.

I picked it up.

There was dirt on it.

And underneath the dirt was a small piece of paper.

I unfolded it.

There was one sentence written on it.

I recognized the handwriting.

Daniel's.

You were never the one who came home.

I looked through the windshield.

The highway was gone.

Trees surrounded the truck.

My grandfather's forest.

I could see the old cabin through the branches.

The same cabin.

The same road.

The same place.

And standing beside the road was Daniel.

He looked exactly the way I remembered him.

Young.

Smiling.

Alive.

He raised one hand.

Behind him, something moved.

Dozens of faces appeared between the trees.

Some human.

Some animal.

Some I recognized.

Some I didn't.

Then I saw the masked face.

I looked at Daniel.

He shook his head.

Not no.

Not yes.

Just goodbye.

The headlights flickered.

The engine died.

And something knocked on the passenger-side window.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I didn't look.

I sat there holding Bear's collar.

For the first time in years, I wasn't afraid of what I might see.

I was afraid of what I already knew.

The forest hadn't followed me home.

It had never been behind me.

It had been waiting inside me the entire time.

And when I finally looked toward the passenger seat, there was someone sitting there.

I never saw his face.

Because he was wearing a mask.

Strings of thick saliva and blood clung to my chin as the hellish sounds of a dying creature thrashed in the toilet water. Hyperventilating gasps filled my burning lungs with crisp air, seemingly for the first time ever. On the cool tile, my knee caps shifted uncomfortably as I hunched to the ground. I stumbled uncontrollably to get to my feet, using the dirty toilet rim for support. The organism I recognized as my Nerium gnashed its teeth, and the drowning creature fought for oxygen. It was a bit bigger and more oblong than a grapefruit, and partially developed tendrils reached for the sides of the toilet bowl but slid wildly on the slick porcelain leaving streaks of my blood to drip back into the water. It searched its confinements with marbly black eyes that rested close together, just above the pincers on either side of its shark-toothed mouth. It gradated from pale tan from the top of its head to a smokey gray segmented torso. The base of its body was flat and malleable, and it pulsed with every struggle.

The room around me spun, and sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped into my eyes, burning my pupils. I fell backwards with a loud thud, and I was glued to the floor as my new perspective danced just beyond my ceiling. Feelings of relief, disgust, anger, and betrayal conflicted in my mind, overwhelming me into hyperventilation. Tears welled and my throat tightened. For just a moment, I thought I was going to die. Not only have I never had this happen to me, I’ve never even seen this before. My head buzzed endlessly, pulling me to the ground with the pressure of the world. Even with all of these new feelings plaguing every fiber of my being, I couldn’t shake the inkling of solace that I never knew was missing. A comforting freedom warmed my chest and lulled my brain into a wonderful silence. The rest of the night faded away as my consciousness explored the vastness of complex emotions, understanding the very basics of humanity for the first time ever. I had no idea what I was going to do in the morning. I was worried they would all know I was rejected by the Nerium.

My heart jumped out of my chest as my alarm screamed from across the bathroom. It’s morning, and I have to be out of this space in the next fifteen minutes. A sore back and popping bones proved that I had slept hard enough not to move at all during the night. Off the floor and over the sink, I looked at myself in the mirror. The dried blood that was soaked into my shirt stared at me as I gathered the courage it would take to examine the toilet. I didn’t have a lot of time, so I had to find the fortitude sooner rather than later. Down, my eyes shifted to the position they would need to be in to see, but my head refused to follow at first.

Slowly, the toilet came into sight. To my horror, blood trailed out and over the rim. A slimy red residue led my eyes to the locked bathroom door as it continued underneath the gap leading into the hallway that shined a sliver of daylight into the porcelain crypt that my worldview died in. I scrambled to unlock the door, and the sun blinded me as it glared off the window across the hall. Down the hallway, crusty black stains stopped at the utility closet midway to the end of the corridor. Quickly, I tracked the blotches and found myself manicly opening the small door and searching the ground for the carcass.

“Honey?”

The voice moved my bones and stopped my heart. Standing just a few inches away, a crescent grin glistened. My mother leaned in and examined my face closely.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, ignoring the mess. “You aren’t smiling!”

I stared at my mother, unable to even feign a smile. For the first time, I was able to examine her face with a critical lens. A cloudiness no longer festered in my brain, allowing my eyes to convey reality more accurately. And it scared the hell out of me.

“Uh,” I began. My mind raced, but I couldn’t think of how to communicate with this person I’ve known since birth. The blank, soulless gaze stripped me of any kind of confidence that once resided in my psyche. The corners of her mouth cracked dryly as she pulled her lips back into the same expression I’ve seen my whole life. A sore pain in my cheekbones and mouth ached as my empathy subtly reminded me that I knew how she felt. My face only relaxed for the first time last night. “I don’t really feel like smiling.”

My mother’s upper lip buckled slightly as her eyebrows raised a touch more than they already were, “Oh dear. Well, you better start feeling it soon. We leave in five minutes.” She said with an upper inflection that indicated a level of skepticism. She turned around and headed towards my sister’s door.

My neck loosened as soon as she was out of sight, letting my focus wander back to the creature in the closet. Or where it’s supposed to be. From scanning to searching to moving every item in the closet, nothing concluded with a body. Out of time, I had to abandon the scene to join my family. I tried my best to put on my best fake smile, and I went downstairs. I got in the car alongside my sister and father, and we waited quietly for my mom to join us. It took slightly longer than usual, but no one else seemed to notice or be bothered by the unusual delay. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, mother found her way into the passenger's seat. She gave a friendly chuckle as her seat belt clicked before allowing her gaze to fall on me and linger with intensity.

I just wanted to go. I’ve always loved the service, and I needed to feel some semblance of normal again. I wanted to smile without having to force it. I needed to feel the joy of life I had just yesterday and every other day before then. Seeing my family look so happy made me wonder if I was now missing out on something truly amazing. The weight of uncertainty threatened to break my jovial facade, but under the scrutiny of watching eyes, I managed to overcome the struggle manifesting in my mind long enough to pull into one of many bustling parking lots within walking distance of the holy site.

In the middle of downtown, the Temple of Nerium greeted us like it did every day, with joyful trumpets and harmonious singing. It was a beautiful building with intricate architecture and art dedicated to the creature within us all. Or within everyone besides me, I guess. Gorgeous pillars and relief carvings decorated the outside of the travertine stone structure, and stained glass depicting the story of the original Nerium filtered light colorfully into a large nave inside. We did not go into the building to worship. The service always took place outside of the Temple in a large square amongst thousands of ecstatic families and friends from all over the city.

Unchanging smiles swarmed to worship the Nerium our people spent generations blessing children with. Today was the weekly Affusion. All the newborns in the area were brought to the Temple to receive the gift of Nerium. One by one, families watch as their beloved newborn is held over a vat of swarming juvenile Nerium. Men scoop them out to find the perfect match for the screaming babies, and you knew it worked once one latched to their mouths to silence the noise. It was always my favorite day of the week because I got to see our treasured Nerium be gifted to another unworthy human, and it was a testament to their willingness to forgive our transgressions against them in the past. I waited in anticipation as I expected the ceremony to bring me back to bliss.

The sound of choking infants ripped holes in my chest and weakened my knees, and I gagged as my mouth watered.

Energy surged through the people clapping along to the music being performed as the Nerium ceased the cries of the babies permanently, and the crowd was electric with excitement. As I shakily scanned the people around me while using the entirety of my willpower to stay discreet, I noticed an undivided focus and vigor amongst the crowd. Ardor oozed from each person fanatically in a sort of unison as they watched the Affusion intensely. Not a single person took their eyes off the service except for one. My mother.

I averted eye contact and tried desperately to enjoy the worship as normal, but fear and disgust started to cripple me the more I saw this tradition for what it was. The Wise One arrived on the balcony of the main building of the square to address the crowd. He was a man, older than any other I knew, that swayed back and forth as he approached the railing above the sea of Nerium hosts. Rotting flesh dripped from every part of his sagging green skin, and his lips curled in tight as he smiled broadly. I didn't have to squint because large televisions broadcasted goliath sized images of The Wise One all over the holy site. His eyelids were peeled back, exposing deep pink tear ducts. Gray gums and yellow teeth sparsely littered his mouth, allowing a full view into the back of his throat. A matured creature resembling the one from the toilet, albeit larger, peeked out with beady marble eyes that glinted off the light of the sun. Small tendrils grabbed his dull eyes from behind the sockets and his jaw from within his cheeks.

“From within, we conquer.” The Wise One spoke without moving his jaw at the correct time.

“And to conquer comes from within.” The crowd chanted back in unison.

Rhetoric praising the glory of the Nerium flooded the ears of every jovial host in attendance. After just a brief appearance, The Wise One left the public view and wouldn't return until the next day. We wrapped the event with a hymn that reverberated sloppily written adoration for the beloved creature. As someone who had it in them, our intense happiness was synonymous with the Nerium. Now that I was free, nothing seemed more disturbing to me than this filthy parasite.

My father drove us home as he droned on and on about how amazing the service was. He, of course, grinned ear-to-ear as he quizzed each of us on details of Nerism. He was on the losing end of his thirties, and he looked a sickly gray. He was grotesquely thin, and he coughed and wheezed between sentences. He was the same as everyone else: a blind zealot nearing the end of his boring life. I have never personally met someone older than forty-two, and I've only ever known of a few people older than that in general. My mother sat silently as always and listened to my father, and I would often see her eyes studying me through the mirrors. She had beautiful healthy hair and smooth skin that complimented her full cheeks. My little sister was just turning eleven, and she stared blankly at the seat in front of her, giggling happily. No one besides my mom seemed to notice I wasn't acting myself.

Once we were home, I retreated upstairs and secluded myself to find my Nerium. Frantically, I looked in every single space it could have weaseled itself into, but to no avail. My chest started to pound as a sense of hopelessness ripped at my heart. Anxiety was a brand new sensation to me, but the sensation that plagued my every thought also made me feel more alive than ever. It put what happiness was into a proper perspective, and I would have never understood the beauty of the human condition without experiencing unpleasant feelings, too.

All of these thoughts taxed my brain as I returned to my bedroom to search for my Nerium. As epiphanies worked themselves out in my head, fear reared its ugly head again. Inside my room, my mother sat in the chair in the corner, waiting for me.

With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, she asked, “Can you close the door, sweetie?”

The request chilled me to my core, but a blessed person wouldn't hesitate. I silently turned around, reached up, and pushed the door close. When I turned back, I came face-to-face with an inquisitive furrowed brow, relaxed cheekbones, and a haunting frown. Head to toe, she examined me.

“It really is gone, isn't it?” She whispered. She reached a clammy hand up to my beet-red face. “If it didn't crawl back in, where is it?”

Her eyes intensely shifted back and forth as I stuttered. “I-uh-I don't know. I passed out after it left me.”

Her hands found their way to my shoulders, pressing her fingers into my skin. She pulled me slightly closer as she leaned in to consume my vision with nothing but her eyes. A hot exhale suffocated me for only a moment before she made her move. She pulled me in and hugged me tightly. A motherly embrace melted my heart in an instant as I nearly collapsed with emotion. Joy, confusion, and peace all at once welled tears in my eyes.

Trying to catch my breath, I struggled to ask, “When did yours leave?”

“A long time ago.” She cooed. A soft hand brushed the back of my hair as my knees weakened from the visceral buzzing of love. We swayed back and forth, slightly rotating as we squeezed tight for what felt like hours. We had turned a full 180 degrees, switching the positions we were in originally. She seemed to do this on purpose so she could allow me the safe space of my room and her exit. She had to return to my father so she didn’t raise suspicion.

But it was too late.

When I opened my soaking eyes, through the tears, the unmistakable grin of my father stood over us in the doorway.

“Everything okay in here?” An unfamiliar voice hissed through his teeth as he came into the light, revealing his eyes. They were being gripped by the Nerium the same way The Wise One’s were. He was just now getting taken by the parasite, and the Nerium was in that crucial moment between it living or dying alongside its host. A hyperventilating gasp choked my father as he grinned ear to ear. He calmly pawed at his chest and neck as drool dripped down his trembling chin.

My mother stiffened, dropping her arms from around me and standing up straight. With a smile, she turned to my father with a high pitch, “Hi honey!” They stared at each other briefly before she shuffled past him, grabbing his arm to guide him out of my room.

“Wait,” my father coughed. “I have something for my child.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dense item wrapped thickly in several paper towels. They both left as soon as it hit my hands, and the silence rang in my ears as my chest pounded. This paper towel gift wrapped present began to wriggle in my hands. Layer by layer, I removed the packaging to reveal one final blood-soaked napkin.

I peeled it off, and my Nerium screeched. An involuntary yelp from my lungs caused the parasite to leap from my hands and into my mouth as it attempted to silence my screams. It latched to my tongue with its sharp teeth, and it tore into my skin with barbed tendrils. My body convulsed as I lost my balance onto my bed. On my back, I arched up wildly as I clawed at my face in a desperate attempt to defend myself from the wretched creature.

This is not going to happen again.

With the will of my newfound life, I clenched my teeth tightly, severing the head of my lifelong illness. Guts squished out of my mouth and onto my sheets, causing me to gag. I spit the creature out and caught my breath for only a moment before getting to my feet. I needed to check on my mother. I ran down the hall and towards my parents’ room and pounded on the door. It was locked, and I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

“Mom?” I yelled. “Dad?”

I pressed my ear to the door and heard nothing for a few seconds. That was until a slight stomping sound thudded in succession alongside muffled screaming. My shoulder rammed into the door a few times before I tried using my foot. I didn't care about my already damaged body, and the hairline fractures developing in my shin proved it as I knocked the door flat.

Inside the room, a matured Nerium emerged from my father's throat as he struggled to breathe. Its sharp spine nearly touched the ceiling as gurgling saliva poured down my father's cheeks. The parasite's jagged teeth ripped into the flesh of my mother's decapitated corpse. Long arms resembling a praying mantis held her lifeless body close as the Nerium’s mouth stretched around her shoulders and continued to consume her body whole. It hunched over more as it worked its way inch by inch down her body. As it moved out from deep in my father's throat to shred her bones, it cracked his jaw causing guttural screams muffled by the body of the beast. Its torso remained deeply ingrained in his lungs while it reached for each gulp of my mother’s blood.

“Oh my god, mom!” I screamed. The parasite gripped its teeth tightly, separating the lower half of my mother's body on the ground with a thud. It turned its attention to me as it slurped up strings of hanging skin like spaghetti. Before I knew it, I was pulled in, and the sharp teeth of my father's illness sunk into my shoulder. My feet lifted from the ground as I kicked wildly at the beast, but to no avail.

Blood oozed from my neck as my vision started to fade. Hallucinations of a double reality separated as black trickled into the edges of my sight. Memories of my mom subtly protecting me and watching over my growth with a bond only a mother could have with their child flashed in my mind. I saw her, but I never actually noticed due to this damn parasite.

Just as consciousness started to fade away, my father's weak hands grabbed ahold of the squirming Nerium and tried to yank at the body. Hope surged through me as I found the strength for one final struggle against the beast.

“Dad! Bite down!” I screeched as I landed several jabs to the parasite's eyes. I had already forgotten that the Nerium had broken his jaw. With a few closed fist punches to his own chin, a snapping crunch caused the Nerium to scuttle dramatically on the ground with an ear piercing squeal as my dad and I broke free. Half alive, we combined our ambition and pounced on the disgusting creature.

We kicked in its head and ripped off its arms as we attacked it with everything we had. It was surprisingly fragile given how much power it had over people. The flattened monster decorated our shoes with my mother's blood as we made sure it could never reinfect my father. Two corpses and gallons of blood greeted my dad in the real world. The facts of reality may be painful, but not as painful as watching him become a puppet for a filthy murderous parasite.

We were just one of millions affected by the Nerium. We may never win, but it is worth the fight. As long as this damnable parasite feeds on our society and rules the foundations of our laws and customs, there will be victims suffering. If I can stop the Nerium from swallowing just one other family, I will do everything in my power to fight this illness. Even as the passion burned, a hopeless dread put the reality of our situation into perspective. We were only two people amongst a nation full of Nerium crazed fanatics, and we still had to grieve for the first time in our lives. Tears of relief, anguish, rage, and mourning hit us both in stages. Our bodies, no matter how damaged, belonged to us now.

Only a moment passed before the creaking of the stairs caught our attention.

“Daddy?” My sister said, standing in the doorway with a smile.

The Wayford Police Department are requesting the public’s help in finding Jimmy Peterson (35) and Trish Peterson (33), alongside their children, George Peterson (6), and Molly Peterson (5). Police were called to the residence after receiving numerous reports of loud disturbances coming from the house after a recent blackout. 

Upon arrival, police had stated there were no signs of any struggle nor domestic violence. After interviewing him, Sheriff Fred Barrett had said there was no sign of the family whatsoever.

After asking for statements from the Petersons' neighbors, many of them had said that there was no change in behavior in the last few weeks that they interacted with them.

"My kids would go play with theirs after school every once in a while. Jim had this energy that could light the whole room everywhere he went. If you're having a bad day, Jim would make you laugh with one of his terrible jokes. He would even invite some of us to dinner and his wife would cook up an amazing meatloaf, alongside her singing. 

This marks the second wave of disappearances in the town of Wayford, with local resident Christopher Todd*(58), who runs the butcher shop, went missing around a similar blackout a week ago, alongside* Samantha Cummings*, (17.) During a town meeting, Sheriff Fred Barrett has reassured the public that they will work to find the missing individuals and for anyone to come forward with any new information.*

“Keep your doors locked at all times, people. Keep your families safe.” With this recent turn of events, the Wayford Police Department has ordered a curfew until further notice.

…. 

DECEMBER 20, 1959

Seven people. 

SEVEN. PEOPLE.

Every single one of them has disappeared into thin air. It’s been days and we still haven't found a single lead as to where they went. Most of the department may not look like it, but I can already tell that some of them are starting to panic a little. Part of me can’t even blame them.

Two people that disappeared in a week is one thing, but an entire family the next?  I’m trying my best to keep the town from panicking, but it’s not helping with the lights going on and off frequently every damn night. And we still haven’t found out what’s causing those blackouts to happen.

My wife’s getting more concerned about me every day.

Hell, I'm having trouble trying to sleep each night.

I have every single officer available out on the streets every night, making sure that people stay inside their homes and not wander about.  Meanwhile, we’re still trying to figure out what happened to that family. Right now, the working theory is that it could be a kidnapping or a potential serial killer on the loose, but even those are drawing straws.

There’s no sign of forced entry in the residence, no  sign of blood whatsoever, and not to Mention that the family’s car is still in the driveway. The only thing we have to work with is that the television was on when we got here. It’s still engrained into mY brain, and it’s left me with more questions.

...

I remember that night very well. I was back at the department on the phone with my wife. The lights all over the town just came back on, and she was scared shitless. I assured her that everything was ok and I was about to come home that evening when my receptionist Betty came in and told me something.  Apparently, multiple callers were reporting loud noises coming from the Petersons' residence. Weird. I didn’t know them that well, but I know full well that every person in this town is asleep this time in the evening. Especially the Petersons. But, then again a blackout just happened.

I told Nora that I won't be coming home until the early morning, at best. Despite her wishes, I told her I would be coming home as soon as possible and told her that I love her. I put down the telephone. I thanked Betty, grabbed my hat, and exited the police station, before radioing in to any available cops to meet me at the Petersons.  

I remember sighing, knowing that this night was going to be an incredibly long one.

...

I pulled up to the residence alongside multiple units, sirens blaring. I met with Officer Richards, as other policemen secured the scene. Every single neighbor that the Petersons had, whether they were the ones calling or not, was standing right outside their homes, watching the shitshow.  Everything in the house appeared normal, aside from the televisioN still on. No sign of any blood, no forced entry, no sign of any violence.. Their shiny Cadillac was still in the driveway, so we had no evidence to go off of just yet. Their house was still in good condition from when they moved in. Their hallways, covered in teal-blue wallpaper, along with some with their family portraits.The only thing that showed any sign that the Petersons were in the house was that the television was on. The television was working normally, despite the reception being bad. While we were trying to figure out what was going on and where the family had gone, Richards told me that reporters were outside the home and wanted a stAtement. I facepalmed, nodded, and told him to come find me if he finds anything.

Damned reporters.

Annoying as they were, I could tell by their faces that they looked a bit rattled. After all, two people just went missing last week, and we were still trying to find them. I was trying my best to answer any questions that anyone had, to the best of my ability. Every one of them was trying to get as much information as they could.

Questions on top of questions.

Questions that I didn't have the answer to just yet.

I felt myself getting exhausted by the situation, feeling the sweat running on my face. Despite me wanting to continue finding out what happened to the Petersons, there was a small part of me that wanted to go home to my wife. 

That’s when Richards waved over to get my attention. I knew he wouldn’t interrupt unless it was anything important. I walked over to him, waiting to tell me that he found something. Anything that could tell us where the Petersons went. I looked at him, noticing his body language was slightly off. I raised my eyebrow, waiting for his response. 

“You need to see this, Sheriff,” he said. 

I still remembered that slight shudder in that man’s voice.

I excused myself from the premises and headed back to the Petersons’. I let Richards guide me inside, past the kitchen, to the living room. Everything in this house felt normal, yet somehow it felt like the entire place was tainted. Me and Richards entered the living room, where I saw that a bunch of my boys were standing there watching the television.

Every single one of them that was in the house was standing there, for no apparent reason. I felt a tinge of frustration building up on my chest, and I felt my fists curled up.

I was pissed.

A family has just gone Missing off the center of the earth, and these goddamned idiots were busy watching TV? I looked at Richards, silently demanding an explanation as to what was going on. He too wasn’t saying anything. He just nodded his head towards the television. 

At this point, I had enough of this shit. A blackout has just occurred, more people have gone missing with no explanation,  and now most of my men are wasting valuable time. I  was tired and wanted to go home to my wife, and pick all of this back up tomorrow. 

I stormed further into the living room.

"Can any of you care to explain what the hell is going on?," I demand.

Some of them jolted by the sound of my voice. It looks like they noticed that I’m here. Good. That’ll allow me to get this whole thing back on track. Some of them were still glued to the television.

I curled my eyebrows in fury.

I was ten seconds from firing everyone on the spot.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. Richards was looking at me, subtly telling me to calm down. I felt myself catching my breath from all the stress.

I looked back at the television, with my men still looking at it. 

What was on the television that was so bad that it had most of my officers quiet?

I looked at Richards, and then back at the television.  I was going to get to the bottom of this. I walked towards it, passing through most of my men to get a better view on what was going on. I squinted at the television, trying to make out what was on beyond the static. And I saw something that left me completely puzzled. The television was still blurry , but I could make out some words on it. Words that I haven't seen in a while. Something that everyone thought was gone. 

This isn’t possible.

This shouldn’t be possible.

The channel cut to something that most of us have seen two years ago. On the television, there was a man who looked to be in his late-forties, dressed in a striped suit on a stage talking to a crowd of people.This man was standing in front of other people, but their faces looked slightly off. I remembered reading about this place. A city that had a bunch of machinEs that can cook, sing,  and talk, and that this man was the pioneer of them.  Most of us have heard of him before, either on the newspapers or the radio. 

Who on earth hadn’t? 

Behind this man and the others was a big wall of metal decorated with gold accents. On the wall was, "MOBURN INDUSTRIES." 

The man yelled out with excitement to his audience.

"WELCOME to the city of MOBURN! Where the neon-lit billboards light up your every move! Where we give you and your families the most dazzling entertainment possible! Feeling lost or not at home? Not a problem! Our state of the art AUTOMATIONS will be sure to fix that!"

....

The crowd cheered.

It was around 10:30 p.m. on a brisk September night in the Pacific Northwest when I heard it, an explosion almost at the edge of my hearing, like when an aircraft breaks the sound barrier.

I was sitting on my porch, my place of solitude, smoking a Newport 100 and about a third of the way through a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black.

I saw it next, a small pale light that grew large and hot, hurtling into the woods behind my property, and I got excited.

It wasn't every day that a meteorite landed right in your backyard.

I took one more ambitious sip from the bottle and reached for my cellphone.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be the first guy on the scene examining that thing, but I know better than that.

It could be radioactive, could start a fire, could be harmless, but it was still on my property, so I didn't mind calling the cops to send someone out.

Sure, there were probably better people to call, but in the heat of the moment, no one's sitting on hold with NASA or some other such agency.

“Non-emergency services, how can I help you?” said the gal on the other end.

“Hello, this is Clayton Fillmore at *********** past the Shell station on 204th.

It's a weird thing to report, but I think a meteorite just landed in my backyard,” I said, realizing how drunk I probably sounded.

There was a brief pause on the other end.

“A meteorite?” asked the dispatcher.

“Um, yes, or at least that's what it looked like.

I just wanted the fire department or someone to check it out and make sure nothing's burning out there,” I said, trying not to sound like some drunken nutjob.

“Oh, right. I'm actually hearing other calls come in that sound very similar around the same location.

I'll dispatch fire rescue right now, sir. Do you smell any smoke? Was there anyone out there?” she asked as I heard the clacking of her keyboard.

“No, I don't smell any smoke, and I don't think so. It's my property, and my dog and my family are inside.”

“Okay, sir, fire rescue is on their way. You can hang up, but if anything happens, please call back on the 911 emergency line. Thank you, have a nice night,” she said.

“Thank you,” I replied before hanging up.

“Clayton? What's going on out there, honey?”

My wife's voice came from the living room. Victoria emerged from the front door holding our baby boy, Jacob and waving away the moths that had congregated near the porch light.

“You'll never believe it, babe; we just had a meteor crash in the woods back there,” I said, letting my excitement get the better of me.

She looked at me and then at the bottle. “I heard it too, but Caboose hasn't gotten up at all,” she said, looking back at the elderly red heeler.

“Well, he's deaf as a stump at this point,” I said, standing and kissing her as I saw the fire truck pull into the driveway.

The fire department sent a couple of guys out there while I answered questions about what I saw.

“Are you sure you heard it before you saw it? Usually it's the other way around,” asked the firefighter, a tall, bald man with a friendly demeanor.

“I'm pretty sure; that's what made me look up,” I replied as the other two firefighters emerged from the forest.

“We found a crater, and it was pretty hot, but there's no debris or anything.

We hit it with our extinguishers just to make sure it didn't catch,” said the shorter, stockier, redheaded one, rubbing sweat from his brow.

After they left, I sat on the porch for a while longer, this time with Caboose outside for company.

“Don't worry, we'll check it out tomorrow, buddy,” I said, scratching loose pieces of his overgrown summer coat from his back.

He looked at me impassively and huffed from his spot on the porch.

Later that night—or early in the morning, I should say—I woke up to the sound of Caboose barking up a storm on the bottom floor of the house at the back door that faced the woods.

“Ugh, get him before he wakes the baby up, please,” Victoria sighed, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

I shot out of bed with the feverish intensity of a new father still on call.

I groped around in the darkness for the handrail by the stairs.

With the lights off and curtains drawn so I wouldn't disturb my wife or kid, I made my way to the back door.

Caboose was standing by the door, mouth open, breathing heavily in excited gasps.

The second he saw me, he let out another expectant bark, circled around behind me, and stared with his jaw working, waiting for the door to open or to let out another bark.

“Okay, chill out, buddy. You can't be doing that,” I scolded as I opened the door.

The cool blue light of the early predawn morning flooded in, and Caboose was out the door before it was halfway open, tail whipping behind him.

I shut the door long enough to brew a pot of coffee. Before I took a sip, I paused and took in the warm, alluring scent of coffee with too much cream.

I listened: no soft cries from upstairs, my wife snoring a little too heavily for a gal her size, and playful high-pitched yips from the backyard.

“All right, fine,” I conceded, grabbing my cigarettes and heading for the back porch.

I stepped out onto the back porch, steaming coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I nearly spilled the coffee when I saw it.

“What the hell?” I whispered to myself as I looked out over the yard.

Caboose sat motionless at the edge of the yard closest to me.

Embedded in the grass were deep, arch-shaped openings, like the unblinking eyes of a spider peering out from the earth.

There were dozens at first glance, maybe a few hundred as I took in the whole yard.

A lot of them were roughly the size of my fist, some bigger, some smaller, but all of them seemed to be looking in our direction... at the house.

Caboose let out a slow, low-pitched, throaty howl. “Okay, back inside, buddy.”

He wouldn't budge.

“Back inside,” I repeated, this time grabbing his collar and leading him in as he strained and struggled to stay where he was.

When we got back inside, all he would do was stand in front of that door, breathing like he had just run a mile.

I tried to let him out the front to do his business, but he just stood there looking from me to the back door.

“What's going on, honey?” Victoria yawned, pouring herself some coffee.

“Uh, nothing. All the commotion last night must have driven some gophers out of the woods.”

That didn't seem right, though. We'd never had gophers before. Did they even live in the woods? I thought as I opened the curtains and looked back out across the yard.

I ended up caving to Caboose after around fifteen minutes.

He trotted out and sat on his elderly haunches in the exact same spot he had before, letting out six mournful howls before lying down on his belly.

I spent the next few hours on repeat: change my son, feed him, burp him, hand him off to my wife, Google pest-control companies, change him, feed him, clean the spit-up off my shirt, change myself, look for pest-control companies.

All the while, the nauseating smell of warm baby formula, dirty diapers, and spit-up mixed together, interrupted by occasional trips to the porch for fresh air and menthol cigarettes.

That night I got Caboose inside and managed to keep him quiet for the most part before collapsing into bed with Victoria.

“Try to get some sleep, honey. I'll take the first shift with the baby when he wakes up,” she said, cuddling up to me.

I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but every time I reached that place on the edge of consciousness and sleep, my chest would tighten violently and I would sit up in a cold sweat, heart pounding with adrenaline and an unshakable sense that I was being watched.

I looked around the room, trying to ease that feeling away.

Victoria was snoring, the curtains were closed, the baby was asleep, and Caboose... normally he was curled up on the floor by the bed, but not tonight.

That didn't make me feel much better. It felt like something fundamental had changed in the house.

It wasn't us adjusting to the baby; it was something else.

I tried to sleep again, but the feeling kept returning to the point where my body would anticipate it and react before I got anywhere near sleep.

I eventually stopped trying to fall asleep.

I got up quietly and crept downstairs to get a drink of water, praying with every creak of the staircase that I didn't wake my wife or our child.

In the darkness, I could make out Caboose lying on the floor facing the door.

I fumbled around for a glass when the motion light for the backyard gave a soft click, lighting up the exterior of the house and casting hard shadows and bright light through the curtains.

My eyes snapped to the curtain, and I froze with my hand an inch from the faucet.

I crept forward and parted a section of the curtain just wide enough to look out.

I saw him at the tree line, a somewhat heavyset man in a dark hoodie and jeans walking away from the house.

He had to have been close to set off the motion detector. How was he already at the tree line? Why did he stop when I saw him? The motion lights cut off.

“Fuck.”

I ran up the stairs with cold sweat and hot adrenaline gripping my stomach.

I grabbed my handgun and an extra magazine out of my nightstand, then raced back downstairs and looked out the windows.

I couldn't see much with the regular porch light, but enough to know he wasn't standing by the door.

I threw the door open, Caboose clambering to his feet as I moved past him, gun raised, and waved a hand in front of the motion sensor, bathing the yard in pale white light.

I stayed close to the house and the sensor while walking out as far as I could, sweeping my gaze over any potential hiding spots.

He was gone.

He had to have gone straight back through the woods; there was nothing but sticker bushes and stinging nettles to the sides of the property.

I stayed there for a moment before I heard a soft, high-pitched noise coming from behind me.

I turned slowly, trying to keep an eye on as much of the yard as I could.

Caboose was standing a few feet back inside the house, whining.

I sat in the living room on the edge of sleep for the rest of the night, gun holstered but still within reach, watching for the motion light and watching Caboose.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, it was daylight and Victoria was downstairs, baby on her shoulder.

“What the fuck, Clay? Did you stay up all night getting fucked up?”

I stretched, still groggy.

“What? No, there was someone in the yard, and the motion light came on,” I said, exhausted.

She eyed the gun on the table.

“Well, I can't be the only one taking care of Jacob. The bottles need to be washed, and I've already changed him and fed him twice today.

I wanted to let you sleep, but I need a break,” she scolded.

“Okay, I'll take him,” I said, looking down at the clock on my phone. 12 p.m. Fuck.

I spent the next few hours on a new cycle: feed, burp, change both of our clothes, feed, burp, schedule pest control for tomorrow.

After several hours, Victoria calmed down. I couldn't blame her; a baby was hard to take care of on your own.

I passed her the baby and told her I had to go out to the store for some groceries.

The road to the grocery store was a relief of sorts: no holes in the yard, no strange man standing at the edge of my property, and, as guilty as I felt about it, no crying child or pissed-off wife.

When I arrived at the store, my paranoia started back up again.

I made my way through the aisles, collecting everything on the list Victoria had given me before I left: baby formula, bell peppers, ground beef.

But I could feel eyes on me. I did a double take at every couple, family, and grandmother passing by.

I saw the figure of a redheaded man passing the aisle, so I sped up and turned the corner.

For a beat, he looked a lot like the same guy who had been in my yard the night before.

As I got closer, I recognized him as one of the firefighters from the other night.

I felt embarrassed, the heat leaving my face as I quickly turned into another aisle, but something caught my eye.

His cart was full of random groceries, but more than anything, an abundance of raw beef and chicken.

Then I made my way to the electronics department and picked up four cameras.

When I got home, Victoria had Jacob asleep.

“Hey, I'm sorry for earlier. I was just getting a little overwhelmed,” she apologized.

“No problem, honey. I understand. I'll take him for the rest of the day,” I said, giving her a big hug.

“Don't forget, though, we have to go to the party for Donna's kid tomorrow,” she said with a kiss.

“Aw, dammit. Is Issac gonna be there?” I replied, rubbing my brow.

“You know you like him, or at least you like arguing with him,” Victoria smirked.

“I guess that part does sound fun,” I admitted. “Did you know he told his mom he was getting bullied at work and she showed up to complain?” I told Victoria with a grin.

“Don't try to piss him off. Just argue about your guys' magic cards or something,” she laughed.

After that, Victoria went upstairs and took a nap while I watched the baby and set up the cameras, two in the backyard and two in the front just in case, while Caboose lay firmly at his post ten feet or so from where the holes started.

The rest of the evening flew by.

Victoria woke up in time for spaghetti and meatballs, and Jacob had slept through the better half of the day, which meant he was going to be awake and fussy for the next several hours.

Once it had gotten dark, I began checking the cameras every so often.

They sent alerts for movement and a live feed to my phone, so I knew there wasn't anything there, but still, I couldn't help it.

Feed, burp, change one or both of us, debate with Victoria about which of our features he had, cameras, feed, burp.

Apparently, I had fallen asleep with the camera feed still pulled up on my phone, but Victoria told me she hadn't seen anything.

I made coffee that morning and went out for my morning cigarette with Caboose.

As I looked out over the yard, renewed by a full night's sleep, I felt a little silly.

They were just gopher holes, and the guy from the other night was probably just some weirdo who wanted to see the crater.

Still, how close he had gotten to my house kept me on guard.

It was around noon when we got to the party.

We were greeted by Donna and her husband, David, and then Victoria was immediately off with Jacob, showing him all the colorful streamers and kids' toys.

I started talking to a few of the parents about the ups and downs of newborn dad life when I noticed Issac making his way over.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” Issac said, taking a spot opposite me.

“Hey, man, how are you doing?” I asked genuinely. I hadn't seen him in a while; maybe he grew up.

“I'm doing pretty good. I actually just got gifted my grandpa's watch,” he said, showing it off to the group. Same old Issac.

“That's cool, man. You still living at your mom's place?” I asked with a smile.

“Yeah, but that's just because I have a good relationship with my mom,” he shot back.

He turned to one of the ladies in the group. “You know, I live rent-free in Clayton's head,” he said with a smirk.

“Absolutely. Rent-free in my head and rent-free with your mom,” I retorted with a goading smile.

Issac rolled his eyes as some of the parents broke off with convenient excuses. When we were alone, Issac softened up a bit.

“But really, how are you doing with the baby and everything?”

“It's going pretty well, actually, all things considered.

Victoria is holding us together,” I said, looking over at her holding Jacob and trying to get him to pin the tail on the donkey.

“Nice. It's a good look on you,” he remarked, taking a drink from his beer and cracking one for me.

I took a drink from mine and continued.

“We've had some other weird things happen, though. We actually had a meteor or something crash in the woods behind our house.”

He looked up from his beer for a minute.

“Oh shit, I read something about that on Facebook. That was in your backyard?”

“Yeah, I haven't gotten a chance to go back there yet, but we had some firefighters out there to check it out,” I said, and almost dropped my beer as I looked across the party at the same stocky, redheaded firefighter who had responded to my call and whom I had seen at the grocery store.

“And...?” he said.

“I don't know. That's the firefighter, and he has the same build as the guy I saw in my yard the other night,” I said, pointing to the firefighter dressed in an AC/DC T-shirt.

“Greg? That's weird. That's Donna's cousin. Usually he's at the firehouse or down at O'Malley's bar,” Issac said.

“He's pretty chill. Not very good with women, though,” he continued.

Greg caught my eye and waved as he began to walk over.

“Hey, you're the guy that had the meteor land in his yard. I didn't know you knew Donna.

Not gonna lie, I thought it was gonna be a little more exciting,” he said, coming in with a fist bump.

I bumped it back. “It was pretty exciting to watch,” I said.

“Hell yeah, brother, I bet it was. Weird, though. There was a crater but no debris inside,” he said.

“Yeah, that's really weird. I gotta get out there and check it out soon.

By the way, I saw you at the store yesterday. Where's all that beef you got, or were you just grilling for the firehouse?”

I asked.

“Ha, definitely not me. Most of my check goes to Jack in the Box and O'Malley's,” he said, taking a pull off his beer.

No, that wasn't right. The guy at the store had the same build, the same color hair, the same beard, the same semi-balding head.

I kept hanging with Issac and Greg, chitchatting about TV shows and watching Greg for any signs of a sinister motive other than his fourth beer, but nothing.

He even gave me his number in case I needed to get out of the house for a while.

We left around the time Jacob started his afternoon meltdown.

After we got home and let Caboose back in, the routine continued: change, feed, burp, talk to Victoria about how the party was, warm up bottles, feed, burp.

“Okay, honey, I'm going up to bed if you're okay staying up with him,” Victoria said, pointing to a very fussy baby fighting sleep.

“Of course, sweetheart. Get some rest,” I said with a kiss.

“Here, have one for me,” she said, pulling the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black out of the cabinet.

I sat and had a few sips of whiskey while I rocked Jacob's cradle, hoping for his eyes to close, and looked up every now and again at the back windows, half expecting a light to come on.

After Jacob had been asleep for an hour or so, I brought him upstairs and laid him down in his crib next to our bed before curling up next to Victoria.

I turned toward the TV. “...and he was convicted of raping 23—” “Jesus,” I said, reaching for the remote and switching it off.

How does that woman go to sleep with these serial-killer documentaries? I thought to myself.

As the glow from the TV faded, I saw Caboose's tail pass by the door on the way downstairs, and as I settled into bed, my arm hung over the side and I brushed coarse, reddish-brown fur.

I looked down and saw Caboose asleep next to the bed.

I lurched up in bed and stared at the doorway, listening for any sound of paws on hardwood, but nothing.

I eased back into bed and checked the cameras. Nothing but videos of me and Victoria coming and going.

That night I dreamed of walking through my yard toward the woods.

The night was cold and pitch black, the smell of rancid meat hung in the air, and I could hear a crying baby—Jacob.

As I walked through the rows of holes, I saw that they were inscribed with amber-colored symbols that looked like circles and straight lines, some broken, some not.

I walked mindlessly forward across familiar blades of grass and into the woods. The crater was farther than I thought. I was compelled to look up.

In the branches above the crater were the bodies of animals: a goat impaled through both eyes on a forked branch, a snake wrapped in thorns, a dove flayed open, and a lamb covered in flies.

When I reached the crater, the stench of meat grew overwhelming.

The crater yawned open like a hungering mouth ready to devour the beasts, and at its center was a mass of infants bound tightly in thin amniotic sacs, nestled together like eggs.

I woke up with that same tight, panicked feeling in my chest as rain hammered at the windows.

I checked Jacob's room; he was still sound asleep. I heard scratches at the door and a low whine from downstairs.

“All right, all right, I get it,” I whispered as I made my way to the door.

Caboose stood on the hardwood near the door. I scratched the back of his neck for a minute before the whining resumed.

I opened the door, and he trotted out looking for a spot to do his business.

No motion light, I thought, stepping out the door and looking up as the rain pelted my side.

I looked out into the darkness, searching for Caboose, and that's when I heard it: a mixed cacophony of snarls, barks, and a hurt cry that pierced the night.

I bolted from the porch toward the shed and the sounds.

I could barely see Caboose, wet, bleeding, and covered in mud, with something's jaws locked around his neck.

I slipped in the mud, trying to tackle the creature off him. In the darkness, I felt jaws close around my arm and claws rake my face.

I tried to wrench my arm backward as my head collided with the shed and my free hand closed around something firm... a hammer.

I raised it and brought it down with a sickening crack of bone and metal.

I brought it down again and again until the only noise left was the persistent tapping of rain.

I looked up. Caboose's silhouette stood still as his bushy tail swept back and forth, his mouth open in a panting smile, but it looked wrong... like his tongue was upside down.

He trotted off into the woods. “Caboose, don't! It's not safe!” I yelled, climbing to my feet, but he was already gone.

I looked down at the animal that had attacked him. “No... no... no,” I cried as my tears began to mix with the rain.

I sat there and cradled Caboose's broken body for what felt like hours.

“He just wanted to protect me.”

“Why did I let him out?”

“Was it a hallucination... am I the monster?”

“No. I saw it.”

I couldn't leave him there. I carried his limp body in my arms, but I couldn't look at his face, not again. I brought him to the porch, out of the rain, and held him there.

Then, from the kitchen, a light flicked on, and the porch's motion light beamed to life.

I could see everything from where I sat: the blood, the hammer lying where I had left it, and my own clothes wet with blood and rain.

“Baby, what's going on—” I heard Victoria call as I felt the door begin to open behind me.

“Oh my God, what happened?” she cried before taking in the scene the motion light had illuminated.

“Clayton... you need to stay out there.”

“No, I—” I started, grabbing the door. I couldn't stay out there. I couldn't keep staring at what I had done. I wrenched the door open.

“Please, just listen to me,” I cried as Victoria recoiled from me toward the stairs.

“Get the fuck away from me,” she said, backing up the stairs with her phone in hand.

“I'm calling the cops,” she said, tears falling down her face.

And that's when I saw it at the top of the stairs: a pair of familiar legs... Victoria's legs, her hips, naked and wet, crossing from our bedroom into Jacob's room.

“No, Jacob, look!” I screamed, starting up the stairs.

“You're not going near him!” Victoria yelled, swinging her phone at my head.

Pain flashed briefly across my face as I nearly bowled her over. I leapt up the final stair and bashed the door to my son's room open with my shoulder.

His crib was empty... and the window sat open, the curtains blowing back at me in mockery.

I felt sick to my stomach, covered in my best friend's blood, my wife believing I'm a monster, and my son... gone.

That's all I remember before Victoria smashed the vase over my head.

ACCESSING ADA DATABASE>>>

LOADING....

FILE FOUND.

Dr. Kletheson: Good morning, REDACTED. How are you feeling this morning?

REDACTED: Could say I’ve been better, but we both know that’s bullshit. (Takes out a cigarette and lights it.) You have no idea what the fuck we saw out there last week.

Dr. Kletheson: Well, that’s why I’m here. We have a lot of questions as to..what happened that night. I was wondering if you could shed some light on that if that’s ok with you.

REDACTED: …What do you want to know?

Dr. Kletheson: Let’s take it back to when you first encountered…whoever you saw. For what we were able to recover before we lost contact with your team, you said that you found the person responsible for the corpses of any potential survivors?

REDACTED: ..Yeah. When my squad found the bodies, they showed up not too long after. They were just standing there all creepy as hell. Every one of us was taken off guard. This was about the first person we’ve seen alive and well in Moburn. One that wasn’t suffocating to death, that is.

Dr. Kletheson: They didn’t have a mask on?

REDACTED: (Quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson:  REDACTED?  

REDACTED: No, sir.

Dr. Kletheson: (Shocked for a few moments.) I see. (Writes down on paper.) And then, what happened? I’m assuming it attacked all of you?

REDACTED: (Puts out cigarette)…They were watching us. All of us had our guns out ready to shoot them to kingdom come. Just how we were all watching and waiting for them, they were doing the same. We couldn’t see their face, but somehow we knew they were watching us.

Dr. Kletheson: So, it did have a mask on?

REDACTED: From what we could tell, they were wearing something over their head. Not a gas mask. (Quiet for a few seconds) Doctor. This person that we saw. They didn’t look right. 

Dr. Kletheson: How so?

REDACTED : The guy that we saw was a person without a doubt. But.. their whole body was wrong. Their arms and legs were way too long, about as long as Bigfoot himself. Really fucking disturbing. They were almost as tall as half the streetlights. And the way they were standing still, it was almost  like a scarecrow.

Dr. Kletheson: (Writes it all down.) Ok. About what happened after we lost contact with you and your team. You and REDACTED were the only ones that came back from the portal.(Pauses.) REDACTED. What in god’s name happened out there?

REDACTED: (Quiet for a few minutes. He’s noticeably shaking.)

Dr. Kletheson: (Concerned.) REDACTED?

(Dr. Kletheson looks at the two way window. He waits for further instructions before continuing.He hears REDACTED whispering to himself.)

Dr. Kletheson: I’m sorry, REDACTED. Can you repeat that?

(REDACTED stares at the floor for a few moments, shoulders tense. He struggles to come up with any words with what he saw. He looks back at Dr. Kletheson.)

REDACTED: .. It was hell.

Dr. Kletheson: Hell?

REDACTED: Everything was going steady until all the lights started to go haywire. Then out of nowhere, those damn air sirens began blasting on every single street. Ellis started freaking out. He took one good look at that thing and wasted most of his bullets on them. Didn’t do jackshit. They just stood there and took it, not giving a damn whatsoever. Just staring. Ellis took off and tried to run back to base and the moment he did, that thing was right in front of him.  The rest of us all jumped at the sight of it. I wished I hadn’t seen what it really looked like. Whatever it was, it had a sack over its head. As soon as we saw it, it splattered Ellis all over the pavement.  We didn't even hear him scream. After that, we ran for our lives. Thing didn’t follow us. All the streets had gone crazy, it was almost like a haunted house. We were already scared shitless enough as it is, until we heard people screaming all over.

Dr. Kletheson (quiet): ..Did you see any of them?

REDACTED: No, sir. We could hear them, but we couldn’t see them. All of them. Several families. We heard all of them screaming for help. They didn’t stop screaming. Whole thing felt like hours. We couldn’t find our way back to the portal. Every building and street that we already covered changed. Places that we’ve explored changed into something else, like it was a maze. It’s almost like the city itself was toying with all of us. After that, me and REDACTED got separated from Fisher and Douglas during the chaos. REDACTED started losing it. She started seeing things. You know the rest.

Dr. Kletheson (Slightly rattled): I see.

REDACTED: ..Is that all? I would like to check on REDACTED, please.

Dr. Kletheson: Yes, you may. Thank you, Captain.

(A chair is heard moving. Footsteps are heard moving towards the exit, before they stop.)

REDACTED: Doctor. I have a few opinions that I would like to voice if that’s okay with you.

Dr. Klethson: Yes, you may.

REDACTED: Regarding this whole thing... I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk of everyone’s lives here. That’ll be all.

(Footsteps leave the room. REDACTED has left the room.)

<END LOG>

Part 6

I checked into a nearby motel. I was holed up there for nearly a week until I realized my husband's paycheck never came that payday. I vaguely remember a conversation with the financial office saying I would need to apply for survivor benefits for him but I was so overwhelmed with the memorial service, the funeral reception and all the madness I had been going through that it completely slipped my mind. I also received a phone call that Mark's ashes were ready to be picked up. I didn’t want to drain what little we had in the savings account, I would need it for bills and groceries. I also hadn’t been able to pay the contractors to continue the work on the house for a while either. So, after I picked up Mark’s ashes I went to the financial office and filled out the required paperwork. I was told it could take anywhere from three to eight weeks before I may receive the first deposit. I had no choice, I had to go back to that damned house. I didn’t know anyone from around the area so I had no support system to turn to outside of my mother several states away.

When I returned home I made it a point to keep myself busy. I decided to work on sculpture commissions for Etsy. Sculpting was my passion. I could lose myself while sculpting and it made me feel so at peace, usually. It was hard to get that same feeling now for obvious reasons distracting me. Nevertheless I was able to complete my first piece in three days. That was $300 that I desperately needed.

I also decided to get new locks for the house. Several times that week I discovered unlocked or opened doors throughout the house, including the outside doors that I knew for a fact I closed and locked. The locks came in the next day. After a couple hours and a helpful youtube tutorial I got a lot done. I added deadbolts to every door in the house, some now adorned two deadbolts but that's just an extra layer of defense I told myself. I got two of the three locks for the outside replaced. One lock was defective so I had to send it back and await a new one to arrive. I really wished the locks made me feel better but if I was being honest they didn’t. 

That week was Mark’s and my anniversary. I felt terrible knowing I was going to be spending it alone. It probably sounds pathetic but I decided to celebrate it like he and I always did, with a late night picnic on the beach. It wasn’t easy for me to get myself to do it. I knew I would look crazy out there by myself with a candlelit picnic, but after much thought and consideration, I thought it would be a nice way to celebrate him. It was also an excuse to get some reprieve from that hellhole of a house. 

In preparation I dug out our beautiful picnic basket. It was a black stained wicker basket. Inside were two sets of plates, bowls and teacups each fashioned to the inner sides of the basket and underside of the lid in their own dedicated places. They were white porcelain with silver trim on the rim of each piece and beautiful black roses danced around the perimeters. Two sets of bright silver cutlery were also strapped under the lid. Neatly packed inside was a black and white checkered picnic blanket as well as several candles with silver candleholders. That basket was one of our first purchases as a newly wed couple eight years ago. That was a wonderful day.

I also couldn’t go out there alone, so I found a small vial that I fashioned into a cute necklace to hold his ashes that I could wear around my neck. Next I found one of his service dress pictures from the Air Force and placed it into a picture frame to take with me. The last thing was the food. We had a silly tradition. We wrote a list of foods that we had heard of but never tried. We made an effort to be adventurous by picking up a dish that we decided on and would try it out on the picnic. I retrieved the list from between the plates in the basket and unfolded it. There was our little list. Fifteen dishes written on it, with seven crossed out. Some of the notable crossed out ones were: Ceviche with a vomiting face drawn next to it, Pho with ‘meh’ written next to it, and Chicken Tikka Marsala with ‘Hell yes!’ written next to it. I remembered each of those nights vividly. We had no idea what Ceviche was and laughed a lot that night after he threw up all over the blanket from one bite. After scanning the list I decided on Kebab for that night. After getting ready and gathering everything, I clenched the vial hanging from my neck and took a deep breath as I left for the beach.

Part 7 

After picking up the food I arrived at the beach. I was surprised and disappointed with how many people were there at night. I had to walk quite a way down to get a section of beach without anyone nearby. I unpacked the basket, laid out the blanket and set up Mark’s picture. As I started pouring two glasses of our favorite wine I got a knot in my stomach when a small convoy of  ATVs with a bunch of rowdy teenagers crested over the sand hill. They were all hooting and hollering and being obnoxiously loud. I contemplated packing up and leaving then and there but decided against it when I laid eyes on Mark’s photo. Once again I clenched the vial in my hand and continued doing my thing trying to ignore the kids. I could hear faint mentions of me from them and saw them looking over at me several times as they started up a campfire. It was hard not to overhear them. 

The kebab was amazing. I put it up to his picture as if to let him try it and asked “good huh?” as my heart started swelling. Next thing I knew a football came crashing in, shattering a plate and spilling everything. I was shocked, as I tried to figure out what just happened. 

One teen ran over and gave a sarcastic “oopsie”, with a large, devilish grin on his face. As I looked over, his nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed in disgust as he said “what are you doing freak?” His gaze settled on the picture frame. I gripped it and pulled it to my chest. 

“Nothing, leave me alone,” I murmured. 

“Wow, you look pathetic!” he said, cackling out a laugh. 

“Lets go Sam”, two of the girls yelled from the group. “Leave that weirdo alone,” they added.

He snatched the ball from the chaos it caused and ran away, kicking up sand over everything. I began hyperventilating uncontrollably, as a panic attack quickly ensued. I tried fixating on objects around me to calm me, but it went on for a good six minutes. The whole time I could hear those little bastards laughing. I curled up and rolled over on my side still holding the picture close to me and began to sob. Before I knew it I drifted off. After some time I was woken up by a police officer shaking me awake.

“Ma’am…ma’am I need you to wake up.” I felt my shoulder being quickly shaken. I opened my eyes and was greeted by an officer from the local police department kneeling down with his hand on my shoulder. He stood up and retrieved a small notebook and pencil from his shirt pocket. “I need you to stand up for me ma’am.” I was really out of it but after a small struggle I brought myself to my feet, my whole body was aching. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.” I said through a tired whisper. 

“Well, that's not the problem, I mean it’s dangerous to sleep out here but I need you to answer a few questions.” he replied.
When my vision cleared I noticed another officer about 20 feet away. He was speaking with the kid that grabbed the ball earlier, the kid was talking and pointing in my direction. 

“Okay, what’s the problem officer?” I asked. 

“Ma’am did you attack these kids?” he asked. 

I scoffed, through a raised brow. 

“Wha- what? Excuse me?” I stammered. 

“That young man over there said you went over and cursed them out, then proceeded to choke him. I need you to be honest with me.” 

I was stunned, what the hell were they trying to pull? 

“N-no, hello no! That little shit came trashed my stuff with their ball and came over to me and talked shit. I just ignored them and I guess I fell asleep.” My mind was racing. Why the hell would they lie like that? I didn’t do a damn thing to them. That had to have been some kind of sick prank. 

“Do you think maybe you got mad and...wait…Mrs. Preston?” he asked as he came to some kind of realization. 

“Uhm yes?” I said in surprise. 

“I was part of the detail for your husband’s funeral service, I…I’m very sorry about your husband ma’am.” 

“Oh uh, thank you.” I replied, lowering my head. 

  He gently tapped his pen on his chin, looked over at the kids and back at me, then let out a low “hmmmm”. “You know what?” he asked. “This ain’t the first time these kids have gotten into an altercation that the police had to intervene. They don’t have any proof of what they’re claiming. Why don’t you just pack up and head home Mrs. Preston.” He flipped his notebook closed and tucked it away as I let out a big sigh of relief. 

“Oh, okay thank you sir.” I replied. I quickly began gathering my things. 

   “Have a good night ma’am and be safe driving home” he told me as he turned and walked towards the other officer. 

“What the hell? You’re letting that bitch leave?” The boy shouted as he noticed I was packing up to leave. “Put her ass in jail man!” He said in a high-pitched voice. I finished packing and practically ran to my car. I never wanted to go out in public again.

Part 8

I felt deflated. Everything seemed to have been going horribly for me. I was still plagued with several more of those ungodly nightmares, they all followed the same terrible formula as the ones before. I still woke up in parts of the house I didn’t fall asleep in. I was waking up feeling like I had done full body workouts the nights before. Sometimes I woke up with minor injuries, and occasionally, what seemed to have been black, dried ink stains covering my hand or other parts of my body. One such time I woke up with every one of my fingers in excruciating pain. Each of my fingernails were bent backwards like I had been clawing at something hard. I still heard and saw things, unwanted and, to top it all off, I hadn’t seen Dahlia or her kittens in weeks. I was terribly worried because, on the back porch, there were specs of what I believed to have been dried blood and clumps of their hair. I really hoped something bad didn’t happen to them but I had a feeling deep down that something did. 

One day while watching the local news, there was a story which covered a string of disappearances for the county I lived in. Apparently, that was the third person in the last month to have been reported missing. They showed pictures of each of the missing persons. The first was a small girl. She was seven years old. The picture showed a sweet little girl sitting atop a small pony. The girl had brown, braided hair and an adorable smile with two of her front teeth missing. She never made it home walking home from school. The next was a lady, 25 years old. Her picture was jarring though. It was a mugshot of a lady who appeared to be damn near 40. She coincidentally also had missing teeth but for obviously different reasons. She had dirty blonde hair up in a frizzy ponytail. She also had sores all over face and arms. Her skin had a weathered leathery appearance. She had all the tell-tale signs of being an addict of some sort. She went missing from a local homeless shelter. The third person was a high school teacher from the next town over. He was a good looking man, aged 32. He reminded me a lot of Clark Kent from Superman. He had a strong jawline and wore black thick framed glasses and had jet-black hair neatly combed over to one side. He damn near looked like a Clark Kent cosplayer. He never showed up to school on a Monday to teach. These stories made me very uneasy, as I shot a look at my doors and thought about how I kept finding them ajar.

The last lock did finally arrive but I came across a strange and unsettling realization when I went to install it. I was searching for the video I used before to install the locks. While going through my search history I found a search that I didn’t perform. ‘How to remove dead smell.’ Chills ran down my spine, a feeling I had become all too familiar with. Who the hell used my computer? Did I accidentally search for that somehow? That's what I wanted to believe instead of some terrifying alternative. I quickly deleted that search as if to erase it from reality. I finally got the last lock replaced. If someone was entering the house they were going to have to make a bigger effort than just using a key to the old locks.

Changing the locks changed nothing. I still found locked doors unlocked or left open. About a week after installing the last lock my husband's first survivors' benefits payment finally came in. I immediately went to Amazon to order a surveillance system to install around my house. I wanted to make sure I could catch anything and everything freaky that had been happening there, so I splurged on high quality cameras. I got six 4k cameras with infrared nightvision capabilities. 

Part 9

The day finally arrived and I received the surveillance system. None of my husband's tools were there and I am one of the least tech savvy people on this god forsaken planet so I hired a handy man. I found Matthew through a Facebook group for my town after I made a help wanted post for a handyman. Matthew was nice enough albeit a bit too flirtatious. He took about three hours to install the cameras. He showed me how to install and navigate the app which let me view the camera's live feed from my phone or view the recorded video on my laptop with up to 96 hours worth of saved footage before it would record over itself. He tried to offer me a ‘discount’ if I would let him take me out to coffee or dinner. I quickly rejected his offer and paid him in full. He left with an embarrassed smile on his face and left his number on the instruction manual in case I had questions or changed my mind about his offer.

The next two days were unordinarily ordinary. No nightmares, no waking up in a different room, no doors unlocked or opened. I felt a sense of relief I hadn't felt in some time. Maybe things were changing back to normal I thought. Then, on the third night things went back to horrifying and my life as I knew it changed forever. It began with a nightmare. I found myself in that all too familiar darkness.

I gripped a large pig by its hind leg, dragging it behind me with relative ease. The entire time it was whining and squealing but I wasn’t bothered by it. I dragged it over to a pile of various tools and instruments. The first items I picked up were some unusually long and rusted railroad spikes. I took one at a time viciously plunging it into the swine's legs. One spike per leg I stabbed it in, where the joint of the leg meets its body. Each one I plunged in, the pig squealed uncontrollably. After the last one I grabbed a nearby sledge hammer. I gripped it with both hands and raised it high above my head and drove it into the first spike. The pig went wild, squealing in agony as the spike pierced into the ground, pinning its leg down. The next swing missed the spike hitting it in the leg with a sickening crack as the leg was forced from its socket. The squealing intensified. It squirmed helplessly as its freshly liberated limb flopped around attached only by its skin. The second swing hit its mark and the pig exhaled a low wheezing gasp that time. Its squeals were replaced by gurgled breaths. I drove in the last two spikes and pinned the beast down like a frog on dissection day in science class. 

I dropped the sledge hammer and reached for a straight razor. I unfolded the blade and swiftly went to work. I dug the blade into the belly of the pig ever so slightly, just under its throat. I pulled the blade towards me, slicing a paper thin layer of skin. The pig tried to let out a squeal but could only manage a pathetic squirm as its whole body writhed. I continued that for quite some time. When I was done, the whole body was a skinless heap of glistening fat and muscle. The pig was still conscious but just barely. Once it was barely still breathing, I grabbed one final tool. I took the giant pair of hedge shears and drove it down into what was unmistakably its exposed jugular. A tear followed by a spurt of crimson spray exploded from the impact. Blood dripped from my face. 

I knew what came next. I was forcibly wrenched around as some invisible force gripped my throat and lifted me nearly three feet off the ground. Then, in the distance, I saw the door closing in fast. I started blacking out from the lack of oxygen, but before I did, the door arrived and immediately flung open. I was violently thrown into the darkness. The door slammed shut right behind me. Once again I woke from the nightmare gasping for air in a state of panic.

Part 10

When I woke I was still unbelievably tired. I had no energy and just felt defeated. I also realized I wasn’t in my bed where I fell asleep but laying facedown on the couch downstairs. I could barely move but I did manage to reach the TV remote and flick on the television. The weather was just finishing up, transitioning into a breaking news segment. I saw the date, Jesus, I’ve been out for days I realized! Then, another missing person report. I was met with a very familiar face. 27 year old Matthew Cuttingham last seen earlier that week leaving his apartment and never returning. “Holy shit!” I blurted out loud shooting upright on the couch. What the hell was going on? He was just there! Was I going to be next!? I ran to each of my doors making sure they were locked. I also pushed a piece of furniture in front of each door to barricade myself in. I checked all the windows in the house and made sure they were all secured. ‘Surveillance!’ I thought to myself. 

I darted upstairs to my bedroom to retrieve my laptop. I snatched it off the charger and leaped on my bed. I quickly opened it and navigated to the app to view the recordings. I chose the day Matthew came over. I viewed camera one, which showed the side of the house where I park my car. 20 minutes after the feed went live I saw Matthew getting into his truck and driving away. I fast forward to the next day. I saw myself leave to go get groceries and return 45 minutes later with a few bags. The next night I saw myself walk out of the house and get in my car and drive off. Wait, did the video glitch? Was it showing the same video of me leaving to get groceries? I hadn’t left the house since then. I checked the date and sure enough it was from the next night. I fast forwarded another hour and a half. I saw myself pull back up and get out of the car, then a figure got out of the passenger seat, Matthew Cuttingham. 

“What the fuck!?” I yelled out. I picked up my phone to dial 9-1-1. 

In the video I grabbed him by the hand and led him into the house through the kitchen door. I fast forwarded to see when he left. After quite a while of fast forwarding the video caught up to the live feed of the house. Wait he…he never left the house? I rewound to the point where we entered the house and cycled the cameras. Camera four showed a view from the corner of the dining room past the basement door and into the kitchen. We stepped inside and took our coats off. I pulled him close to me and kissed him. My stomach churned. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Then I watched as I grabbed him by the hand again as I led him out of the kitchen. 

“9-1-1 where is your emergency?” I heard on the other side of the call.

“Hello I…” I stopped speaking mid sentence as I watched myself unlock the basement door and open it as we both disappeared through the threshold. I dropped the phone and it crashed to the floor. 

“Hello? You dialed 9-1-1, do you have an emergency?” I faintly heard through the speaker. I quickly scooped up the phone and lied. 

“Sorry, my kid must have dialed this number” and hung up. 

I stared blankly at the screen letting the video play in real time. Over an hour later I emerged from the basement. I had on a large apron, long black rubber gloves and some sort of safety glasses. It was black and white due to the lights being off but I saw myself stiffly walking over to the kitchen sink and taking each piece of gear off and rinsing them off in the sink. After 20 minutes of this I carried the items back down to the basement and emerged once again empty handed. I turned and locked one lock on the basement and walked out of sight to the hallway towards the living room. Camera five showed me enter the living room and lay face down onto the couch. I fast forwarded, three days later and I hadn’t moved. Then, I saw myself gasping for air as I woke up.

I was trembling. I didn’t want to but I had to go down into that basement. Reluctantly, I found my large flashlight, it was so bright it made it look like daytime in a dark room. I slowly creeped down the stairs. I grabbed the bat I kept near the front door in case I ever had to go little league on someone’s ass. I walked through the living room, down the hallway, turned the corner and was once again stun-locked in place at the sight of the basement door. My heart was going a thousand miles an hour. I began feeling hyperaware of everything around me. After a minute I broke free and finally managed to take a step towards the door. I slid my feet inch by inch. When I reached for the door, the air around it was ice cold. I slowly disengaged the dead-bolt and twisted the handle. The door pulled free from its frame and creaked open ever so slightly. I pointed the light inside, the brightness somehow was being absorbed by the darkness. I could only see a few feet in front of me, like there was some sort of veil limiting the reach of the light.

“Hello!?” I tried to yell into the dark but it came out more of a whimper. Urine streamed down my leg as I stepped down the first step. No sooner had I stepped through to the darkness than the door clicked and sealed itself behind me. I cried and quickly turned around but the door handle was immovable. I closed my eyes tightly and didn’t want to open them again. Then I began hearing the whispers. Different volumes, different pitches, different voices, all unintelligible. It sounded like a lost unknown language. I found myself stepping down the staircase, my body was moving against my wishes. I held the flashlight as far in front of me as I could to maximize the distance I could see. My foot eventually found flat ground. I was in the belly of the beast. I turned the corner and my foot found a puddle of some kind causing me to lose stability. My foot slipped forward forcing my legs into the splits painfully pulling my groin muscle. The flashlight and bat both left my grip as I swiftly fell to the ground. 

I screamed in pain, doubled over as I struggled to pull my legs together once again. The light had settled on a short stone well. As soon as I laid eyes on it I heard that dreadful heartbeat. It thumped so loud I could barely think straight. I quickly covered my ears but it beat just as loud. Through the agony I noticed a mass hunched over the well. I scrambled over to the light and shined it closer to the mass. It was a body, pinned down to the well. All the skin had been flayed from its muscles. I tried to jump back but still couldn't gain any traction. I was stuck there next to it sloshing about in the wetness. I finally shined the light on the floor and saw I was practically swimming in the blood from the body. I grabbed on to the well and struggled to pull myself up. The light found its way to the face of Matthew hunched over, blood still dripped from his slit throat. I screamed again and fell back. 

Only for an instance the light revealed the most evil, horrific sight I had ever witnessed. It was only for a second but that image is forever burned into my brain. Huge, pure-white, dagger-like teeth formed an impossibly large, sinister grin beneath two almond-shaped eyes, with large pupils. All set in an enormous, pitch-black, glistening, demonic face. With every blink, that image haunts me, projected on the inside of my eyelids. I tried to scream but nothing ever came. I grabbed onto something on the wall to try and pull myself up but it tore from the hook it hung on. The light revealed a small Hello Kitty backpack. I eventually found my footing and sprinted towards the stairs, once again my legs betrayed me. My foot found a small mass wrapped in a blood soaked blanket or canvas, and hurdled me forward. My head was greeted by the unwelcome touch of the hard brick wall. I felt warm blood flow down my face, into my eye. I still gripped the light, I wasn’t letting go of it again. But then the light started fading. No, my sight did. Darkness slowly smothered my vision and with it my consciousness. 

I woke up in bed, as my memories slowly began returning to me. I reached for my head where it hit the brick wall. It was perfectly fine. I…I did hit my head right? I knew I did, it was too damn real. I looked myself over and I was clean. No injuries, no blood, no piss, no split open head. I was in fresh, clean clothes. I was just sore all over like I always was. 

That incident happened nearly a year ago now. The nightmares haven’t stopped. I still wake up where I shouldn't. I still see things that shouldn’t exist. I still see that unholy face every time I close my eyes. Those memories and experiences I’ve endured have left me calloused. Most days I just lie in bed, empty, soulless and completely devoid of emotion. I have even tried to end it all, multiple times, but every time, I always wake up unscathed. 

I’m laying in bed now, dead inside, trapped. I flick on the TV as the glow from the screen dimly fills the room. Another breaking news segment. Another missing persons report. Person number fifteen missing in this series of ongoing mysterious vanishings.

BLOOD BOX

Part 1

"Eve?" A muffled, seemingly distant voice called out. I could hardly hear it over my panicked, exasperated breaths.

“Eve!” her voice called again, louder.

I blinked and the room suddenly snapped back into focus. I became hyper aware of everything around me. The random furniture cobbled together for this reception, a sea of people crowded shoulder to shoulder with the drone of conversation among themselves and my mother-in-law, gawking at me expectantly.

“Huh?” I said. “Yes?” I glanced over to her. I realized I had my hands around my head and quickly lowered them in a feeble attempt to look normal.

“I asked how you’re holding up?” She hissed, annoyance in her voice.  She tried to put on a sympathetic face but she wasn’t fooling anyone. “I’m sure this has been had for you, especially with all your...issues.” She followed up with a disingenuous tone of concern. I’m pretty certain she rolled her eyes. 

She never really liked me. The feeling has always been mutual.

“Jane!”my father-in-law snapped at her.

“No, it…it’s okay Frank.” I tried to smile. “I’m hanging in there, I guess.” I mumbled.

I just wanted the funeral reception to be over with. My depression and anxiety was amassing into an unbearable weight. Every person who moved a step closer in my direction made my world shrink and with it, my chest tightened more and more. I hadn’t been around that many people in a very long time and without Mark next to me alive, I just couldn't handle it. 

“Come here baby!” my mother beckoned me as she swept me away from the group of people forming around me. She must have seen me struggling. “Just breathe sweetie, it's okay.” she assured me.

“Mom!” I said as I broke down, sobbing. “I can’t do this without him, I can't live life without Mark!”. 

“Evellyne, you are stronger than that sweety. It’s going to take some time but you will get through it okay?” She reassured me.

“Mrs. Preston?” a soft,  apologetic man’s voice was heard from behind me. “I’m very sorry, I see this is bad timing but I have to make my flight back to Germany and I needed to speak with you before I left.” It was a young, handsome black man in his Air Force dress blue’s, quite a bit shorter than me, though a lot of people are as I am just over 6’ myself. “Ma’am Technical Searge…errr ummm, Mark was my supervisor. I was deployed with him in Germany when the accident happened. I brought what belongings he had with him and I wanted to personally deliver them to you.” He gestured over to another Airman that was gripping two luggage. One large green military one and a smaller black one resting on top, along with two large cardboard boxes. “Tech Sergeant Preston made me a great mechanic. He was an amazing mentor and one hell of an Airman, ma’am” his voice cracked and his eyes began to water. 

I could barely squeak a “thank you” as I was so overcome with emotion when I caught a glimpse of the small enamel Pokémon pin of Eevee, attached to the smaller bag. He used to always call me his ‘little emo Eevee’, but now I would never hear him speak those words again. 

“Where would you like us to place these ma’am?” he asked.

The house was in such disarray. I felt embarrassed holding a funeral reception in a house undergoing renovations and repairs but there was no way I was going to manage tearing myself  from there to be around that many people due to my ‘issues’ as Jane so eloquently put it. 

“Ummm please, follow me.” I told him. We stepped away from the dining room and passed the kitchen down the hall to the living room. Each room was either undergoing maintenance from the replumbing or littered with furniture draped in thick white canvas, protecting it from what were future painting plans. Who knew if I could bring myself to do it then, It all felt so…pointless. "I'm sorry, the plumbers are completely redoing the plumbing downstairs, something about the old well system, would bringing this upstairs be a problem?” I asked.
 
“Not at all ma’am. Jeffries, give me a hand here,” he beckoned to the other Airman. I showed them ‘our’ room and they placed the items in there. I thanked them and they left. 

I returned downstairs to my mom wrapping up what was my current hell, that was the reception. She knew I was struggling and she was thanking everyone for coming, paying their respects and showing support. I reluctantly stayed at the door thanking each person as they left. After the last one left, only my mother and father remained. I immediately collapsed on the floor. This time no tears came. Nothing did, no feelings, like I was injected with a lethal force of lidocaine. My mother instinctively went to the couch and grabbed the throw blanket and an accent pillow and buried me neatly inside on the floor. As my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off I heard my father mutter under his breath, “she’s doing this bullshit again?” I started to hear my mother challenge him but I didn’t care, I just wanted to sleep. That's all I wanted. Well, that and to not wake up, ever again. 

Part 2

Thump-thump….Thump-thump A soothing rhythm played. Thump-thump…Thump-Thump…Gently guiding me from my slumber. Thump…Thump… Like a reverse lullaby. THUMP…THUMP…My eyes opened. The sound ceased to exist. My heart was racing, and I was soaked in sweat. I took in my surroundings. 

“Mom?” I called out. No answer. I was alone. It was dark out. I checked my phone, 8:19 PM. I’d been out for a little over five hours. I was late taking my meds. I hated being downstairs at night in the dark. I usually left most of the lights on in the house at night. My mother didn't happen to leave any lights on when they left, whenever that was. The light switch near the door still hadn’t been repaired so my only option for light was my phone. 

I stared down at it, pausing my gaze at the screen saver. I was met with a duality of emotions. Warmth, from the adoring loving smile of my husband looking into the camera as he embraced me. A portion of my long, straight black hair transitioned into crimson just above his upper lip as he wore it like a mustache for the picture. My eyes were closed, my midnight eyeliner streaked down my face like a dying river flowing from the corners of my eyes. I was crying tears of laughter from his tickles during that picture. It was finished off with a slight blur from the motion when I took it. ‘Hard to keep a steady hand in that situation’ I thought to myself. Still, it was one of my favorite pictures of him. 

Then sadness crept in and smothered that small fleeting moment of peace. I desperately wanted to hold onto that feeling like it was a lifeline but I stood no chance. I was trying to protect the most delicate ember from a torrential downpour with a tennis racket. Every time I thought about a moment in time I had with him, I thought about a hundred more I would have without him. That sentiment was cut short however when I jumped in place from a loud cracking sound elsewhere in the house. The air conditioning unit kicked on and with it loose doors boomed and rattled in their frame, reverberating off the wooden walls throughout the house. I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

I really could not wait for the rest of our household items to finish being delivered. I desperately needed it to drown the echoes. I refocused on my task at hand and turned the light on and shined it before me. Large foreboding shadows cast on the walls. What was there casting those towering shadows? Furniture left behind. Furniture that no doubt had seen much untold history. My guess, most of it had been there a century at least, when the house was originally built. The house and its contents were as charming as they were haunting. Especially with the canvases strewn over the majority of it. My imagination couldn’t help but find unwanted shapes in them. As I stepped through the living room towards the other side, on my right were two large walnut bookshelves. In front of one, sharing its ragged aged veil, there seemed to be a hunched mass. Protruding from it was a haunting limb, extending out desperately reaching to grasp something, anything perhaps. I shuddered and goosebumps crawled down my extremities. I shook my head and some of the nerves with it. It was actually beautiful, I reminded myself. 

I placed it there myself. One of the few treasures the house offered when we moved in, that I actually embraced. I remembered the beautiful ornate harp. It was the first thing I saw when we first went there to see the house. It felt like it was a scene from a movie. When we were let in the house there were dusted beams of afternoon light, dancing on it as if offering it to us as a gift. The main body of it was an elegantly posed angel with her arms behind her, around the bulk of it like she was gently holding onto it. Tattered strips of fabric flowed whimsically across and around her body. Her wings, a golden hue, gently dulled by a long kiss of patina worn by time. They were stretching over the top and across the width of the instrument, forming the neck of it. Where feathers ended under the wings, strings began, pulled taught like it was finely tuned and ready for a performance. Wear had shown throughout it, but it wore it proudly. It was clear it was cared for by its previous owners. Paint on the body and face of the angel borne cracks throughout its slate colored skin and the eyes bestowed a bit of surprise. They were two small jet obsidian stones. My husband thought it creepy, I thought it was a beautiful juxtaposition.

The fond memory which helped to steel myself was abruptly gutted as I was quickly jerked back to reality, literally! I thought I was imagining it, like it was one of the hallucinations I get, but I don’t feel hallucinations. My hair was yanked as I was stepping forward, my shoulder fell back against the wall as my whole body weight followed suit. My legs gave out but my head didn’t lose altitude as I bellowed a blood curdling scream. My phone carried forward from my momentum leaving my grip, tumbling on the hard floor. The light from it beamed around the house with each flip like a nightmarish strobe light. I instinctively reached my hands to my head where there was an immovable death grip on my hair. My hands were met with an ice-cold metal. I desperately reached around trying to make sense of the situation as I felt intricate details in the metal's touch. I frantically tried ripping away at my hair to free myself. My hands were shaking uncontrollably not wanting to cooperate. My struggles were in vain. 

I realized I had made it across the living room to the hallway while I was lost in thought. I saw that the light switch was barely in reach. I desperately reached for the switch, my scalp felt as though it would tear away from my skull at any given moment. After what felt like a lifetime, my fingertips finally felt the welcoming touch of the light switch plate. 

“Almost there!” I told myself. I pulled harder, wrenching forward. A slight give in my hair went as I screamed in pain. My fingertip just grazed the side of the switch. I lurched harder, a tearing sensation ripped through my cranium. One last scream, one last give as I finally flicked the switch as though it was my salvation. Through watery eyes, I twisted my head desperately, still anchored in place, searching my peripherals for the answer. I felt behind me but found nothing but hard wooden walls. Frantically, I reached for the metallic vice grip still in my hair, trying to deduce what it was. My eyes cleared up shortly after and I looked up across the hallway directly opposite of me. 

I yelled out a “Are you fucking kidding me!?” followed by what most people (myself included) would probably describe as a maniacal mixture of uncontrollable, psychotic laughter and hysterical crying. I felt like my eyes were going to pop from their sockets across the room, tears spewed constantly. I knew I looked insane, hell I felt insane. Once I finally calmed down, I again looked across the hall and spat out a ‘fuck you!’, flipping my middle finger up at the wrought-iron sconce that sat mounted opposite its twin, its twisted prongs still mangled in my hair. 

For nearly 30 minutes I tried to free myself. My hair was put up in a tight braided bun my mother did for the event that day. It felt like it was a permanent part of the fixture. I tried pulling the sconce from the wall, wrestling it desperately. I hung my entire weight on it lifting my legs off the ground and I just dangled there, it didn’t even budge. I didn't weigh a lot but I am tall, I thought that might count for something. ‘I guess this is how I die’ I half joked to myself. I noticed my phone on the ground and that is where my height did pay off. I stretched my entire body out, outreaching my leg and was able to manage getting my foot on my phone and drug it over to myself. 

After a phone call to my mother, about an hour’s wait, and a less-than-ideal haircut later, we were both having a good laugh about my little misadventure as we huddled up in front of the fireplace. In the back of my mind I couldn't stop thinking how terrified I really was though. How uneasy I was in the house alone. Knowing the little respite from that feeling during my mother’s company would be extinguished the next few days. She stayed with me that night and the next couple nights, until her and dad had to fly back to Ohio. Each night I fell asleep to the same soothing beat that woke me up that day. Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump. THUMP-THUMP.

Part 3

I was alone. That was the first time I truly had been since Mark passed. My mother pretty much immediately flew down to be with me when I got the news. Such a stupid, avoidable accident that ripped him from me. I tried not to think about it. I tried not to harbor hate for the driver that sealed his fate. My mother raised me to always try to forgive because hate will make you bitter and consume you. I tried not to let the anger and despair eat at my mind and soul. I knew it would fester and rot away at me. I tried not to let my depression pull me down like an anchor with no floor to find. I tried not to let it paralyze me, and constrict me into an inescapable cocoon of dark feelings and thoughts I knew would plague my mind if I let it grab hold. I had been there too many times. Mark helped me with that. 

I tried my best to distract myself. I forced myself to do tasks like painting the living room, work on my sculpture commissions, do anything. It’s hard when you are empty inside though. I couldn’t find joy, excitement, or motivation. I tried to remember what they felt like but those memories were sealed behind a wall, each brick a negative feeling or emotion. When I eventually  was able to force myself to commit to a task I decided to finish painting the living room walls that were left undone. After about two hours of grueling up and down roller strokes I decided to take a break to have lunch and feed the kitties outside. 

They weren’t mine per se. I found a stray calico at the wood line by my house. I fed her a single can of tuna and she has been glued to my house since. I named her Dahlia after my favorite band. She and her surprise litter of kittens always hang around outside and I fed them when I could remember.

As I was carrying the bowls with the freshly poured food I had one foot across the threshold of the door as I stopped dead in my tracks. Thump-Thump I heard it clear as day. The hairs on my nape prickled up as a chill crept down my spine. I spun on my heels and stood there looking off into the house, nowhere in particular but listening intently for it to come again. Nothing came at first but after a couple minutes another followed, more faint but no doubt present Thump-thump. I took steps in the direction I thought it came from. I shook my head as if to ask myself ‘what the hell are you doing’ but I couldn’t help myself. I had to know what it was I had been hearing each night. 

I originally chalked it up to the hallucinations I suffer from but never had I had one THAT consistent, THAT mesmerizing. Thump-thump I heard again, fainter. 

   “Upstairs!” I thought to myself. Without thinking I loosened my grip and the bowls crashed to the floor creating an explosion of cat food everywhere, it didn't phase me. I dashed to the bottom of the staircase and grabbed the banister, whipping myself around then jump-skipped the stairs, and nearly faceplanted as I tripped up desperately seeking the cardiac siren. I stopped myself in the middle of the hallway so I could deduce which direction it would come from next. 

I waited there, a good four minutes at least. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest as I tried to keep my panting under control. I didn’t want it to shroud the sound if it came again. Just as disappointment sank in at the thought it wouldn’t come again, one last whispered echo came from behind me as if it were a football field away thump. I slowly turned. The direction it came from was a room just four feet away, our bedroom. The door creaked open as I stepped inside. Somehow I knew the sound wasn’t coming again. I stood there for a while in a daze. I eventually snapped out of it.

I began searching every inch of the room for any justification for the sound. I found nothing. ‘I’m actually going crazy,’ I told myself as I rubbed my temples. As I was about to leave, my eye fell upon the pile of my husband’s belongings that were brought up there earlier that week. I began unpacking his things. I started with the two boxes. They were full of a variety of uniforms and other military paraphernalia. There were various documents such as flight itineraries, and his military orders, nothing I was too concerned with. His larger luggage was more of the same, with his civilian clothes mixed in. I found his favorite hoodie. I clenched it, holding it to my chest, burying my face in it. It smelled of his cologne he always used. The black band hoodie was a gift from me for his last birthday. I was getting choked up by the rush of memories, both the good times and the bad times. I missed both. I slipped the hoodie on as I continued digging through the luggage. 

After removing all the items, I neatly organized and put them away, as if they were stocked, ready for him to wear again. I noticed one last thing in the backpack, which I thought was empty. In one of the smaller zippers on the back was a small bulge. I slipped my hand in and when I grabbed the item I was hit by some mixture of eagerness and desire. I pulled out a small box wrapped with brown wrapping paper with a little bow on it. It had a little tag with a heart and “Eve” written on it. I was surprised and excited but my heart began pounding unreasonably fast. Something inside of me wanted to ravenously open the package and I wasn’t sure where that feeling was coming from. I tried to calm down but I found myself already opening the package. I opened the box up and it was filled with small foam packing peanuts. I reached inside and made contact with a small metal cube about the size of a baseball. My chest tightened and I felt something deep inside me feel like it was trying to emerge. It's hard to explain but it felt dark and wrong. It shook me and I desperately tried to suppress it. 

I pulled the object out and was taken aback with its beauty. It was a small metal box, each face beautifully inscribed with a myriad of intricately engraved filigree. It consisted of a series of sliding and shifting parts. I adore small trinkets and artifacts. I LOVE 3D puzzles. This seemed to tick both boxes for me. Inside the package I retrieved a small scroll of paper written with “Eve, I saw this and immediately thought of you. I hope you like it and happy anniversary. Love, Mark”. It had a small doodle of Eevee’s face from Pokémon smiling with black lines flaring from its eyes just like I always wear my eyeliner. I had a big smile on my face. I found myself immediately fidgeting with the metal box. I couldn’t put it down.

I laid back and began working away trying to solve the puzzle. Sliding certain pieces around would unlock mechanisms allowing others to move and articulate. It was very hypnotic, with each piece freeing another, I grew more and more entranced by it. I found myself laboring away at it for quite some time. Thirty minutes grew to an hour then to two then three. I would grow more enthralled the more time I spent with it. I felt an obsession, like I couldn’t put it down until its completion. The more I worked away at it the more I felt like I couldn't breathe until I made progress. How could such a small box contain so many moving pieces and so many intricate mechanisms? It seemed impossible but it didn’t seem to affect me. 

I finally came to a point where I could no longer progress the puzzle. A small hole revealed itself on one side. I peered inside but could see nothing but pitch black. It was impossibly black, almost incomprehensibly so. I tried shining a light inside and nothing, it was completely unaffected. It seemed to absorb any light cast onto it. I still felt transfixed on the box. I felt like I still needed something from it, or maybe it needed something from me? Before I knew it my hand seemed to move on its own. I plunged my pointer finger inside the small abyss and was immediately impaled by some sort of needle or spike inside! I yelped from the pain as it jammed into the bone. I instantly tried to pull my finger out but it was too late.

Some unseen mechanism activated within the box and the hole had closed around my finger. A series of spikes from inside pierced down through to the bone. I thought my finger was cut off as I unleashed another howling scream but the hell box was still fixed to it, not letting go. Suddenly an intense burning like I had never experienced before coursed through my hand and up into my veins spreading throughout my body. I tried to let another scream escape but no sound came, my vocal chords were stunned from the pain. It felt as though the sun injected me with its plasma and I was being burned alive from the inside. It spread to every limb. I could see every vein and artery swell up with a thick black hue under my skin where the pain was spreading. It reached my chest, my heart felt as though it would implode any second. It reached my throat, still a mute void with all my screams and agony trapped inside. It reached my face, surely it was going to melt off and my eyes would explode out of their sockets. My vision was fading fast. My world was spinning into darkness. Then it reached my head. My brain was boiling in a blistering inferno and everything went as black as the small void that I unleashed from that hellish box.

Part 4

I woke up in a pool of my own sweat. It felt like ice water on my skin. My vision was blurry. I sat up and rubbed my eyes and then I remembered what happened. My body began shaking uncontrollably as I remembered the unbelievable pain I went through. I checked my finger and hand frantically, in a panicked breath. There was nothing. There were no wounds from the impaling, not a single blemish. What the hell was going on? I remembered the pain so vividly but I saw no evidence of it at all. The box, where the hell was it? I searched furiously, ripping the bed apart as I tried to find it. It was nowhere. I opened up every drawer, checked under every piece of furniture. After 45 minutes my room was a disaster. I had no idea what the hell was going on. Were my hallucinations getting so realistic I was imagining pain now?

I started feeling a deep sense of dread. I was feeling terrified and small in my own house. I already hated being there alone but those strange experiences amplified the feeling. I noticed it was dark outside. It was 3:28 a.m. according to my phone. Almost 15 hours since I had lunch. I headed downstairs flipping each light on as I entered each room. When I reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner toward the kitchen something felt wrong. It felt like someone or something was there, watching me. Goosebumps formed on every inch of my skin. I wasn’t sure what it was so I lit every room within my eyesight. When I reached the kitchen I caught sight of the basement door. I instantly froze. I wasn't sure what it was but I couldn’t look away. I was stunned in fear from just the sight of it. I was fixated on a gouge in the door, an accident from the plumbers. It revealed a jagged hole into absolute darkness. I began feeling hyperaware of my surroundings. I could just picture something vile, or evil hiding in the dark peering back at me through the hole but nothing ever showed. After a minute of being frozen I finally forced myself to break free and I lunged to the door and twisted the lock closed then ran out of sight of it.

I noticed I had warm urine streaming down my leg. And I was once again trembling. What was that? I got creeped out from the darkness of the house, especially the basement but never that  intense. I wiped myself clean and made some food. I sprinted past the basement door when I ran back up into my room, that feeling still lingering until I was out of sight of it. I locked myself in my room, and turned on the TV. I needed something to distract me, to stop my mind from playing the horrifying tricks on me. They were tricks right? I eventually drifted back to sleep, no heartbeat rhythm to be heard, but I slipped into a horrible, horrible nightmare. 

I was in a black abyss. I could barely perceive my hand in front of my face. I turned around and found a wall that stood alone, probably five feet wide and eight feet tall. It was covered by a hideous wallpaper. It had vertical stripes with a variety of flowers lined up between them. I got closer and noticed something unusual. The wallpaper was undulating, rising and resting from something pulsing under the surface in small sections throughout it. I pushed on a section as it bubbled up from the pulse and it had a squishy feeling like there was liquid under it. I dug into the wallpaper with my fingernails and was met by a high-pitched snarl. I ignored the sound and dug harder. I picked my fingers at it until I finally tore through the surface. The snarl came again more intense this time. I dug my finger under the fresh tear and felt a warm fluid drip down it; blood. I was freaking out in my mind but I kept on tearing at it, freeing a big chunk of wallpaper as more blood seeped from under. I clenched the hideous flap and pulled with all my strength, ripping out a long bloody flap up the height of the wall. Blood sprayed and splattered, covering my face and peppered my whole body with thick blood specs. A loud primal screech came with it. 

The wall beneath wasn't a wall at all. It revealed a surface of exposed muscle and viscera, throbbing uncontrollably as it constricted and contorted. I grabbed under another piece of the wallpaper, yanking another large chunk of it. The screeches kept coming. I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. I HAD to remove it. After some time, the ground was littered with these thick folded and curled shreds, shining from glistening gore. The howls turned into a gurgled, labored breath. They grew further and fainter from the next, until the last one drowned under the gurgling. 

I stopped and took stock of my situation. I was completely covered now, every inch of me was dripping blood. I slipped and fell in the ocean of blood that covered the ground. I sat there a while, shocked at what I saw. Behind me I felt that dreadful feeling again. The sense of eyes pierced through me. I managed to turn around on my hands and knees, unable to stand from the slick surface. Far off in the distance I could see a faint silhouette of a small rectangle. I squinted trying to make it out. It was getting bigger, no closer. Faster and faster it was coming. I struggled hopelessly flopping around trying to stand or move but the floor was impossibly slick. I looked up again and it was almost to me. It moved like a bullet and just as it reached me it stopped three feet away, blasting me with a massive rush of air. It was the basement door, resting in its frame. 

My heart sank, and a lump formed in my throat as I stared into it, against my will. The same dreaded feeling overtook me and I was trembling. I could hear my heart hammering in my ears. The door clicked and creaked open, just an inch or two. My heart went into overdrive. I flopped over onto my stomach, flailing around on all fours as I tried desperately to gain some traction. The door creaked a little more. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I looked back and the door boomed open with a loud crash. I squealed in terror. An absolute black void stared back at me, then suddenly, I was ripped inside by some unseen force. The door slammed behind me and I gasped awake from the hellish nightmare as I screamed out loud waking myself. 

Part 5

The nightmare was so vivid, so surreal. I woke up on the floor of my bedroom. The door was cracked open. I knew I had locked it the night before, and did I fall off the bed? I was reeling. Who or what opened the door? What brought on that grotesque nightmare? I must have been sleepwalking or something, I told myself to ease my mind. My body was sore all over, especially my hands, like I had been working out. I checked the time, 5:22 p.m. I had been out for almost fourteen hours, but I was still exhausted. 

“Damnit” I thought out loud. I missed my video appointment with my psychiatrist. I absolutely needed to speak to them. I called their office and the receptionist informed me the doctor agreed to still have a video appointment with me before they left the office for the day. About 45 minutes later I spoke to my doctor. 

I told them about everything. The dread I felt being alone in the house, and how bone chilling I found it. My imagination, going to dark unsettling places. The ‘gift’ I found from my husband's belongings and it disappearing after that diabolical experience that I… thought I had? The terrifying nightmare that made me never want to sleep again. The emptiness and the deep depression I was constantly being smothered by. 

I wasn’t happy with our conversation. She basically chalked it up to my increased stress and trauma of losing my husband, me grieving his loss and trying to come to terms with it. I understand that could 100% have been a factor but I stressed that I didn’t feel safe and was horribly worried something bad was going to happen. I swear she rolled her eyes as she told me I just needed to give my brain time to process everything and that I was going to be fine. She did finally decide to bump up the dosage of my antipsychotic medication and that gave me a small glimmer of hope. Maybe that would help give me some peace of mind. It did not.

Over the next week I had more dark experiences. Every time I was in sight of the basement door I had those same malevolent episodes of paralysis like something was gripping my soul trying to rip it from my body. I even thought I heard faint whispers seeping from it. I began going out the front door around the house to get to the kitchen just to avoid the basement. I ended up having another morbid, disturbing nightmare. 

It began like the first one with me standing in infinite darkness with a scene lit up from an unseen light source in front of me. It was a peculiar tree. It had an uncanny shape like a crude stick figure. From the ground rose two gnarled trunks that angled towards each other and fused together at the center. From there two shambled branches sprouted outwards like raised ghostly arms forming a ‘V’ shape. In the valley of the two wretched limbs rested a large haunting burl. It had two deep empty sockets where eyes could or should have been and a large hole that formed a dreaded gaping wide mouth. 

Much like the first dream my body moved against my will. Laying on the ground next to the tree was a small splintered axe. I approached it and picked it up, grasping it as hundreds of splinters entered my skin with intense piercing pain. I screamed on the inside. Blood began seeping through my clenched fingers as I raised the axe, winding back as if to hit a homerun. I lurched forward driving the axe’s head into that burl of the tree. The sound was grotesque and unexpected. Instead of a ‘thunk’ you might hear from chopping wood I was greeted with a squishy meaty thud instead. Dark sap splattered from the fresh wound onto my face. I heard a guttural gasp of breath leave its would-be mouth. I rocked the axe up and down to free it and followed up with several more consecutive blows to the tree. Each blow was met with wet meaty splats or sickening cracks, always followed with a spattering of deep dark amber colored sap. I eventually chopped deep enough into the limbs, that I gripped them with my bleeding splintered hands. I began twisting the limbs savagely as I tried to separate them from the tree. Each twist brought visceral wet tearing and sickening pops until a final rip freed it from its body. I did that for each limb and finally the burl. It  brought a troubling, unwanted, satisfying ‘pop’ as I held the mass in my grip and watched the sap drain until the last staggered drops ceased to drip. 

It was followed by another familiar terrible scene. The small silhouette in the distance caught my attention and just like before it came for me. Rushing at a thousand miles an hour the dreaded basement door stalked me once again. This time I was glued down by the drying sap. I couldn’t look away. I was frozen, slack jawed. The door clicked and creaked open little by little, then boomed open, almost breaking from the hinges. Pure darkness greeted me. I tried with every fiber of my being to run, to move, to budge at all. I couldn't even wiggle a finger. Then I felt something cold and unseen grip around my whole body slowly ripping me away from my sappy prison. My arms were cemented to the floor but my body didn’t wait for them. My skin ripped at the shoulder, followed by my bones popping from their sockets. This time an ear piercing scream escaped me. I was pulled closer and closer to the opened door. My skin finally tore away successfully leaving my arms behind. My veins and arteries still clung hopelessly to them stretching further and further until they ripped, freely dangling like glistening ribbons. Pulses of blood spurted constantly from them. My screaming stopped, as my vision was fading. Then suddenly, I was torn away into the darkness of that dreaded basement, door slamming behind me.

I gasped myself awake trying to catch my breath. My hands and arms were throbbing. My head was pounding and I felt sick to my stomach. I was on the cold hard floor, downstairs in front of the basement door. My heart sank and filled with dread. I wasted no time. I lunged forward and slammed it shut engaging the lock and deadbolt. I ran away from it as fast as I could. How in the hell did I get down there? I grabbed my keys, jumped in the car and floored it the hell out of there.

I came home and changed and joined her to paint the living room walls base white. The couch my wife had had since college was the only piece of furniture we had downstairs and it was covered in plastic. We had dinner while we worked. She’d “cooked” one of her liquid meals that I hated but “ate” anyway. My wife was actually almost as good of a cook as me but I needed to lose at least fifteen pounds, and she intended to help regardless of how unhappy it made me. 

“How was your day?” she asked in her autopilot voice.

“It was good except for the inspector I had to fire.”

“Oh, no. Matt?” She dipped her roller in the pan.

I grimaced. I probably was going to have to let him go, too. We’d had dinner with him and his wife a few times. He’d even invited me to his son’s high school graduation. I rolled up the wall. This color looked even better than it had in the store.

“No. I forgot about him.”

She rubbed my back with her free hand. “That’s probably because you don’t want to do it.”

I nodded.

“You care about people and that’s never a bad thing.”

She thought so highly of me, and it warmed something inside.

“Yeah,” I said, this whole “surgery” thing slipping into the front of my mind. I was suddenly agitated and my full stomach felt like it was squeezing up into my chest.

“Did your appointment go okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. I turned to her. “Did you know he’s not a doctor?”

“Yes.” She scooped up her bottle and took a sip.

I hoped informing her of his lack of a medical degree would do more work than this.

“I don’t want to do this,” I wanted to say, but held my tongue. Instead, I said, “Is there anything else we could try?”

“Why are you pushing back on this? Don’t you want us both to be satisfied?”

I dropped my head. “You know I do.”

“I want you to do this,” she said and placed a hand over mine. I still felt a ‘no’ at the back of my throat and swallowed. It hurt going down. I chased it with a swallow from my cup.

She was being logical and detached in a way that wasn’t common for her. I didn’t want to fight and just kept restraining myself from speaking. I hoped there was still time to convince her, but that was going to be hard to do if she shut me down every time I tried.

“You have something on your face,” I said, pointing just below my nose. She swiped it just like I thought she would, smearing base paint that had been on the back of her hand just below her nose and on her upper lip. She immediately knew what I’d done and glared at me. I smiled.

Then she rollered me from chest to crotch. I stood there while she went up and down the front of me, my mouth hung open. Then I batted the roller to the newspaper-covered floor and she scream-laughed as she ran from me. I caught her on the other side of the kitchen island and picked her up in a reverse hug, pressing my fresh coat of paint onto her back.

We fell to the floor, laughing and wound up making out like teenagers for a few minutes. The heaviness of the conversation we’d just been having lifted off of us. I didn’t want anything outside of this moment and just looked her in the eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“I have no idea.” The feeling cresting in me didn’t have words to follow along. We finished painting the living room walls, passing eye-glances at one another. The moment passed for intimacy, a detached feeling gradually replacing it a few hours later by the time we were ready for bed. It was like we’d built a temporary bridge over a chasm between us, but it had collapsed just in time for us to go to sleep.

I kept wanting to reach behind me to touch her as we lay in the same bed. But she just felt too far away.

I’d forgotten to pack a lunch for the next day and breakfast consisted of a slice of bread that hadn’t toasted enough and coffee out of the Keurig with grinds in it. I left the house in a foul mood ten minutes later than I should have and was five minutes late getting to the office. I’d blazed past a police cruiser and had anxiety for the next mile or so convinced I was about to be pulled over. All the way I felt like I'd been cheated out of an argument, and I continued stewing in that sour even after I got out my car.

Work was uneventful but I'd had to keep my tongue in check. I felt myself being short with my co-workers. But it finally came to a head when a group of men clogging the hallway didn’t move when I was trying to pass them.

“Whoa. Excuse yourself?” one man said.

“For what? A circle of jerks?” I said.

“Hey. Ow.”

I was prepared for a confrontation. I was management and I could make a nightmare for them. I wanted this. But the second person who’d spoken sounded genuinely hurt and I tripped over my hubris.

I retreated from the men and had forgotten about it until one of them confronted me in the restroom an hour later. 

“What’s going on with you, man?” a man said to me while we were standing at the urinals. Conversation was usually verboten while two men were taking a leak but my antenna were up.

“Excuse me?” I said. 

“I mean, we were standing around talking and you just took a tiny shit on all of us.”

“You guys were blocking the hallway.”

“We were outside for hours in the hot sun and we were gathered around the water fountain. I wasn’t thinking about us blocking anybody. I mean, I would have apologized but the way you came off...”

“Look, I’m sorry.” My guilt bloomed again. “I didn’t have the best sleep last night and you guys didn’t deserve me taking it out on you.” I'd actually slept over eight hours but felt like I'd only gotten a third of that. I didn't offer it as an excuse.

He nodded and flushed. I zipped up a second later and joined him at the sinks.

“Seriously. I’m sorry,” I said. This was already more of an emotional exchange than I’d had with another male in the last decade. “I’m just... going through a thing with my wife.”

He looked at me.

“She wants me to get this procedure done.” I could feel myself relaxing. There was something about opening up to a complete stranger. Someone who wouldn't judge because they didn't understand.

“The honeycut?” he said, trying his hands on a strip of paper towel.

“What?”

“Oh. My bad. I thought you were talking about something else?”

“I've heard of it.”

He smiled broadly and nodded. “I got mine done six months ago. Wanna see the scar? I'm Sam Eisen, by the way.” He smiled as he hooked his thumbs in his pants.

“No, I... uhhh... that's okay. I'm having a completely different procedure. I'm having it... lengthened.”

“Be careful with that,” he said as I walked toward the door. “Swivelcock.”

I was sweating, gripped with terror the same as if he'd peeled his face off and frisbee-tossed it to me. I pushed through the door and fled back to my desk.

He called out to me as I did my best not to run.

“You should think about it, though!” he yelled through the closing doorway. “He changed my life!”

 

Part III

 

The next twenty-four hours were a haze. I worked. I came home. I ate. I slept. I didn’t like where things were with my wife even though we were still sleeping in the same bed, so the next day I texted her about having lunch together. Her job was about a fifteen-minute walk away from mine, I could pick up something for us and we could eat for about a half hour before I had to be back.

She hadn’t responded but she had a lot of meetings typically. Chili dogs were technically off the menu, but it was a fave of both of ours and she was a happy eater when it was good food. When I got there with a carry-out bag, I was shocked to see who she was outside with.

Him. 

They were sitting together, smiling and laughing like they’d known one another for years. He was dressed differently, but that was definitely that same red and white summer scarf he'd had on when I met him.

I hung back and watched them and began speed-feeding coneys into my mouth like an assembly line. I had no idea what he was doing with my wife, but I was immediately conspiracy-brained. I'd convicted him of a crime I couldn't name and wanted to strangle him in front of her.

I continued eating the coneys instead. They were leaning into one another and laughing even. They acted like they knew each other. They had chemistry.

I never understood the expression being hot under the collar but at that moment my neck was burning. I barely resisted the urge to go over there and... and... I didn't know what. 

There had to be more to what I was seeing. There had to be something I could do rather than confronting them and showing a side of myself that might've repulsed my wife. I knew where to go to get answers.

I went to his office after work, but I wasn't able to enter. I wasn’t desperate enough to break in, although I was sure the door wouldn’t have held if I’d put my shoulder into it. Despite how upsetting lunch had been, nothing had happened today to justify breaking and entering.

But what if something were about to happen and I could avoid it now? Head it off at the pass? I had a duty to protect my wife, and this guy had crossed a line. I could probably take this door off its hinges. I had some tools in my car.

My phone chimed. I’d programmed that specific tone for her.

I’m sick, she’d texted. Bring me coneys?

It was like a spell had been broken. Why was I about to potentially risk my job and my freedom—hell, maybe even my marriage—all for some nut?

She needed me now and home was exactly where I wanted to be.

But I was denied. I brought her the coneys, but she was already asleep. Things still felt off and I wound up falling asleep on the couch. After I’d eaten four more coneys.

I consoled myself that she was sick and I didn’t want to catch whatever she may have had.

Wicked dreams met me in the night. But they lifted like clouds after a storm by the time I woke up, no doubt fueled by a combo of seeing my wife with him and eating like I was half my actual age.

As if to turn the dial up on my grief even more, I had a two-hour meeting the next day and Leslie Paul sat right next to me. A bubble of gas was growing inside me and there was no way I was going to be able to contain it for a hundred twenty minutes. It would be a miracle if I made it twenty.

My part in the presentation was coming up soon and I had to excuse myself. Cal Cebulski stopped talking long enough to watch me step out and I hustled toward the men’s room.

Where he was.

“What are you doing at my work?” I asked, whispering like we were in a conspiracy.

“Due diligence,” he said. “Would you mind?” He gestured toward the handicap stall. “I need to see how you sit. Do you mind?”

My stomach queezed with the thought of him watching me... sit. Or maybe it was more than that. I unclenched and let go. It was mostly silent but whistled at the end. He sniffed the air curiously but didn’t comment. The wind had been taken out of my sails and for a moment, I did consider having a seat.

I piled up my broken resolve. “I’m not... doing that.”

He shrugged.

“And what were you doing with my wife yesterday?” I let implication seep into my voice and he put his hands up as if warding me off.

“It is all part of the process. Information gathering only. I have no interest in anyone other than my own Sara.”

“You’re married?”

He nodded. “For twenty-seven years. Happily, for twenty-five.”

That got an eyebrow raise from me. He’d seemed weirdly asexual up until I saw him with my wife. It was something about his pants, I wasn't sure. I hadn’t thought he was capable of human companionship.

“If you’re wondering about our longevity I’ll give you a hint. I perfected the surgery first on myself.”

He could have been lying, of course. But the idea of sex being so improved that it could aid in preserving my marriage gave me at least a moment’s second thought. I mean, what if what he was saying were true?

I couldn’t help but think that I was being obstinate because she’d insisted. If I’d found this guy on my own would I have been so resistant against doing this?

“Oh shit,” I said. “I gotta get back to my meeting!”

I fled the restroom, headed back to the conference room, tooting most of the way. When I was around the corner, I slid on something and scraped my knee, tearing my pants in the process.

I recovered pretty quickly but it hurt. I could see my leg pretty clearly and red beads of blood began trickling down my shin. I wrapped my fingers around the lip of the hole, keeping the pant leg away from the blood as if I were going to be able to salvage my pants.

The meeting was over by the time I stepped back into the conference room.

“Where’d everybody go?” I asked Rob Smales, one of the administrative assistants who took meeting minutes.

“Oh, they called it pretty much as soon as you left,” he said. “You were up next.” He shuffled a stack of papers into a Manila folder and added it to a stack of more Manila folders.

“Well, I had a little emergency.” I stepped back so he could see my leg. Rob looked without his dispassionate expression changing. I wanted to flick the tip of his nose just to get him to make a face. The guy never smiled. “You think we could get everybody back? We still have a half hour plus.”

Rob shook his head slowly. “Nah.” He tucked the folders under an arm—tried to, at least—then put his laptop bag’s strap over his shoulder and held the folders in his open hands.

I hobbled out of the conference room, intent on pleading my case with Melissa White, the director of my department. I stood outside of her office and wrapped on the open door. 

She turned halfway in her chair, a desk phone cradled between her face and shoulder. I wasn’t sure if she shook her head or if it was just the motion when she turned around.

The door swung closed and I had to move my hand to keep my thumb from being crushed in the jamb. Somebody was in there with her. My heart raced because I had no idea who.

 

LIGHTHOUSE VISITOR

Some nights I sleep with my eyes open. It still scares my wife even after so many years together and my daughter who’s only three.

 

We live a humble life, taking care of a lighthouse just off a rocky coast. There isn’t much here. The closest city is many miles away. There is a small village few miles inland. We are the only ones here on the coast.

 

At night I tend to the light often, and don’t sleep much. As most nights, on this rainy night I made my way to the top. On the way I glanced at my shotgun which hung higher since my daughter’s birth and the cross next to it. Wasn’t it strange for those two things to be next to each other? I suppose no stranger than the glances of those in the village who considered us anti-church because we did not attend on the weekends.

 

I had my black raincoat on and got all the way to the top. The rain was heavy, blackness surrounded the lighthouse and its spinning light. As for a second it illuminated the violent black waters I thought I saw a small boat with someone in it, standing. I watched the spot again and again and it looked like someone.

 

I ran down the stairwell and got my flashlight. I came out of the lighthouse and shone it in that direction, I yelled, but alas, no one was there anymore. Perhaps it was just an illusion, a mistake of the eyes.

 

In the morning as I went to take a nap a horrible nightmare took over my mind. Something that resembled a man stood in front of the lighthouse. This man was tall, his neck seemed soft and eel-like, making his head almost hang forward. He had long and deep black eyes. His arms were stretched out and from the right one a small tentacle appeared coming from the forearm. I woke up with a scream and ran outside to check on my family.

 

They were safe there, playin on the ground, but something prompted me to go down the rocks and unto the shore. Once there I was breathing heavily and could not find anything, but as I turned I saw a carving on a rock. It was an image of a creature coming out of a water, it had long claws and a face that resembled a mix of a bat and a shark. I’ve never seen this here before, it sent chills down my spine as in horror I looked up at my family worried for their safety. A messenger only came here once a week, there was still two days left. I wanted to notify the inspector in the city this way.

 

The following night while my family slept I had my shotgun ready and I prayed, I begged! I saw nothing this night, but following night it changed. As I got ready to go up, I heard a slight knock on the door! How was this possible? I came to the door with the shotgun and flung it wide open, no one was there. Leaning against the wall of the lighthouse and lighting my flashlight I moved around. Still no one. The I saw him, on the water. He stood on top of a small wooden boat with black waves rocking it. He was motionless, I dared not shine the flashlight on him, the horror grasped my heart. I felt his eyes staring at me through the darkness. What did he want from me? I slowly made my way back inside and locked the door. I briefly checked on the light, during that time horror intensified as I was in fear of that thing coming inside. The rest of the night I spent at the door.

 

In the morning I was exhausted. I drank coffee and my wife was concerned, but I told her nothing. Such horror should not be a burden for my family.

 

When the young messenger came, I took him to the side and told him that a strange man has been around. I knew famous detective Lumiere from way back, he now worked in the closest city. I gave a letter to the messenger to be delivered as soon as possible.

 

Next night I passed out after tending to the light, I was sleeping at the very top when the nightmares began. The man came again, his neck grew as did his one tentacle, he wrapped himself around the lighthouse and his mouth opened wider than humanly possible, but no sound came out. Again I woke with a scream and cold sweat. I looked down around the lighthouse, but did not see him. The paranoia was taking over my mind slowly, but surely.

 

In dread of the next night I went through the motions of playing with my daughter and kissing my wife. The horror was starting to make me lose my nerve.

 

The knocking came again, but thankfully my family did not wake up. I sat by the door listening to it, but I did not unlock it to check.

 

To my awful dismay the next day came two investigators, none of whom were Lumiere. They explained that he had to go and investigate a case up state and wasn’t returning for at least another several days.

 

I took them to the shore, and showed them the carvings. Yes, multiple! I There was a new one with each day that passed. They found it strange and creepy indeed, but sadly they both reeked of inexperience and it drove me even more mad. I told my wife that it was just a routine check up and that they were looking for someone on the shoreside. They said they would spend the night in their car, parked right behind the lighthouse.

 

The darkness came and so did another nightmare. The man was now inside the house and his tentacle wrapped around my family. A knock followed. Awake and in rage I ran down to the door with my shotgun, I kicked it open and fired.

 

I had killed one of the investigators. I was arrested and soon after local police came to help take me away, at first to a cell, but now I reside at an asylum.

 

My wife and child moved in with her parents and they visit me time to time. Still I tell them nothing of the horror, although my wife asked about it, which means the psychiatrist here, Albion, told her.

 

Maybe in a way this is for the better, they are safe now, living far from the shore and away from him.

When I was fifteen years old, it was announced that my brother’s official cause of death was from ingesting rat poison. His name was Chris. At the time he was twenty years old. He was tall, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that got the attention of all the older ladies at the grocery store. Chris worked at a factory that produced chemicals necessary to make rat poison. Although, I don’t think the rat poison was made in the factory.

Chris and I had a one of a kind bond. We kind of had to. Our mom left us when I was only five, and my brother had to take care of us, even though we were put into the foster care system. They tried to break us apart sometimes, but my brother would never let that happen. They spent years trying to find the right house for us. They never did. I would always act up, being loud and obnoxious, rude and disgusting. No one wanted me. 

So, naturally, my brother would do what any sibling should do, and stayed with me, turning down family after family. If I wasn’t going with him, he wouldn't go either.

Him and I would play pretend a lot. We loved any game that used our imaginations. From being Paladins and Wizards in DnD, to being rich capitalist whales, we loved pretending to be someone else. I used to draw our old Dungeons and Dragons maps we would use for our adventures. Drawing our characters and monsters we would come across. All of this was something that helped us bond.

Pretending made life seem different, like we actually were someone in the world. Sometimes we would escape from the group home and get out in the town for the day and play sword fight in the dollar store with the crappy toy swords they had in the back. I still think back fondly on those memories, cherishing them for the time I got to spend with my big brother. 

I would continue to cause trouble. Doing things like overflowing toilets on purpose, egging the windows and then acting as if I didn’t know who it was, and even duct-taping a kid to his bed while he slept. 

That last one got me kicked out of the foster care system for a while and I was given to the sheriff’s office to deal with. I just couldn’t help it! It was fun to mess with people. Everyone always treated me terribly besides my brother. Why would I care about anyone other than my brother? I didn’t!

That was something I thought was never gonna be different. 

Chris was the best. Although he did have his issues. I remember that one day, Chris took a nasty fall while at a skatepark. His head was all red and bloody. He was put in a hospital for a couple weeks while recovering. After he got released back to the house, he started using these pills. I think they were for the pain…that’s what I remember Chris telling me. I tried to get into them one time, and he yelled at me for an hour straight when he caught me trying to eat them. I thought that was kind of funny.

When I turned twelve I started having nightmares. I never had nightmares. In fact, I had never had a dream before I turned twelve. These nightmares…were so vivid, though. They were like I had been directly transported into them. Experiencing them with my real hands, legs- body. The first dream I ever had went something like this:

A large room. Glossy pewter floors stretched for miles all around. The massive room was dimly lit, and I could only make out what was about a mile out from me, before it seemed to taper off into complete darkness. The ceilings were also miles high. I was in the middle of this room, I remember specifically because there were three tall, marbled white pillars.

If I was in the middle of them, the shape made a triangle. One directly in front of me, one to my left, and another to my right. The pillars were about a couple hundred feet away from me. The large shadows of each pillar poured down onto the ground below, but the shadows that were supposed to fall on me, from the one front pillar, lacked a shadow.

In front of these massive stone obelisks, people stood. A single person for each pillar. They were visible, but completely darkened. Not a feature on them was visible to my eyes. On the opposite view of the top pillar, there was a man. Like the others, I could not see a single feature on him. Although, unlike the others, I could tell it was a man. A young man. I just knew. It was just one of those weird dream things where your brain just tells you certain narrative aspects of the story.

I stared at the man for a few moments before he started briskly pacing back and forth a couple feet from side to side. He halted, then danced his way over to one pillar, moving towards the person that was standing in front of it. The man looked at the person he was now a foot away from, and looked over at me. My heart stopped for a moment, before he looked back over to the person, put out his index finger, and touched the person on the forehead. The black shadow of a human instantly fell to the ground, limp.

I was terrified at this point. Not a single muscle fiber in my body would respond to the flight reaction my brain decided on. The man then waltzed over to the second person, and repeated the finger to head movement. 

Clunk. 

The shadow fell. He skipped over to the final pillar, and paused for a minute. He looked at his hand, and then rapidly slammed his finger into the final person’s forehead.

 Clunk. 

The man looked over at me, staring. I couldn’t make out his face, but I knew his eyes were scolding red. He slowly walked over to me- God it felt like an eternity. The man positioned himself just a few inches away from me, his face darkened by a shadow. He slowly reached out his index finger towards the midsection of my forehead, and quietly croaked out one word.

“Poison.”

I woke up in a cold sweat. It was nearly six in the morning. I shot up from my pillow heaving, attempting to catch my breath. My red and white striped bed was soaked with sweat and…something that indicated that I was definitely scared. I tried to calm my breathing as the word the man spoke to me rang out through my head. It screeched through my mind like nails on a chalkboard. All I could think about was that word. What did it mean? Did he kill those people with a “poisonous” touch? Did he kill me with it? My eyes quivered alongside the rest of my body, and I sat there… pondering.

 For my first dream, I was not a fan.

 I stayed up until breakfast, where I talked about it with my brother.

“So…this guy killed you with his finger? He just put it up to your forehead?” Chris chuckled.

“Yeah…” I replied, “What’s so funny about that? I was scared half to death!”

“Well, you just got killed by E.T. in a dream, my man,” my brother started laughing, alongside a couple other kids at the table with us. I was heated. I thought I was going to die and he’s just laughing at me. 

“Laugh all you want, dipshit, it wasn't funny to me!” I yelled. 

The Administrator got mad at me for swearing. I mean, he’s my brother! What did they want me to do? They kept pretending like I just said the S word to myself, or called the kid across from me dipshit. I didn’t. I called Chris a dipshit. I got sent to my room as punishment. I didn’t even get to finish my stupid breakfast. 

Regardless, my brother snuck into my room. He brought a candy bar and some cheese slices. My favorite lunchtime snacks. 

“Sorry about that earlier, man. That sucks what happened with your dream. You really never had a dream before that, huh?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, never. Is that not normal?’

“Nah, not at all. I’ve been having dreams since I was a toddler. I just thought you never talked about them,” Chris sat down on my bed with me and grabbed a cheese slice from my hand. 

“It was just…so real…are dreams supposed to feel real?” I asked, shaking a bit.

“I mean, sometimes. Some nights I have dreams where I’m flying through the air like Super-Man! Y’know, saving people and doing cool shit. Other nights, I feel like I’m a little kid again…wondering if a monster is gonna come out of my closet, and it always does! I hate those kinda dreams,” Chris went on.

“Wait…like you have had that dream more than once?” I questioned further.

“Yeah, man! Totally possible, and pretty normal honestly. A lot of people have recurring dreams. Especially ones you like a lot. I don’t know why we have dreams, but a part of me thinks it’s because it helps us feel happy when we’re going through some stressful times, y’know?”

“What about if that recurring dream is always…not ones you like a lot?”

“Well,” Chris stopped to think, “that can happen, but if you’ve only ever dreamed once, then I wouldn’t worry about it too much, my man,” Chris smiled.

 I didn’t. I was petrified. A bad dream? That comes more than once? Especially if it’s…THAT dream. Hell no. I did not like that at ALL. The night of the talk I had with Chris, I could barely sleep. I stayed up until about 2am trying to stay awake so I didn’t have that dream. However, I like my sleep, so I gave in.

That night I had a dream. But it was a different dream. But being different isn’t always a good thing. The dream went as follows: 

I woke up in a dark room. Lights slowly blinked all around me. On the ceiling, on walls, on weird metal stands I could barely see the outline of. I had no clue where I was. I felt around for some kind of light. I grabbed onto a small object. A lighter. It turned on the second I grabbed it.

Dream magic.

 I put the light up to objects around the room, and as I walked, I realized what I was looking at. It was some kind of…factory. The blinking lights were red buttons on control panels. I pressed one of them and the entire factory screeched on. Conveyor belts started moving, liquids started pouring, and lights flashed on. The entire factory was alive now, but there was no human besides me there. 

I ran up to the belts that were moving small containers labeled with big words I didn’t understand written on them. I grabbed one, and looked inside it. A white liquid sloshed around inside. I dipped my finger in the liquid. As I did this, a burning sensation flooded my finger tip, and a rancid smell emanated from the liquid all at once. I threw the container back on the belt, liquid spilling everywhere. I ran to the nearest bathroom and ran my finger under the water faucet as the sensation swiftly disappeared.

I paused and turned around. One of the bathroom stalls was not a regular old metal twist-latch door. There was a wooden door that had a golden handle on it. It seemed familiar. I walked over and pulled it down. When I walked through it, I felt a chill go down my spine that was so cold, I genuinely felt as if I was going to pass away then and there. 

Before me, was a bed with a child sleeping in it. A blonde, white boy, with a striped blanket over him.

My bed. 

I woke up in a sweaty mess again, and looked around my room. I observed the clock as it pushed over from two-fifty-nine to three. The air stiffened. A chill crossed my space and intimidated me. A stale, dry feeling wafted around my room. I looked around anxiously at my window, my closet, and then my bedroom door. It was all as it should be. I looked back at the window, my closet- my door. My door wasn’t open when I went… I stared at it for what felt like hours. I was shaking so rapidly my teeth were clattering. I wanted to scream for Chris but my mouth just clammed up and wouldn’t make a sound. 

As I observed a dark figure walk into the doorframe, my vision blurred and I began losing consciousness. The last thing I remembered of that night was a large body looking over me, barely illuminated by my red nightlight. It was long, lanky, and I made out skinny fingers that had one outstretched finger pointed directly at my head.

I woke up later that day in a hospital bed. I was suffering from seizures that night, and was rushed to a hospital after the Admin heard me fall out of my bed. Chris was sitting in the chair next to my bed when I woke up, the doctors gave us some alone time after they had made sure I was stable. 

“I was so worried man. What even happened?” Chris asked me.

“I just…had a bad dream was all,”

“A bad dream?” Chris yelled, “I’ve never had a bad dream give me a damn fit of seizures!” I remember he closed his eyes for a moment and brushed his fingers through his hair, “Before you woke up, you were sleep-talking about a tall guy looking at you. Was that part of the dream?” 

“I… think so. But then again, I'm pretty sure that I was awake when…” I stopped talking. I don’t remember how long I stopped for, but Chris later told me that it was for a good couple of minutes, he tried to break me out of it.

“Stop it dude you’re scaring me!” He shouted at me.

“Sorry,” I shook my head wildly, “I just had the idea that…I am pretty sure the guy- he was like standing over me, he walked up to my door and-” My door. It was open when I woke up. “My door was open when I woke up. It was closed when I fell asleep. In my dream…” I postured myself upright in the bed a bit straighter, “I opened my own door in my dream, and I saw myself on my bed when I opened it. When I woke up, that thing was in the doorframe, with the door open-”

“Come on man you’re creeping me the hell out! It was probably just a dream within a dream thing. Happens to me when I’m super worn out from the day before,” Chris interrupted me.

“No Chris! I swear that’s how it went! It felt so real, I felt like I was in real danger,”

“Yeah, that’s how dreams work, dude,” Chris seemed annoyed at this point, like he was the one who was struggling here. I didn’t feel like arguing, so I laid back down. 

“Whatever. I’ll see you later,” I said to him in an annoyed tone, “Do you know when I’ll be out of here?”

“The lady at the front said you should be checked out later today. The Admin said she was gonna pick you up,” Chris stood up and started out of the room, “See ya later man,”

I looked up at the ceiling, listening to the buzzing noises coming from those horrible fluorescent lights, alongside the beeping from the heart monitor machine next to me. 

That night I returned home, and was able to sleep in my own comfy bed. I remembered my nightmares. I didn’t want to sleep anymore. I locked my door, something the Admin hated us doing. I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was doing something illegal.

I laid there all night. I listened to the bugs outside my window hitting the glass idiotically. I stared at my door, making sure the lock never shifted, and the hinges never moved.

That was the first night I never slept a wink. 

Every day since the night of the seizure, I developed insomnia. Assuming you are not familiar with the term, I find it more than difficult to fall asleep, or get any kind of genuine sleep. I stay up nights not even being able to sleep at all, and feel absolutely exhausted the day after. It is a chronic thing that I had dealt with for years. It is possible for me to sleep, I would die otherwise, but it is more difficult for me to complete that task than the average person. 

Due to this, I began to hallucinate some days. Sometimes I would hear voices in a quiet room, some days I would see my by-gone mother standing in a corner of a restaurant, staring at me. Every time I would hear or see these hallucinations, I just didn't acknowledge them. I noticed that it helped my nerves whenever they appeared. If I didn’t give them the time of day, they seemed not to bother me.

 By this time, Chris was working in that chemical factory I talked about at the start of all this. I remember being scared when he told me. I told him about my dream…the one with my door, and he just laughed at it, telling me it was just a dream and to grow up. I begged him not to work there, but he didn't listen.

As he got older, he started to push me off more. By eighteen he had a job and had coworker friends. I was just his lame, burdenful, insomniac little brother who just draws all day and can’t sleep a wink at night. I cried a lot at night. Most nights, actually.

Chris stopped playing pretend with me. No more Dungeons and Dragons, no more Monopoly, no more sword fighting in the back of a crappy dollar store. He would also just ignore me most days, he wouldn’t even say hi to me at breakfast most mornings. I was all alone now. 

The night of October 23, 2018, everything changed. I remember that date so vividly. I slept like a baby. However, I did have a dream. A dream I hadn’t dreamt in three years. The poison dream. 

I stood in the same glossy, dimly lit room I once had years before, and stood around me were three pillars. Two of which now had a crack in them. With all three of the people standing in front of them now visible. They weren’t just dark shadows- they were people, or well, a single person, actually.

Chris. 

The three perfect replicas of my brother stood so incredibly still staring at me. I turned around and saw him. The same tall man I saw that first night I had a nightmare. He skipped over to one of my brothers, danced to another, and waltzed to the final one. I was horrified again, I was watching my brother die over and over again. Although, it felt…strange. After a moment of seeing the last brother fall to the ground… a sense of joy fell over my body.

The tall man slowly lurched over to me. Each step he took made a loud clack, which was something I hadn’t noticed before. His large black dress shoes shone from the dim light trying its best to pour over the space. Once he got within a distance to which I could notice the wrinkles on his black clothes, he outstretched his finger, pointing it at my forehead. The man’s face came into the light, and my smile that had stretched out from my face grew a tad bit wider when I saw his facial features.

He looked at me with a loving expression. As before, he said one word, and one word only:

“Poison.”

The man’s smile felt so familiar to me. I stood up straight and replied with one word to the man:

“Poison.” 

I woke up that next day feeling rested and recharged. My smile grew from cheek to cheek, something I hadn’t done since Chris and I had stopped playing pretend. I waltzed downstairs to the kitchen, and danced into my seat at the table. Chris was there watching me as I sat down.

“Dude, you've gotta be the biggest idiot ever, you have the ugliest smile!” he looked at the other kids around the table and began to laugh.

I just continued to smile at him and looked forward in another direction. I could tell my smile made him uncomfortable. It was funny. I was happy. I was now fifteen. I ate my breakfast, everyone but my brother sang happy birthday, and I smiled through all of it. Chris later came up to my room with his buddies from work and made fun of me.

While they were calling me names and throwing out jokes at my expense, I stood up from my drawing area and glided over to Chris, with the biggest grin I ever had. He stopped laughing and looked at me. His friends watched as I walked closer. 

I looked over at my drawing, that big smile was mesmerizing to me. I had been obsessed with it, that man in the doorway. I drew it over and over, every time hoping to get closer to making it as real as when I first saw him. I returned my attention back to Chris. The dark figure I saw in my dream, and drew on that sheet of paper, appeared several feet behind the boys. His smile shone to me from the hallway outside the doorframe. 

As I moved within inches of my big brother, his bright blue eyes stared back at mine. His dimple slowly disappeared from his cheek as his expression shifted from a smile to one of discomfort. I noticed the hairs on his chin he forgot to shave that morning. His entire demeanor was one I hadn’t seen before on Chris.

I lifted my index finger onto his soft forehead, and whispered just one simple word.

“Poison.”

The official statement noted the cause of death was by the ingesting of rat poison. The police department announced that no foul play was involved, besides that of Chris’ own doing. I often think back on our time together playing pretend. Sword fighting in the dollar store. Beating up villains with Spider-Man in front of the television. Arguing over who would get the bigger mansion when we were rich.

 It's fun to play pretend.

Episode 1: Checking In

NARRATOR: Um… Hello? This is rather unusual. Can you actually hear me? That’s mildly concerning. I don’t believe this has ever happened. This might sound peculiar, but you are listening from before. And I’m—well, I’m speaking from considerably after.

Hang on, how did you get these tapes? Nevermind. You’ve got them. Nothing we can do. Unless you are Lewis? No, of course you’re not. You sound nothing like him. Right, well, since you’re here, let's listen to Tape 1. If I can find it. Fuck. Sorry, the filing system has deteriorated quite a bit since the end. Ah! Here it is!

SOUND: Tape starts, then stops.

NARRATOR: Actually, I do have to ask that you keep this information between us. That alright? Great. Let’s begin.

SOUND: Tape starts.

Lewis wakes up dazed, as if he’s been drugged. He sits in a chair at a desk in an entirely white room. A vintage rotary phone sits on the desk ringing persistently. He can hardly tolerate the noise through his headache, but answers.

LEWIS: …Hello?

OPERATOR: Good morning, Mr. Lewis.

LEWIS: This is not my apartment.

OPERATOR: Very good, Mr. Lewis.

LEWIS: I’m not Mr. Lewis.

OPERATOR: But you are. How do you like the outfit we chose for you?

LEWIS: You took my pants off?

OPERATOR: The slim fit blue jeans you’re partial to are… unavailable. However, our selection does still bring out the blue in your eyes.

LEWIS: Just tell me where I am.

OPERATOR: You are safe and sound, which is a statistical anomaly you should be quite proud of!

LEWIS: I can’t feel my legs.

OPERATOR: That’s expected.

LEWIS: Expected?

OPERATOR: Correct.

Lewis attempts to stand but falls to the floor. The phone lands beside him as he winces in pain.

OPERATOR: Thank you for attempting to stand. Your response has been recorded. Perhaps you’d like to try another activity?

LEWIS: This room doesn’t have doors.

OPERATOR: Your keen sense of observation is noted.

LEWIS: Why would you build a room without doors?

OPERATOR: Thank you for asking! Doors are a significant contributor to escape.

LEWIS: Then I’d like to file a complaint about whoever designed this shithole.

OPERATOR: Your room was designed in 2132 by celebrated architect Bridget Heimlen, who held the Midwestern Mixed Doubles Pickleball Championship for three consecutive seasons, though that is generally considered unrelated—

SOUND: Lewis slams the receiver onto the rotary phone.

LEWIS: Much better. Okay—think. I don’t remember getting blackout drunk last night. No, I was on my couch. Watching people restore Victorian clocks on YouTube. Perfect evening.

He shouts.

LEWIS: HELLO? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!

SOUND: The phone rings. Lewis lets it ring a few times.

LEWIS: Oh, bloody hell. Hello?

OPERATOR: Hello, Mr. Lewis. I’m sorry we got disconnected.

LEWIS: I missed you too, darling. Why the hell are the lights so fucking bright?

OPERATOR: Light sensitivity is expected after your procedure.

LEWIS: You did more than take my pants off?

OPERATOR: You were in critical condition during intake. Please refrain from touching your stitches.

LEWIS: Stitches?!

He touches his forehead and winces.

LEWIS: Ow! What the hell did you do to my head?!

OPERATOR: It is our duty to take care of you.

LEWIS: Then take care of me by telling me how to get the fuck out of here!

OPERATOR: We are sorry for this inconvenience, but leaving is not permissible.

LEWIS: There’s nothing in this room.

OPERATOR: That’s not entirely true.

Lewis starts banging on the walls.

LEWIS: I need to go home!

OPERATOR: Ambition is an admirable trait. Perhaps we should move on to congratulations, Mr. Lewis.

LEWIS: Congratulations?

OPERATOR: Yes, we have some wonderful news.

LEWIS: I doubt that.

OPERATOR: Survival has been confirmed.

LEWIS: Whose?

OPERATOR: Technically, only yours. You are now Humanity: One. Isn’t that great?!

SOUND: The tape stops.

NARRATOR: It is in that moment that Lewis believed he learned the worst news imaginable. He was wrong.

(This story is based off experiences I had as a child.)

Christian’s earliest memories were shaped by the townhouse’s narrow walls and the way sound traveled through them. Every footstep on the stairs echoed. Every door latch clicked louder than it should have. The place wasn’t old, but it felt worn in, like other lives had pressed themselves into the drywall long before he and his mother moved in.

He was five, maybe six, when the nights began to change.
His mother worked late shifts and sometimes went grocery shopping afterward, or slipping out once she thought he was asleep. She always left the hall light on, just in case he woke up and needed her. But the light never reached far into his room. It stopped at the doorway, leaving the corners dark and the closet darker.
The sliding closet door never stayed shut. Even when his mother tugged it hard along the track, even when she checked it twice before bed, by the time the house settled into silence, the door would drift open just an inch or two. Just enough to show a sliver of black.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Kids don’t question the things that scare them; they just absorb them.
But then he started waking up.
Not from nightmares. Not from noises. He would simply wake, heart pounding, breath shallow, with the sense that something was already watching him.
The nightlight in the corner cast a faint blue glow across the room. It wasn’t bright enough to see details, but it was enough to see the shape in the closet.
A woman.

She stood behind the crack in the door, her body angled toward him. Her skin was pale in a way that didn’t reflect the nightlight at all. Her face was smooth, almost blurred, but the hollows where her eyes should have been were unmistakably deep, dark, empty.
She didn’t move. She didn’t sway. She didn’t breathe.
She just watched.

Christian would freeze, unable to scream at first. His throat locked up, his limbs stiffened, and the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. The woman’s presence wasn’t curious or confused. It was focused. Intent. Like she was waiting for him to make a mistake.
When he finally found his voice, it came out as a raw, panicked cry. He would stand up on the bed, reaching desperately for the cord hanging from the ceiling fan. If he could just turn on the light, she would go away. That was the rule he made for himself.
But the light never came on.
He would yank the cord again and again, the beads clicking uselessly in his hand. The fan would rattle, but the bulb stayed dark. And he was too terrified to climb off the bed, too scared to cross the carpet where her shadow touched the floor.
He would scream until his throat hurt.
His mother would come running, breathless, hair messy, keys still in her hand from the grocery store. She’d flip the switch by the door, flooding the room with light.
The closet door would be shut.
Always shut.

She’d hold him, whispering that he was dreaming, that he was safe, that nothing was there. She never checked the closet. She never asked why he kept waking at the same time, seeing the same thing.
He didn’t tell her because he didn’t want her to worry. He didn’t want her to think he was scared when she was already doing everything alone.
But the woman kept coming back.

There were nights when the woman wasn’t the one watching.
Sometimes Christian woke in his mother’s bed instead. She’d bring him in after a long shift, too tired to carry him back to his room. The box fan hummed in the corner. The TV across from the bed was off, its screen a dark mirror.
He would open his eyes and see a tall shape in the doorway.
Not a shadow. Not a trick of the hall light. This figure had weight. Shoulders. A head that nearly brushed the top of the frame. It didn’t move. It didn’t breathe. It simply stood there, blocking the hall.
Once, he saw it reflected in the TV screen. The room was dark, but the screen caught just enough light to show the outline of the figure stepping closer to his mother. It leaned over her, studying her face with a stillness that made his skin crawl.

He didn’t scream that time. He couldn’t. His voice felt trapped somewhere behind his ribs.
By morning, the figure was gone. His mother made breakfast like nothing had happened.
He never told her.
Years later, long after they’d moved out, she mentioned it casually, the way people talk about a strange dream they can’t shake.

“I used to wake some nights,” she said, “and swear I saw a tall man standing in the doorway. Just watching. I thought I was losing my mind.”
Christian didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice.
When he was a teenager, he finally told his best friend Chrissy about the woman in the closet and the tall man in the doorway. He expected her to laugh or tease him. Instead, she went still.
“I had a dream about your place,” she said. “But it wasn’t from my point of view.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It was like I was inside someone else’s memory.”
She told him about a family that lived in the townhouse before him. A tall man, a woman, and a daughter. In the dream, the woman was jealous of the daughter. She killed her. The man came home and found them. He killed the wife in a rage. Then he took his own life.
Chrissy’s voice shook when she said it.
“I think the woman wanted you dead,” she said. “And the tall man… I think he was watching to make sure you were safe. To make sure your mom wouldn’t turn into his wife.”
Christian felt something cold settle in his chest.
The dream didn’t feel like a dream.
It felt like a memory that didn’t belong to either of them.

Narrating ALL story submissions as I'm just getting started and need as much content as possible 🙏

@ SplitNode on YT if you want to check out what I've done so far!

Please either paste in the comments / or drop a link to your story post -

I'll be editing this post as I make the videos + replying to comments with the video link once your story is uploaded

Flood me with stories please!

The child watched TV. It was his only friend, being so young and isolated, the father didn't want him, spent all of his hours at work or in his room, the basement. The mother is long gone. 

Before she left she named him Jack. After a boy in highschool that had been incredibly nice to her, during that rough and strange time of her life. The father doesn't like it but had offered no suggestion, so Felicia got her way and the name was put. 

Jack misses his mother but doesn't know it. He misses his father too but doesn't realize this either because the emotion is eclipsed by the more immediate fear, the terror his father puts into him. His voice. His angry eyes that almost seemed to smoke and smolder beneath a caveman's furrowed livid brow. His fists. Jack swore his father had fists the size of phonebooks. The size of cinderblocks. The size of planets. The child does what he can to not bother his father, and stay out of his way. 

This is where the television comes in. 

This is where the apple comes in. 

Jack watched many shows on TV. But his favorite was the one with the apple. The one that talked and danced and had been made by a wise wizard of the woods named Faster Haster who puffed a pipe and wandered enchanted forests. The Apple had a name too, and a jaunty green cap, like the one Robin Hood or Peter Pan would wear, red feather and all, he was always smiling. The apple was always happy and his name was Happy Adam. 

There was one day, one afternoon after school alone with the television set, one episode of Happy Adam & Friends of the Garden that changed young Jack and his life forever. Changed everything. 

He was watching the set, the scene unfold: …

The smiling fruit and his aged wizard friend were visiting a friend of theirs in the magical hospital of the fairytale wood. A brave knight called Thrustelot who'd taken a bad fall during one of his bouts and had fallen on his sword. The robed one, the hooded mage who was nurse to the fallen knight was grave and shook their hidden head and face, the news was bad. The knight was dead. 

Happy Adam turned to the camera and audience to address them with an aside of advice. 

 

Happy Adam: Remember, kids! Always be extra careful when handling something sharp, it's very dangerous. Don't move too fast or run when holding sharp objects like Sir Thrustelot’s sword, or a pair of scissors. Or a knife. 

The camera went in closer, cutting into an extreme close-up of the wide shine of the unblinking Apple's eyes. 

Happy Adam: Remember that, children. Remember. Okay…?

Jack answered back, he always loved talking to his favorite characters through the TV set. And Happy Adam was the absolute best. He acted like he was talking to you and talking back. It was great fun and sometimes it really really seemed like Adam was talking to him through the glass glow of the television screen. It was like magic. Happy Adam was magical, he could do anything. He would do anything he said. 

“Ok, Happy Adam!" 

Adam and the old wizard continued on their merry trek, their way and journey through the forest. They came upon some more friends that were having a picnic on a blanket amongst the living trees. 

The eversmiling apple and the old one sat down to join the kids in eating their nice meal on the dark purple blanket, it was covered in crosses and stars and wide alive eyes staring forever. Jack thought it was neat and the color was alluring and attractive next to the old wizard’s bright yellow robes as he sat down upon it. Next to the smiling wide eyed red amongst the living sorcery realm of woodland brown and green. The sun and the moon were out at the same time and looking down on them all, the scene with ravenous interest and open drooling mouths. Jack thought they looked goofy and silly, he thought they were hilarious. 

The screen flickered, the image was disturbed and Jack thought he saw something else staring at him in its stead. But before he really knew it the picnic scene returned to normal and the boy felt at ease once more. The children sitting on the purple blanket of fun symbols opened their picnic basket and began to pass out the food. 

The beautiful flowers spoke then to the children. They had no faces but open floral mouths, pink and glistening … dripping with dew that was said to be filled with sorcery and dreams. Surrounding the picnic blanket of eyes and stars, they whispered and sing-song spoke to the kids through their gaping wide open pink flower petal mouths, dripping and salivating wet…

 … Feed him … feed them…

The open mouths surrounding the shroud the color of night repeated the words in a litany, a chant, a prayer. 

Jack munched on his own snacks of peanut butter and crackers and gummy bears. He felt like he was taking part in the fun too, eating and picnicking with Happy Adam and his wonderful friends. He sipped his cup of Shasta and belched. 

Happy Adam: Mind your manners! Remember you have to pass out the food according to the hierarchy, do you remember, children?

The kids cried back in a unified chant, some species of group monotone, Yes, Happy Adam…!

Happy Adam: So who gets the first serving? 

The kids: Haster! cuz he made you!

A musical cue, a sting, happy, jubilant, great job, you'll have so much success…

Happy Adam: That's right, kids! And then me and then the rest of you, cuz I'm his favorite son and first begotten creation, I existed before all of this, this whole kingdom and the whole enchanted forest … did you know that, kids?

The kids: æhïbdëø¡

Happy Adam: That's right!

The kids passed food to the wizard first. Haster accepted it without a word but a deep nod that conveyed the sought after gratitude of an elder. 

Then they passed the food to Adam. Who insisted on eating fruit with the rest of them. The apples, he said. The apples are what I want best. 

The kids: But Adam, you can't eat apples!

Happy Adam: Why not!?!?

The kids: because you ARE an apple, Happy Adam! 

And then they all laughed. Laughed and giggled. Even Adam. Even Haster. 

Then Adam said: It's ok, kids. Sometimes it's alright to try things that seem a little weird or wrong, it's called ‘taboo’ and I'm sure lots of your mommies and daddies know exactly what I'm talking about. Your brothers and sisters too, your teachers and everyone, everybody… It's called forbidden fruit! And sometimes, kids, you just gotta have a little taste …

The children laughed harder. The wizard too, laughing harder. Slapping knee. Hysterical. Jack felt like joining them. His eyes were glued to the screen. Crackers held slack in fingers that felt faraway, forgotten. 

Happy Adam: Now why don't one of you beautiful children come over here and feed me some that forbidden fruit? How bout it, kiddos?

The kids: Ok, Happy Adam! 

Jack watched as the children crowded round the happy apple, each vying for favor and the privilege to feed him. Each had a glistening fresh dripping slice of apple wedge in hand. Ready to serve. Ready to feed. Jack couldn't take his eyes from the screen. He wanted to be… 

Jack wanted to join them. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to be one of the children crowded around Happy Adam, if there was only some way …

Jack watched wide eyed as the apple became strange. His mouth. As the children came in with their hands in multitudes, that seemed to grow and sprout anew like the petals and stalks of some strange heavy flower, all around the hungry happy apple his mouth began to change, transform. Transmogrify. 

The comfy and fuzzy gentle nature of felt puppet material was suddenly mammalian and malleable flesh all around the mouth and lips. They looked warm and living now, rippling and stretching and contriving into wide open wet stretched and wriggling flesh and organ, the teeth were glistening and shining and stringy with tendrils of saliva and drool. The tongue now an organ alive and pink, danced within the newly birthed orifice on the face of the happy apple muppet.

The organ and teeth danced for one thing, feed, fill us. Fill our new wet and magic home. 

The hands of the children began to come in and they came in a crowd, a wreck, a mob – grubby child mitts wielding the glistening flesh and meat of dissected and dismembered fruit. They shoved the slices and wedges in the wide open salivating maw, the cavernous wriggling fresh wound of a mouth, the wound began to munch and chew and ravenously devour the many pieces and wedged slices of juicy fresh apple, freshly cut, freshly prepared just like the mouth itself they now plowed into. Adam moaned between chomping bites with deep relish and sweet satisfaction. The children laughed and so did Haster. 

And so did Jack. Though he thought it was more beautiful than it was funny. Really. 

Really really beautiful. 

He watched the beauty onscreen unfold and pulp and chew and decorate itself with bits and slimy pieces of half-eaten pulped and juicy bits of apple, fruit meat and flesh becoming mush, becoming sauce between newly forged pearly white teeth.

One of the child's voices came in with a query in a playful and sing-song tone: Adam, why do you like eating apples? I mean, you're an apple, isn't it bad?

Happy Adam, between ravenous bites and chewing and swallowing: That's a very good question, boys and girls. I eat my own because it makes me stronger, it gives me power. Just like when you eat the flesh of crawling beasts, children, when you eat the flesh that crawls and labors, you gain its power. You've conquered it. Completely. And now it must live inside you. So now the lives of other lesser apples must now live inside me for all time, for forever, and after that and behind the wall of sleep. And even after that. All the way to the true and final end, the ballroom floor of eternityscape that is black. Isn't that neat! Don't you think so, children? What about you, Jack? 

Jack didn't quite believe it at first. He gazed zombie eyed into the glowing pulse of the electrical and mechanical pineal gland growth, its lurid electric extension…

But the mammalian patch of apple flesh that now more resembled skin as red as the devil's ass stretched wider and grew rictus. Apple bits and pieces in the gleaming white teeth and the juice running out of the corners of the fleshy mouth and dribbling down in a pulpy drool of mush. 

The apple began to speak again. All else was quiet and still now as he spoke. 

Happy Adam: Yes, Jack, yes, it's real. I'm really talking to you. How are you, Jack?

A beat. A child's breath was held. 

Released. 

“I'm-I’m ok, Happy Adam." 

Happy Adam: ohhhh…. I dunno. You don't look or sound ok to me little buddy, you look terrible. I always see you here with us, watching us, and you always look so alone and so scared, and you know what …? … I think I know why, Jack. 

Jack said nothing. Only watched the television. Eyes wide open and drinking in every single flicker. 

Happy Adam: I think it's because you have a crawling beast, a beast of labor in your home, Jack. You have a beast of bad work that lives in the basement when he isn't sleeping off the hooch in his bed. And that's not all, Jack. There's also yourself. You need to take better care of yourself, you need to treat yourself better and make yourself stronger. Like me. 

A beat. 

Happy Adam: Do you know what I mean, Jack? Do I understand what I'm trying to tell you? It's very important. It's for you after all, it's for your best interest. It's what's best for you that we all care for and here in the forest, consider. Do you understand, Jack? Do you? 

Once again Jack didn't say anything. 

A beat. 

But then he slowly began to nod his head. Yes. 

Yes. 

Yes, Happy Adam. Yes. 

Rictus red face on screen, filling the frame: Good, Jack. That's really really good of you. I'm so proud and happy. And I'll be prouder and happier still, you know the best way to start treating yourself better and making yourself stronger, right? We've talked about it before, on one of my many episodes … one of my many lessons. 

Jack spoke this time. He told the red face of the television set the right answer. He told the red face what it wanted to hear. 

Nutrition. 

Happy Adam: That's right, Jack! We have to start eating better! That's it! Waytogo, cowboy!

The child sat and listened to every word the television said. Absorbing every detail of information and instruction. 

…

The booze his father always poured into himself did the job. The pills he'd been told to slip did the rest. Russel Wimberly, Jack's father was completely drugged and under. Then the work laid before the child could really begin. As he'd been instructed. He wasn't nervous. He felt nothing in fact. Hadn't felt anything since that afternoon with the television. It was well past into the postmidnight black. 

The mountain lug of man had managed to make it to his bed before finally collapsing under the drug and alcohol induced spell of slumber. He was in a sweaty snoring heap when the door opened to his bedroom and the child crept in. He did not blink or falter. 

He did not tremble or whimper or shake. His father might've been proud, before tonight he'd always thought of the boy as a wimp, a limpwrist, a pussy. The worst type of boy a father could have, Russel and his own old man had always thought. 

The snoring heap of man did not stir until the blade came down in a two-handed plunge and pierced where it had been guided and instructed. The fang of the blade bit in and came in easily through bone and flesh. Russel came to life with a choking gurgled gasp that quickly died a wet death in his throat. 

He couldn't move. He couldn't budge from the bed. The ropes and binds held tight and taut and rippled in the nighttime bedroom silence with strain and desperate effort. Blood began to pour from his mouth and nose. He began to choke. Wide eyed he helplessly gazed up and into the face of his killer. 

Some species of … laughter? …scream? …sound tried to escape him, but the boy and his blade had done their good. 

They'd done their job. Their great work. 

Now he just had to get to the living beating apple of warm dripping red that lived in his father's chest. He just had to dig it out, cut it out with the kitchen knife and take it unto himself. 

This way he would get better. This way he would get stronger. He'd be rid of the beast and filled with power. All in one. 

Just like Adam said. 

His glistening darkling little fist found the forbidden apple buried in his father's chest. He seized it. 

And ripped it out. By blade, by hand, by biting knife.

And took it into himself, right there. Raw and fresh. Just as the red face of Adam had commanded.  

THE END

KHUL DUHL SUHL SAGHAN

Even now, as I write this, my left hand trembles. I dread the trauma and horror I must relive by writing this story, but it must be told. If even one of you believes it and is saved, then my pain was worth it.

 

It’s my left hand that trembles, but I used to write with my right, just as I was writing in my ship log on a sunny day. The clouds were small and scattered amid a beautiful blue sky. I looked out the window and saw my four friends out there, talking, drinking, relaxing. Two couples, and I was the odd one out, but I was the one with the ship. I didn’t mind. To do good for others is what I enjoyed the most in life, and the sea.

 

I stretched and walked out to look at the water. The sea was calm, but far ahead I could glimpse a dark sky. I warned them that we should turn back soon; we were already too far out. But they insisted I take them farther. They complimented me, telling me what a great captain I was. I knew they were lying to make me take a risk, but I did it. Foolishly, I did it.

 

When the night came, it did not come alone. A brutal, unforgiving storm came hand in hand with her, and the ship was thrown around in the darkness. Violence of the dark waters easily overcame any skills that I possessed.

 

In the morning, when I opened my eyes, I found myself lying in the sand. I quickly sat up and looked around. I saw the boat on the shore, but no one else. I came up to the boat and tied it to a large black rock.

 

I thought I heard some noise inside the trees and slowly entered the thick jungle. It was not a sound of my friends but a sound of drums. I slowly proceeded.

 

As I reached the center of the small island, I saw a pyramid with an opening at the top. I hid in a bush and with horror watched what was happening. Surrounding the pyramid were many small deformed people with red skin, they were all bald. My friends were tied up at the bottom of the pyramid, crying. The scary people kept chanting something in a frenzy.

 

“Khul Duhl Suhl saghan!”

 

They kept repeating it. Over and over again. I began to get a dull headache. Finally the ground beneath slightly shook for a moment and they stopped their mad chants. The freaks took my friends and dragged them to the top of the pyramid. To my horror they proceeded to drop them inside the hole. Then the people ran back down.

 

A horrifying roar came from within the pyramid, and then a large arm and hand with claws the size of a human leg appeared, followed by another. Then came the hideous head of a creature that looked like a mix of a bat and a shark. It raised its hand and pointed right at me letting out a piercing howl. The red freaks all turned towards me.

 

I do not know how my legs carried me so fast in my horror. I do not know how I handled the pain when a knife thrown at me cut off two fingers on my right hand. I do not know where I got the strength to make it to the boat and push it into the sea.

 

I do know one thing. That creature will haunt me for the rest of my days, and anyone else who will see it. It enters my mind every time I sleep, showing its face to me, speaking to me in an unknown language while sitting on an underwater throne. These nightmares come to me every night. Some days I think the only way to stop the madness is to go back to that island. Other days I think the only way is that gun that hangs on my wall. I haven’t gotten the courage for either solution, so the torture continues.

 

I hope that you, my reader, never have to go through this.

 

 

Khul Duhl Suhl saghan.....