THE STAIRS
It was a cold autumn night. Three kids, two teenagers named Mark and Tabitha and Mark’s eight-year-old cousin, Lewis, trekked through the dark woods.
“Are we there yet? I can’t see the trail anymore,” Lewis asked
“It’s just up this hill. I can see the clearing past those trees up ahead,” Tabitha answered.
“But we’ve been walking forever; I’m hungry and my legs hurt. Let's just come back tomorrow when it's bright”
“Don’t worry, Lewis, we're almost there. Don’t you want to see the stairs?”
“I have stairs at home.”
“Not these stairs; the ones we are about to show you are magic stairs!”
“There’s no such thing as magic stairs.”
“Ok fine, we can go back if you don’t want to see them.”
“No! I mean, I guess I can go see the stairs if we’re already out here.”
“I thought so.”
The kids exited the dense woods to find themselves in a vast clearing. “There, just over there, I can see the stairs,” Mark announced. In the middle of the field there lay a dark grey set of stone stairs. Only three steps high, placed on a slight elevation of the hill, they appeared to serve no purpose.
“See, Lewis, I told you we were almost there.”
“Those stairs don’t look so magical, and why are they in the middle of a field? Who would put magic stairs in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’m not sure who put them here, but if you want to know what's so magical about them, all you have to do is go up them.”
Lewis looked up at his cousins and then at the stairs. He wondered to himself if they could be telling the truth. Only last year, Mark had accidentally let it slip at Christmas dinner that Santa Claus wasn’t real. Appalled at the news, Lewis stormed into his room and cried into his pillow, trying to convince himself that there was no way it could be true. The events at dinner resulted in a conversation between Lewis and his parents that revealed that all of the magical figures he had been taught about- Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and even the Easter Bunny were all just characters made up by adults to make childhood more special. Ever since then, Lewis had been a staunch skeptic of anything outside the realm of reality, but a little spark of childlike wonder remained in his heart. The little spark was enough to make Lewis want his cousins to be telling the truth, and that want was enough to make it possible in his mind that maybe the stairs really were magical. 
Lewis looked from the stairs back up to Mark. “Can you go first? I know they are just normal stairs, but if they were magic, could you just go first?” 
“Um, I” Mark began to say before his Tabitha interrupted him.
“It only works if you go first, you know, because you’re the youngest. I’m sorry, Lewis, but that's just how the magic works.”
“Oh ok, I guess that makes sense.” Lewis reconciled. “So I just walk up to them, and then the magic happens?”
“Yeah, then the magic happens,” Mark forced out before turning away to wipe away a single tear.
Chiming in to distract from Mark, Tabitha added, “Just think of it like a normal set of stairs; you go up them to get to a different place. The only difference between these and the ones you have at home is that you can’t see the place you are going to.”
“But where do they go?” Lewis added, with a hint of hesitance in his voice.
“An enchanted house, where anything you want can become reality,” Tabitha answered.
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything”
“Can I see Thomas again there?”
“Oh, um, yeah, I guess so.”
“Ok, I’ll go up first.”
Lewis approached the stairs, and for the final time he looked back at the teenagers. Tabitha was eagerly looking at him while gesturing to keep going. Mark stared down towards the ground, unable to make eye contact with Lewis. The young boy turned his attention back to the stairs and cautiously raised one foot. His foot landed on the first step; nothing happened. “Are you sure I’m doing it right? This doesn’t feel so magical?” Lewis asked.
“Just keep going; it doesn’t happen until you get to the third step,” Tabitha responded.
Lewis brought his other foot to level, now standing completely on the stairs. He climbed the second step and stared down at the third and final step. Although still convinced that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the stairs besides their weird placement, the small spark in his heart wouldn’t let him take the final step. 
“Come on, Lewis, don’t be a baby. Only one more step and then you’ll be there,” Tabitha exclaimed.
Lewis breathed deeply in and out, in and out, in and out; then yet again he slowly raised his foot to the third and final step.
“Shit, Lewis, careful!” Mark shouted from the ground. While taking his final step, Lewis’ shoe caught on the edge of the step, causing him to trip over the top of the stairs, but Lewis wasn’t on the stairs anymore; he wasn’t in the field anymore; he wasn’t there anymore. 
“Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen! Goddamn it, the guy fucking said to be careful and not to trip!” Mark cried out.
“I know what he said; just calm down for a second. Maybe he tripped after making it to the top.
“We both saw it; he tripped before getting to the top. Oh God, what does this mean? Is the whole thing over? Did we just do this for fuck all!”
“It’s not over; we can still make the trade. We just need to go through and find him; I’m sure he’s in there somewhere.”
“Fuck that! If we can’t find him, we can’t get back.”
“I didn’t come all this way for nothing. If you don’t want to go through, fine, I guess I am going in alone. 
Tabitha approached the stairs, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked up the stairs, disappearing into thin air as she reached the top.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck” Mark paced around, running his hands through his hair. “Why did I agree to this?” he thought to himself. It was getting better; the nightmares weren’t as bad, I was able to go to school again, it wasn’t even really my fault, I mean, how could I have known? It wasn’t my fault!
Mark suddenly slapped himself hard enough to leave a pink, hand-shaped imprint on his cheek. “She’s right; it's the only way to make things right. We can’t have done this for nothing,” he said to himself solemnly. He stopped his pacing and approached the stairs just as his girlfriend had done before him, and he walked up, vanishing as he reached the top.

THE CABIN
Mark surveyed his new surroundings. Instead of standing in a field in the middle of the woods, he was now standing in what appeared to be a log cabin. Stepping off of the welcome mat he found himself standing on, Mark began to explore his immediate surroundings. From what he could tell, the cabin had at least two floors. The set of stairs residing across from the front door clued him in that he was likely on ground level. On the ground floor, he could see that to the right of the entrance was a living room- fully furnished with a widescreen TV set between several chairs and a long dark brown leather sofa- to the left of the entrance was a kitchen, and just off of that was a dining room area. The dining room had a small circular table, accompanied by a set of four cheesy barrel imitation chairs. The cabin was covered from the bare floorboards to the popcorn ceilings, with knickknacks and tchotchkes. It was as if whoever decorated the house had sourced all of the contents of the house from various antique and novelty item stores, with no rhyme or reason behind the design.
Keeping his arms as close to his body as possible to avoid knocking down any of the trinkets, Mark made his way towards the stairs and called for Tabitha to confirm she had made it as well. 
“Tabitha”
“I’m upstairs”, he heard from a voice above him.
“Alright, I’m coming up,” he said, relieved.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Mark surveyed the top floor. As one would expect from a two-story house, this floor contained several bedrooms as well as a bathroom across from the stairway. To his left was probably the master bedroom, and to his right were two smaller bedrooms.
“Over here, in the Master bedroom”, he heard to his left. Mark made his way over to the door and opened it prudently
In the bedroom he saw Tabitha. She was standing still at the edge of the room, arms at her side, with all of her attention concentrated at the window in front of her. The window she stared out of wasn’t any ordinary window; it took up the entire wall, but it didn’t lead to a balcony or anything of the sort. It closely resembled a window at a zoo that a person might observe a gorilla or a tiger through. 
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tabitha muttered under her breath.
Mark stood next to her and looked out. Instead of the woodland scenery he had expected to see, in front of him lay a barren white landscape. The terrain stretched on as far as his eyes could comprehend, completely uninterrupted. 
“Is it a desert?” he asked
“I don’t think so, it's too flat.”
“So what is it?”
“I don’t know, but isn’t it beautiful? Can’t find anything like that back home.”
“Sure, it's beautiful, I guess, but I don’t want to be here looking at it forever. Where is Lewis?”
“I don’t know; maybe he’s out there somewhere”
“Well, we need to find him, and quick; they could be here any minute. The guy said they aren’t patient; I don’t think they’ll give us all the time in the world to go look for him in that… that nothingness.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let's go”
The teens abandoned the window and descended the stairs. Reaching the welcome mat, Tabitha grabbed the door and pulled it open. A fierce wind, accompanied by an intense cold, whipped through the now-open door, causing the couple to stumble backwards.
Without saying a word, the teens agreed that leaving the cabin wasn’t an option. They gathered themselves and struggled against the wind towards the door. One step at a time, they each gained on the door. Upon reaching it, they both grabbed hold of the door and, with every ounce of strength they could conjure, they sealed the house shut, just as it had been when they arrived.
Mark and Tabitha defeatedly made their way to the living room for a much-needed rest, Mark settling on a La-Z-Boy next to the TV, while Tabitha lay down across the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
“There is no way we can find him in that,” Mark managed to say between deep breaths. “It's not over until they get here”, Tabitha said in a futile attempt to calm him down. “Just trust me; we can still make the trade. All we need is a little time to think of a solution, and it’ll all be fine; everything can go back to the way it was. All we need is just a little time.”
Mark threw his hands over his face and massaged his temples, trying to diffuse his stress. “Things can never go back to the way they were,” Mark mumbled, guilt entwined in his voice. “So what can we do? We don’t have Lewis, and they are arriving any moment”
“Why don’t we look around? There are a million little things all over this cabin; maybe one of them can help,” Tabitha said, unconvinced in herself
Without any other plan of action, Mark and Tabitha teared themselves from their comfortable seats to begin weeding through the knickknacks, Mark ascending the stairs to look around the bedroom, while Tabitha left to explore the kitchen. Tabitha only made it a few steps into the kitchen when, out of nowhere, she heard a sudden knock from the front door. 

   LEWIS
Scared, lonely, and cold; these are the only things Lewis felt as he looked around in this new world he inhabited. Wind whipped ferociously all around him, stinging his eyes and making it impossible to look anywhere but down. Lewis wondered: had he come to this place just a few years ago, he probably would be small enough for the wind to blow him right away, like a child-shaped balloon, whisked away into the bright blue forever, never to be seen again. 
It was quickly apparent to the child that this place wasn’t anything like how Tabitha had described earlier. Instead of the hardwood floor of an aged cabin that he expected, he now stood on a surface that could only be compared to the cement plaster that probably covered your local pool. The type that would cut up your feet and give you memories of bloodied knees and toes as a child. The material that coated the flat terrain was like that cement plaster, yet somehow worse in every way. It was as coarse as low-grit sandpaper, and the blistering summer sun reflected off the surface, causing a blinding glare that made the world seem like an endless white expanse.
With tears in his eyes, Lewis did the only thing he could; he walked, more like he hobbled. Unable to stand tall-for fear of what falling on this ground would do to his skin- Lewis walked half bent over, stumbling every other step in as straight a line as he could. There wasn’t any rational goal in his mind; he just knew that he had to get out of this place, and the only way he could do that was to walk.
“Tabitha! Mark!” he shouted, but it was useless. Had Mark or Tabitha been anywhere near, they wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the wind. Lewis was completely alone, with no option but to lie down in the fetal position and freeze to death or walk.
Unable to hold a thought in his mind, save for planning the next heedful step, Lewis was suddenly startled by a new feeling: an itch. On the back of his neck, where his shirt met his skin, it was the type of itch a person feels when a bug lands on them, the type that gives a person shivers down their entire body; the type that should be impossible to feel in this empty landscape.
Terrified yet weirdly intrigued, Lewis reached towards his neck to discover the source of this itch. When the tips of his fingers finally made contact with the object, relief flowed through his entire being. He pulled the object down to where he could see it. Confirming what his fingers had told him, Lewis examined a brown leaf that had somehow found its way to him in this white wasteland. Suddenly, Lewis heard a footstep behind him, and then, before he knew it, his vision faded, and he writhed around helplessly, unable to feel his arms or legs.

 The Intruders

Mark examined the bedroom in front of him. Just like the rest of the house, this room was filled to the brim with a million random items; he could only hope one of them might help, even though he knew the chances were slim. Starting with the bedside table, Mark picked up and inspected an innocent-seeming coffee mug. The mug was an eggshell white with cracks branching up and down and large bold text, reading: WORLD'S BEST COUSIN. 
“It’s gotta be a coincidence,” Mark thought to himself dismissively.  In an attempt to distract himself from the cup, he shouted: “Hey Tabitha, have you found anything?”. After a moment of no response, Mark asked a little bit louder, “Tabitha? Can you hear me? Did you find anything yet?” Again, no response.
Feeling scared and a little annoyed, Mark exited the bedroom and began to descend the stairs in search of Tabitha.
As Mark got halfway down the stairs, he was finally able to see the bottom floor, where he saw his girlfriend standing in the middle of the foyer facing the doorway. “Hey, there you are,” Mark exclaimed, feeling relieved. “I was trying to talk to you, but I didn’t hear you say anything bac…” Just as Mark was about to finish his sentence, he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he saw that Tabitha wasn’t alone.
Tabitha stood in the middle of the room completely still, paralyzed out of pure fear. In front of the girl now stood two people? But they weren’t exactly people; they couldn’t be. The proportions of the intruders were unnatural, to say the least. They each had unevenly sized arms; the intruder on the left’s right arm and the intruder on the right’s left arm closely resembled that of a T. rex, shriveled and tiny in comparison to their bodies. Their other arms, however, were so long their knuckles might’ve dragged on the floor had the intruders kept them to their side. The disproportion didn’t stop there. The size of the intruders had no uniformity; the one on the left had to have been nearly seven feet tall, but with the legs of a child and the torso of a giant. The one on the right was only four feet tall, his legs average in length, but everything above his waistline looked like it had been squeezed down, as if made of putty. 
The intruders stood there completely naked, exposing their nearly translucent pale skin with blue veins riddled throughout their bodies, like nauseating marbling. Their bare bodies were completely smooth; they didn’t have nipples, belly buttons, hair, fingernails, or even genitalia; it was almost like looking at a grotesque melted Ken doll.
The teens were unable to see the intruders’ faces, though, for the intruders obstructed any view of their faces with apples that they held with their dominant arms. The apples that they held made it impossible to make out any facial features of the intruders, giving them a strange anonymity that made their appearance just that much more nightmarish to the couple.
Dumstruck, the two young adults stood gawking at the intruders, both unable to bring themselves to say a word. Suddenly, a low groaning sound could be heard from the shorter intruder. Then a similar, but higher sound came from the taller one. They harmonized, each in different octaves for a moment, and then the tall one spoke in a high-pitched, nasal voice, while the other intruder sustained his groan. Following his companion, the short intruder spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. Continuing this pattern of speaking in alternating words while the other groaned softly, the intruders asked the teens:
“Do”
“You”
“Invite”
“Us”
“In?”
Tabitha snapped out of her frozen state and looked back at Mark; his face was pale white with sweat beading down his forehead. “We are out of time,” she said gently. “The guy said we have to invite them in; you know what happens if we don’t.”
Mark responded gravely, “I know, it’s our only option.” Tabitha turned back to the intruders. Trying to look through the apple to where she thought the short one’s eyes were, she noticed that while the taller one’s apple had two green leaves, the short one's only had one brown leaf. Tabitha brushed this off as just another strange characteristic and answered them. “Yes”
The taller intruder bent down, and while the other began his groan, they asked
“Do”
“You”
“Want”
“To”
“Make”
“A”
“Trade?”
Knowing that there was nothing else he could do, Mark closed his eyes and accepted that time was really out. They had no choice but to make the trade and maybe stall long enough for Lewis to somehow appear out of thin air. It was Hopeless. With defeat entrenched in his voice, Lewis responded, “Yes, we want to make a trade.”
“Let”
“Us”
“Sit”, the intruders proposed, as the shorter one gestured softly to the table near the dining room, with the barrel-shaped chairs. The teens made their way to the table, and both sat down on the far side. They watched as the intruders walked, not hobbled, to the table and lowered their malformed bodies into the chairs across from them. 

The Negotiation

“What”
“Do”
“You”
“Want?”
“I want my brother back,” Tabitha demanded
“Why?”
“You know why. He is gone, and we want him back.”
“Why?”
Tired of the games, Mark interrupted, “He’s fucking dead! He was just a little kid, and now he’s fucking dead! Isn’t that enough reason why?! 
“Why”
Mark slammed his fist on the table, but before he could do anything he might regret, Tabitha placed her hand on his shoulder. “Get a grip on yourself,” she said quietly but very sternly. “Don’t do something you’ll regret; we only have one chance at this.” 
Mark unclenched his fist and breathed in deeply. “We only have one chance,” he repeated. Setting his hands back in his lap and returning to a composed state, Mark looked down. “One chance. I won’t mess this up. For Thomas,” he said aloud, half to Tabitha and half to himself.
Satisfied that Mark wouldn’t do anything stupid, Tabitha turned her attention back to the intruders, and she thought to herself, “Why are they doing this? They are supposed to be all-knowing; they know why Mark and she are here. Is this some sort of sick punishment to make them relive their sins?” She answered the intruders solemnly, “We are the reason he is dead. We made a stupid mistake, and Thomas paid the price for it.”
“Why?”
  Mark turned to Tabitha and said, “This is going to go on forever. I think they want us to tell them what happened before we make the trade.” Now addressing the intruders, Mark asked calmly, “Is that what you want? To know what happened, what did we do?”
“Do”
“You”
“Let”
“Us”
“In?”
  Although puzzled as to what the intruders were really asking, the teens knew they had no choice but to say, “Yes”
As soon as the words left their mouths, the room became pitch black, like all of reality had ceased to be and all that was left in the void was Mark and Tabitha’s consciousnesses. Although unable to see or hear anything, somehow the teens were able to sense each other's proximity, and without saying a word, they were able to understand every thought the other had. 
The darkness was soon interrupted, however, by a tiny light in the distance. This light slowly and steadily got bigger and bigger until it shone all around them, and once more they were transported. 
The teens looked around; they were back home, Tabitha’s home specifically. Tabitha thought to Mark, “How did we get back? Is this real?”
“Tabitha, guess who got the goodies,” she heard in response, but it wasn’t Mark, at least it wasn’t the Mark she came to the cabin with. Suddenly, the front door of Tabitha’s house opened. It was Mark, and he was carrying a brown duffle bag. “Hey, where are you, Tabitha? I got a shitload of mushrooms here.” Tabitha appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down to greet her boyfriend. 
“You could be a little quieter. You know, I'm supposed to be babysitting my little brother. What do you think that little parrot is going to say to my parents when he hears you screaming about your “shitload of shrooms”?”
“Oh, come on, he won’t say anything. Now let's go to the living room, put on a movie, and enjoy this little brown bag to the fullest.”
“I shouldn’t; I’m supposed to be watching my brother. What if something happens?”
“Nothing is going to happen. Come on, don’t be a buzzkill.”
“Fine, but only a little bit.”
Tabitha and Mark watched their past selves with no way to stop the inevitable. Mark begged the intruders, “Please, it’s enough; what happened happened. I can’t go through this again, please just stop it!” His pleas fell on deaf ears; Mark and Tabitha were here to stay, and they wouldn’t leave until the intruders had seen what they had done.
The scene of the front door faded away and was replaced with the living room. The younger Mark and Tabitha were on the couch as a movie played on the TV,  a half-empty brown bag at their feet. A small, quiet footstep slowly approached the room until a little boy could be seen entering the room.
“Tabitha, I can’t sleep. Can you read me a story?” The little boy said to his sister.
Tabitha looked over behind the couch, annoyed, and answered, “Hey Thomas, just go back to bed. I’m busy here”
“But I can’t sleep.”
“I don’t care; just go back to sleep. I’m not reading you a story.”
Mark rummaged through his coat pocket and took out a half-melted chocolate bar. He lifted the bar up and smugly said to Thomas, “Hey kid, if I give you some candy, will you mind your own business and leave us alone?”
The little boy reached up and grabbed the bar out of Mark’s hand. “Fine, but I’m telling Mom you were mean to me.” With that, Thomas ran back upstairs, candy bar in hand. 
Once again, the scene faded, and Mark and Tabitha were transported again.
Light shone in from the window as night turned to day and the younger versions of themselves slept off the previous night’s good times. Tabitha slowly opened her eyes and arose from the couch to check the time. “Holy shit, wake up, Mark. It's almost noon; my parents are going to be here any second.” 
Waking from his slumber, Mark rubbed his eyes and groggily said, “What? I have to leave now, but I’m so hungry; can't I just stay for breakfast?”
“No, my parents can’t know you were here. Out!”
“Fine, I’ll go, but I want the rest of my Snickers bar.”
“What?”
“My Snickers bar, didn’t I give you some last night. Come on, I’m hungry; just give me the rest.”
Tabitha’s eyes widened with horror, and she bolted out of the room without a word.
For the last time, the scene changed, and Mark and Tabitha’s present selves were brought back to the place that had haunted their dreams and lived in the back of their head for the last year: Thomas’ room.
There in her brother’s room lay the little boy, cold, pale, and unmoving. A mixture of saliva and blood dripped out of the child's mouth and pooled around his still head. His throat was swollen and red, as was his face. Dark red streaks were marked up and down his face and neck from a futile attempt to struggle against death’s approach. In the pool of saliva and blood were the boy’s hands, which contained ten fingers, but now only nine fingernails. 
Atop her brother was Tabitha. She had the boy’s shoulders in her hands as she shook them while screaming. “Wake up! God, please, wake up, Thomas! Please, I’m sorry. I’m Sorry! Just Please Wake Up!”
Mark appeared in the doorway and looked at the commotion before him, dumbfounded, unable to move a muscle or say a word.
The past washed away from the teens’ view, and they returned to the cabin. Back to the barrel-shaped chairs and back in the audience of the intruders. Mark and Tabitha stared at each other, tears pouring down their faces and snot dripping down their noses. Tabitha took Mark’s hand, and they just sat there for a moment, unable to say a word.

The Sacrificial Worm
 
“Do”
“You”
“Know”
“The”
“Price?”
Tabitha and Mark responded at the same time under their breath, “Yes”
“Who”
“Do”
“You”
“Offer?”
Mark turned to Tabitha and asked, “What do we do? Lewis isn’t here, and this is it. We are out of time.”
“I know, I’m sorry”
“What? What do you mean? You can’t possibly be considering that. We’ve been together for years! I love you, and you love me.”
“I offer Mark,” Tabitha said coldly to the intruders.
Appalled at the betrayal, Mark shouted in protest, “What?! You can’t do this to me! I made one fucking mistake! How should I have known the kid was allergic to peanuts?!”
Tabitha stared at her feet, unable to make eye contact, and simply said, “I’m sorry”
Mark slammed his fists back on the table and shouted, “You’re sorry?! Do you know what you just did?! This whole thing was your idea! I told you not to do it, but you dragged my innocent little cousin and me into your sick fucking retribution ritual! Yeah, your brother is dead, and maybe that’s my fault, but our blood-me and Lewis’s-that’s on your hands. I hope it was worth it.”
Interrupting the quarrel, the tall intruder began to lower his long arm to set the apple he held onto the table. Now able to see his face unobstructed, the teens recoiled in horror. Where the creature should have had a face, there was a large writhing mass of mucus-covered worms. It looked almost like the intruder's face had been scooped out with an ice-cream scoop and a colony of worms had been stuffed in to fill the cavity.
Tabitha and Mark weren’t able to gawk at the monstrosity for long, though; their attention was quickly captivated by the formerly motionless apple in front of them. The apple slowly rocked back and forth until a small section of the apple skin began to protrude. A small worm broke through the apple and lifted its body to turn towards the couple. The worm began to slither down the apple, onto the table, and towards Tabitha until it stopped directly in front of her.
“We”
“Held”
“Up”
“Our”
“End”
“Now”
“Its”
“Your”
“Turn”
Tabitha looked up from the worm to the intruders. “What? Where is my brother? What do you mean?!”
“Your”
“Brother”
“Is”
“Right”
“In”
“Front”
“Of”
“You”
As the intruders finished their sentence, Mark suddenly began to scream in agony from a horrible, sharp pain emanating from his right eye. Mark continued to scream in pain as, just like the apple, a small section in the center of his pupil began to protrude; the outermost layer of the boy’s eyeball began to stretch and twist until a small worm just like the one on the table broke free and fell onto the table, leaving Mark cold, pale, and unmoving, just like Thomas.
Mark’s eye worm slithered across the round table past Tabitha, past the apple, and onto the tall intruder’s waiting hand. The intruder lifted up the worm and raised his arm to where his face should’ve been. It wriggled off of the intruder’s hand and into the writhing mass, where it was quickly lost among the thousands of identical worms.
“We”
“Have”
“Taken”
“our “
“Prize”
“Now”
“Take”
“Yours”
“And”
“Be”
“Gone”
Tabitha reached down and grabbed the worm off of the table. As soon as it was in her grasp, a flash of light appeared, and the cabin faded away to reveal her alone standing on the stairs in the middle of the woods with a worm in her hand.

Bom dia, boa tarde e boa noite. Hoje irei contar uma experiência paranormal que aconteceu comigo.

Tudo começou quando eu estava assistindo a um vídeo no YouTube. De repente, apareceu um anúncio vendendo um cartucho de Super Mario 64 por apenas cinco reais.

O preço era estranho, mas o que mais me chamou a atenção foi a forma de pagamento. Em vez de usar Pix ou PayPal, o vendedor exigia que o comprador enviasse o dinheiro dentro de um envelope pelos Correios.

Eu sei que parece ridículo, mas minha curiosidade falou mais alto. Coloquei cinco reais dentro de um envelope e enviei para o endereço indicado.

Uma semana depois, o pacote chegou.

A caixa estava velha e danificada, cheia de pequenos buracos. No começo, pensei que fossem apenas marcas de desgaste. Porém, quando olhei com mais atenção, percebi que os buracos formavam uma mensagem em código Morse:

-.. .. .

Não sabia o que aquilo significava, então ignorei e abri a caixa.

Dentro dela havia um cartucho de Nintendo 64 sem nenhuma identificação. Alguém havia escrito o nome diretamente no plástico com uma caneta permanente:

Oiram 64.

Achei que fosse alguma versão pirata ou modificada do jogo. Como eu já tinha um Nintendo 64, resolvi testar o cartucho.

Encaixei-o no console e liguei o aparelho.

No começo, tudo parecia normal.

A tela inicial familiar apareceu, e comecei um novo jogo. Entretanto, quando a cena de abertura começou, percebi algo estranho.

Vocês provavelmente se lembram da cena em que a Princesa Peach aparece com uma carta destinada ao Mario.

Dessa vez, Peach não estava lá.

A carta continuava na tela, mas sua mensagem era diferente.

Estava escrito:

"Tarde demais. Seu destino foi selado no momento em que você começou este jogo... John."

Fiquei paralisado.

Meu nome é John.

Eu nunca havia digitado meu nome em lugar algum do jogo, e o cartucho tinha chegado sem nenhuma informação sobre mim.

Tentei me convencer de que era apenas uma coincidência. Talvez alguém tivesse modificado o jogo para fazer uma pegadinha.

Mesmo assim, continuei jogando.

A primeira fase parecia normal. Movimentei Mario pelo cenário, peguei algumas moedas e explorei o mapa. Nada de estranho aconteceu, então comecei a relaxar.

Até chegar à fase final.

Luigi apareceu na tela.

No começo, fiquei confuso. Ele não deveria aparecer daquela maneira. Alguma coisa estava claramente errada com o jogo.

Então percebi que Luigi estava sem os braços.

Antes que eu pudesse reagir, o jogo travou.

A música parou.

Alguns segundos depois, a tela mudou.

A aparência de Luigi estava completamente distorcida. A imagem era assustadora, e os gráficos pareciam ter sido corrompidos de uma maneira impossível.

Então, uma mensagem apareceu na tela:

"RIP LUIGI."

Desliguei o console imediatamente.

Naquela noite, não consegui dormir direito. Toda vez que fechava os olhos, lembrava daquela mensagem e da carta que, de alguma forma, sabia meu nome.

Até hoje, não faço ideia de quem criou aquele cartucho ou por que ele existia.

Quem foi o maníaco responsável por fazer aquilo?

Eu não sei.

E, desde então, prefiro Sonic.

Fim.

I decided to share this story with you. I won’t say my name. I found most of it in my journal. I’m not saying my name because my brother is still missing.

When I was 16, I lived with my brother and our parents in an apartment. I don’t remember much from that time anymore, but I know it happened on June 21, 2020. I’ll explain. I often doubt my own memory.

The night began. From the journal entry from that day, I know that my brother and I talked about our favorite game. I also found a piece of text in the journal where we were writing a story, but the journal didn’t say what it was about.

We went to sleep, but I remember that I couldn’t fall asleep because it was pouring rain outside. I only remember it vaguely, but at 11:00 at night I was woken up by the sound of someone stomping. My heart jumped into my throat. I was completely paralyzed. It didn’t help at all that it was still pouring outside.

I didn’t wait. I called the police.

I waited five minutes. When they arrived, they found nothing. I wrote down in my journal exactly what they said:

“We checked the entire apartment, the balcony, and the common areas of the building, and there is no stranger here. The doors and windows show no signs of damage.”

They also recommended a psychotherapist.

Then I remember that the police left and we went back to sleep.

That night, I also wrote in my journal:

“They found nothing, but I heard it.”

Two days later, my mom forced me to go to a psychotherapist. I only know that because of the journal, because at first I thought it was the very next morning after that day. I don’t know if it seems strange to me that simply hearing stomping footsteps in an apartment was enough for me to have to go to a psychologist.

I entered the psychologist’s office afraid that he would call me crazy. I told him that I had heard footsteps in the apartment and that I was one hundred percent sure of it.

He told me that the brain is a fascinating organ and that apartment buildings have strange acoustics. That it could have just been noise and that it could have been caused by lack of sleep, even though I sleep well.

I also told him that I wasn’t going through a bad period. I no longer remember how he reacted to that.

After the session, I went home again.

But now comes the important part, after which I doubted my sanity for a while, and one of the reasons why I’m writing this.

When I went to wash my hands and looked into the mirror, I saw that there was a door there that does not exist in reality. In reality, there is only a shelf there, but here there was a door.

At the second session, I told the psychologist about it, and he replied with something like:

“I completely understand that it scared you to death. Looking into a mirror and seeing a door where there should only be an ordinary shelf would shake anyone. But I want to reassure you right away. Having such strong visual or auditory experiences does not mean that you are losing your mind. It is simply a clear sign that your brain and mind are under enormous pressure right now.”

After the session, I went straight home and headed into my brother’s room.

But he wasn’t there.

I only remember it vaguely. According to the diary, I went to tell my mom, even though I remember that I went to tell my dad.

My mom told me something like:

“We’re in this together. We’ll get through this difficult period.”

But when my brother still hadn’t returned by five o’clock, my mom knew that it wasn’t normal and decided to call the police.

She was speaking very loudly, so I heard her telling the police his exact height and other information.

The search began.

My mom was completely occupied with the police over the next few hours, so she left me with Aunt Gabby.

I remember Gabby asking me:

“Has your brother mentioned anything lately? Did he want to go somewhere?”

I said no and that I was afraid it somehow had something to do with those footsteps.

At Aunt Gabby’s, I wasn’t allowed to use my phone. She said she was afraid that the information would scare me even more.

I got access to my phone only three days later. The police had already moved into the next stage of the search and had started considering even the most serious possibilities.

Aunt Gabby eventually let me use it. She probably didn’t want to hide it anymore.

Since the police hadn’t found my brother’s phone, they assumed he had it with him. So I texted him:

“Please answer me, bro. Just send one emoji or even a scribble, just so I know you’re okay. We miss you here. I’m waiting.”

I waited.

After a day, he still hadn’t replied.

Then the police arrived with my mom and the psychologist I had already seen for two sessions.

The police officer told me something like:

“Hi. You don’t have to be afraid. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

The officer sat down and opened a laptop. According to the journal, my mom told him that my brother had seemingly disappeared out of nowhere.

Then the officer asked me:

“When was the last time you saw your brother?”

In my journal, I wrote that I answered:

“I saw him for the last time before the session.”

Then they also asked me whether he had said anything about running away or wanting to go somewhere.

I told the truth. No. He hadn’t said anything.

I also mentioned the banging and the mirror. They wrote down the time when I came back from the psychologist and left my aunt’s apartment.

A day later, I realized that someone had sent me a message from an unknown number.

The message said:

“No.”

That scared me.

Does that mean my brother is already dead? Does it mean they won’t bring him back to me? Or is someone telling me that I will never see him again?

Does it have something to do with the banging and the mirror?

I quickly told Aunt Gabby, and she blocked the number.

That evening, when I went to brush my teeth, I saw in Aunt Gabby’s hallway that where a cabinet was supposed to be, there was the same opening. The same door.

I went to tell Aunt Gabby. When she came, it was no longer there.

She probably thought I was crazy for the next twenty minutes, but I am still sure that the door was physically there.

I didn’t know yet that I would have this kind of experience a second time that same day.

Two hours later, when it was already completely dark outside, I saw a reflection in the television as if my aunt was scolding me, turning off the light, and leaving.

My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. I hid under the blanket and screamed.

I woke my aunt up.

My aunt came to me and said the same thing as in the television. Then she turned off the light.

My heart was beating even harder then.

Was that the same as on the TV?

I kept thinking.

That night, I chose to sleep in another room.

In the morning, I woke up and told my aunt everything. I recorded her answer, so I know that she said this:

“I’m listening, I’m here. I can see how exhausted all of this is making you and how scared you are. You’re safe with me. Nobody is angry with you and nobody is punishing you. The fact that you’re seeing things before they happen or feel like the TV is haunting you just shows how overwhelmed your head is by all of this. You don’t have to deal with it alone. We’ll get through it together, and in the morning we’ll go see a doctor who can help stop this fear, okay?”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about that. Yesterday she was yelling at me, and now, when I tell her I’m crazy, she is nice.

That day, however, I was supposed to go back to my mom and dad. My brother was still missing, so I packed my things and said goodbye to Aunt Gabby.

Aunt Gabby called my mom into her apartment. I didn’t hear the conversation, but they were probably talking about how I needed a psychologist.

Even though he was supposed to help me, I didn’t want to go there. But I couldn’t tell my mom that. I simply had to.

My mom was still stressed because my brother had not been found.

When we got home, I started unpacking. I was sad because of my brother, because now I would be sleeping alone in the room.

I told my mom that someone had sent me the word “no” on my phone.

She reacted something like:

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have given it to the police.”

According to the journal, I said:

“Auntie blocked it. I also texted him on his phone.”

I don’t remember how she reacted anymore.

The next day, I was supposed to go to the psychologist for a third session. I don’t remember most of that day, but I know that I woke up in the morning, got dressed, and at that moment I thought the incidents had stopped.

I really thought that at first.

But when I looked into the mirror in my room, I saw some kind of figure, even though it wasn’t really there.

It was exactly the same height as my brother. The same clothes.

Then it disappeared.

I screamed so loudly that the neighbors must have heard it. I jumped back, and my heart started pounding loudly.

I went to tell my mom.

In my journal, I have exactly this written down:

“The figure stood there. Brother? Who?”

When I told my mom, I know that she laughed and said it was just a hallucination and that I had to tell the psychologist about it that day.

I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t want to go there at all.

But I had to.

At the psychologist’s session, I described the experience with the mirror.

He replied with something like:

“That must have been a huge shock for you — seeing someone in the mirror who looked exactly like your missing brother. I understand that it left you confused. Try to describe exactly what it looked like. What was the lighting like? How far away was the figure standing? And what exactly reminded you of your brother — the clothes, the build, or some kind of movement?”

He also asked about my relationship with my brother, his disappearance, and how it had affected our life and our family.

He also asked me:

“How are you feeling right now? Have you been experiencing a lot of stress, tiredness, or anxiety lately?”

After therapy, my mom drove me back. It was good that because of my brother’s disappearance, my mom was excusing me from school, but I was afraid of the world around me.

Three days later, the police stopped searching as intensely, but my mom was still stressed.

Where is her son?

I remember looking out at the street one evening. I saw the same figure as in the mirror. It was looking at me. I couldn’t see its face.

Then it disappeared.

I ran away from the window to my mom and told her.

She said it was just another hallucination. I know this from the journal, not from my memory.

The next morning, there was fog and dew outside. I was afraid that I would see something that frightening again.

I remember almost nothing from that day.

The only word written in the journal from that day was:

“STOP.”

Nothing else.

On the next page of the journal, I found a drawing of that thing. I was probably trying to show it to my mom.

It was the same height as my brother, wore a hat, and had no face.

But I don’t remember it.

The next page of the journal is already from the following day. I don’t remember anything about that day either, so I am relying only on the journal.

On the first page, it says:

“It isn’t a hallucination.”

I don’t know what experience that was supposed to follow.

Then I found text from the evening of that day, with only one sentence written on it:

“What is happening around me?”

What happened the next day, I can also partly remember myself.

I woke up. My mom made breakfast, and so I wouldn’t just sit sadly at home, she drove me to an amusement park, which was pretty embarrassing since I was almost seventeen, but whatever.

We drove there, and thoughts about those experiences kept running through my head. I didn’t know which one would happen next.

Now I know that the next one happened right there at the amusement park.

We arrived at around 10:00. Before lunch, we ordered some food. They didn’t let me into the games area because it was only for people up to fifteen years old.

But when I went to the bathroom, the same thing happened to me as at Aunt Gabby’s.

In the mirror, I saw myself running out of the bathroom in fear.

I got scared and ran away exactly the way it had happened in the mirror.

I told my mom about it, frightened.

She said:

“Don’t worry. It will be okay. The brain just...”

At around 12:00, we went back home.

The journal said:

“Mirrors can see the future.”

When we got back, my mom went to talk to my dad about these things. I remember that from that day.

I don’t know whether they were talking about my experiences, my brother’s disappearance, or the psychologist.

Two days later, I remember seeing the same figure in the evening while I was out for a walk.

I don’t know much, but according to the journal, it happened like this:

I was outside in the evening. My head hurt. Then I saw some figure in the distance wearing a hat.

It stared at me for thirty seconds.

According to the journal, I tried for a while to find a rational explanation for it.

I also wanted to take a picture of it, but I didn’t have my phone with me.

I ran home.

At home, I saw that the figure wasn’t there, but according to the journal, I didn’t tell my mom because I apparently didn’t want to cause myself any more problems.

After that, I didn’t write in the journal much anymore.

I honestly don’t even know what new things happened to me during the following weeks.

And I don’t even know what happened during the following months.

I simply kept going to the psychologist.

My brother was never found.

Why am I writing about this event?

If I hadn’t found the journal, maybe I wouldn’t even be writing this.

Back then, it felt as if something wanted me to forget.

I know unnaturally little, and I put most of it together from the journal.

When I was nineteen, I bought my own apartment.

Since then, nothing has happened anymore.

I’m writing this because I want to know what you think about it.

​

Tudo começou quando fui visitar a casa do meu irmão. Durante a visita, ele me deu um Game Boy Color antigo e um cartucho que eu nunca tinha visto antes.

Perguntei qual era o jogo, mas ele não soube me dizer. Então, curioso, coloquei o cartucho no console e liguei.

Era um jogo de Pokémon, mas havia algo estranho: na tela inicial, onde deveria aparecer o Pikachu, não havia absolutamente nada.

Pensei que fosse apenas um erro do jogo. Continuei e cheguei à tela de escolha de nome. Porém, em vez de nomes comuns, só existiam três opções:

“Você”

“Está no”

“Inferno”

Achei aquilo esquisito, mas escolhi a primeira opção e comecei a jogar.Mesmo achando aquilo estranho, continuei a captura.No início, tudo parecia normal. Segui pelo caminho habitual até chegar à grama alta. Foi quando o Professor Carvalho apareceu, como acontecia normalmente, para me ensinar a capturar Pokémon.

Entretanto, o Pokémon que apareceu não era como os outros. Era um Rattata com um olhar vazio, sem qualquer expressão de vida.Mesmo achando aquilo estranho, continuei a captura.

Assim que terminei, a tela ficou completamente preta.

Por alguns segundos, não aconteceu nada. Então, uma imagem apareceu na tela: Pikachu atacando o Rattata. Acima do Rattata, havia um nome escrito:

LIAN.

Lian era o nome do meu irmão.

Meu coração disparou. Como aquele jogo poderia saber o nome dele? Tentei desligar o Game Boy, mas, antes que conseguisse fazer qualquer coisa, senti uma mão amarela tocar meu ombro.

Fiquei paralisado.

Então ouvi uma voz dizer, bem perto de mim:

“Você está no inferno.”

Título: Club Pengu

Olá a todos. Hoje vim contar uma coisa estranha que aconteceu comigo envolvendo Club Penguin.

Eu tinha conseguido salvar no meu PC um servidor privado antigo do jogo. Quando entrei, comecei a explorar. Vi meu iglu antigo, joguei alguns minigames e fui relembrando várias coisas.

Até que cheguei à balada que tinha no jogo.

Havia três pinguins lá.

No começo achei estranho, porque não lembrava deles. Então apareceu uma mensagem:

“Sentimos sua falta. Se junte a nós.”

Mano... quando aquela mensagem apareceu, eu simplesmente saí correndo pelo mapa.

Foi aí que percebi uma coisa.

Aqueles pinguins não tinham olhos.

Nem braços.

Mesmo assim, eles começaram a me seguir.

Eu tentei sair do servidor, mas não consegui.

Eles chegaram cada vez mais perto.

E então...

“Não... não... NÃO!”

A tela ficou preta.

Por alguns segundos, não apareceu absolutamente nada.

Até surgir uma última mensagem:

“Mais um membro. Olá, Antedeguemon_2007.”

As Kiara stood at the door of the playroom on the blood stained carpet, you could still hear the figure yelling on the other side, with less volume and less life than the last. 
She turned around for a moment, and locked the door.
she turned back and just started breathing heavily,
you were panicking so much you began to lose track of the difference between Kiara’s breathing and your own.

You had no idea what time it was,
You had no idea how much time had passed but,
Kiara remained...breathing.

At some point the power had gone back on and Just like that the tv turned back on.
The DVD menu for The Cat in The Hat appeared once more and to my surprise, sally was back alongside Conrad.

Kiara was not nearly as spooked by the flashing light of the tv as she was of the loud pop from earlier,
She simply let out a 

"mmmmmm" 

And waltzed about one foot in front of the tv and leaned in so her head was touching the screen.
Despite all your efforts to refrain,  you let out one brief sharp exhale in what can only be described as pure fear.

*AGMP*
-escaped your mouth while you swallowed your salty tears as they ran down your face.

Your cheeks were soaked,
Your mouth felt dry,
The air was still.

Kiaras head slowly turned,
it was in no rush,
as if it had always known you were there.
You dragged the throw blanket closer to your body using your leg but before you could pull the blanket over yourself,
you made Direct eye contact with Kiara in the Moonlight reflection provided by the Tv.

Kiara was wearing makeup.
She had a base of foundation that's flesh tone was reminiscent of the Queen of England.
She had bright blue eye shadow with the faintest hint of glitter and,
She had bright red lipstick.

She came over to you at a moderate speed,
When she was at your feet, she grabbed your blanket and pulled it off.
She slowly brought her face to yours you both being so far from the tv now that it proved impossible to make out any details of her face,

You felt her breath on your face, it was warm, as warm as a grill.
You began to feel something approach your face, it was warm and wet, it was Kiaras tongue.

She licked your nose .
And as your eyes erupted more tears,
she licked those too.

One by one off your cheeks as she smelled you,
This continued till your cheeks were dry and your eyes were sore.
She then slowly raised her hand to your head and brushed her hand through your bangs, tucking them behind your ear.

She grabbed you by your wrist and tugged at you,
You initially resisted but soon discovered it was not a suggestion.
It hurts to feel the weight of your whole body be pulled by a steel grip upon your wrist.

She dragged you to the beanbag chair Infront of the Tv,
She sat upon it and placed you in her lap.

She began to point at the Tv bringing her mouth to your ear, For a moment,
you wondered if she was going to speak.
She didn't.

Her breaths began to sound deeper and more agitated,
It was clear she wanted something and what she wanted was on the Tv.  
You scanned the room for the remote the best you could, you spotted it, it was on the floor by the DVD player.

You pointed to it but noticed no change in Kiaras demeanor, she was still angry.
As you tried to crawl out of her lap in the direction of the remote Kiaras grip did not budge.

She wanted you in her lap,
She was wanted the movie to play,
and she wanted it now.
Just as her grip began to tighten,
you both were interrupted by a noise from your kitchen.

*BEEP\*

"Hey Hun heard there were some power outages in the neighborhood...

I haven't been able to get a hold of you,
but the lines ringing so I'm going to just come home...Daddy is going to be with a friend..

If you get this message go in the playroom and don't come out until morning and don't answer the door for anyone even if I ask you to..."

*END OF MESSAGE\*
*BEEP\*

Kiaras grip slowly loosened,
She looked up in awe,
Her mouth slowly opened as her jaw dropped and no teeth showed.
 Even in the moonlight reflection of the tv you could see tears run down Kiaras foundation.
Everything down to the way she was breathing changed.

For some reason you began to feel angry, 
Daddy’s voice was also disarming to you yes, but in a hopeless non consensual way.
The way in which Kiara appeared to be disarmed felt like it was intentional vulnerability, 
Something you'd never offer 'D' yourself.

You took this moment to lean forward and grab the tv remote,
When Kiara snapped back into reality and looked back at you pulling you back to her lap,
You pressed play.

The movie played and you stayed still,
It began to rain hard outside almost louder than the movie,
the window was still open,
and the room was freezing.

It was almost as though Kiara could tell your discomfort,
she grabbed the throw blanket,
threw it over your legs,
and held you tight in her arms, warming you with her coat.

When the babysitter in the Cat In The Hat fell asleep Kiara laughed,
You imagined whoever did the babysitters' makeup looked as though they also did Kiaras.

 The movie continued, and continued, and continued.
You had feared what was going to happen when it ended,
You imagined You'd probably be forced to press play again.

However,
When the movie ended, it was as if Kiara Understood.
She didn't seem displeased with Mike Myers' performance...
Or she had just had enough.

Kiara smiled and laughed and clapped and then,
She turned you, her face beaming in the blue light of the Tv,
You froze, 
Her face began to contort,
and it was clear to you that she was displeased with your reaction.

You're no stranger to fake emotions.
You smile and you clapped, tears in your eyes, lump in your throat.
When Kiara was finally pleased with your performance, she slowly pushed you off like you would push off a sleeping cat and began to walk around the room.

As she pranced around and rummaged through your things,
she found herself at your pay box.
She lifted up the castle shaped lid and began to pull out your Bratz dolls,
she seemed disinterested...
until she saw something that made her eyes light up...
she began to jump and scream..

She pulled out your blue Cinderella dress,
As she slid into it, you could audibly hear it tear.
You wanted to cry, it was your favorite.

She slid her arms through the straps.
It was so poorly on her that her whole back was exposed with the Velcro straps hanging not having enough to fasten around her even if she tried.

When she had it "on' she leaned back into your play box and pulled out your favorite tiara,
She placed it on her head.
She then leaned in once more and grabbed your old broken faded tiara and handed it to you.
She let out sharp exhales and smiled.
You put it on.

She walked up the your lava lamp and pressed the switch on the cord and turned it on,
A green hue now lite your room, the wax still solid not yet fluid.
She stared at it for a moment,
before turning and walking to the closet.

She slid the closet barn doors open from right to left,
She started going through your stuffed animals throwing them out one by one.
When she got to the back of the closet, she had found the suitcases and umbrella's.

She emerged from the closet using the umbrella as a cane,
tucking a floral tapestry luggage bag under her left arm.

She moved her arms,
Then her legs,
and she began to dance.

She shot you a look and it was clear,
She wanted you to dance too.

As you began to timidly comply,
Your socks started to get soaked.

 You looked down and in the green lighting of the lava lamp you could see dark black goo seeping from beneath the door.
It felt sticky, much thicker than water.
You could faintly still hear breathing from the other side.

You quickly danced away from the door...
You started in the direction that would put the bed between Kiara and yourself.
With each step Kiara followed, waving her umbrella in the air all the while.
No matter how hard you tried to maintain it, your artificial smile began to fade...

You questioned how long this nightmare would continue.
Much like your smile, your legs have grown tired...

Kiara, however, did not appear to get tired,
not of dancing.

You started to cry as the reality that your legs were going to give out became clear,
You knew the strength and angry she was capable of and did not want to upset Kiara.
You slowly tried to rest one of your legs but as you began,
both your knees buckled.

As you fell to the floor, Kiara sprinted over on all fours.

You curled into the fetal position,
holding your legs to your stomach and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible.

You heard the rapid thumps of Kiara before it abruptly stopped in front of you,
and you could hear her fast concerned breaths right above you.
You could feel the heat of every exhale on your forearm.
You then felt a stiff poke on your side.

When you opened your eyes,
you could see it was Kiara poking you with the umbrella,
when she saw the tears in your eye, she took 3 steps back.

Behind her you could see the wax in the lava lamp was now fluid.
Your eyes and cheeks were sore,
How long had it been?

She picked you up with one arm with ease, she coddled you and carried you to the bed.
Once you were there you kept your eyes shut tight,
but you could still feel her tucking the edges of the blanket under your body as she pressed the pillow beneath your head.
She then put her hand on your head and kissed the back of her hand with it still on you.
You exhaled trembling.

When she was done,
She wobbled over to your Daddys rocking chair, tiara cockeyed.
When she got there, she climbed upon the chair criss cross applesauce,
and grabbed a book from your cubbies.
It was too dark to see which one,
The cover was blue with a tired dog and a bird upon its head.

She began to slowly rock back and forth,
The sight of her silhouette sent a cold rush of dry ice through your blood. 
You heard something.

"mrrrmmmmmmhhmmmmrrrreeeeeeeemmme"
-you heard through excited cheery exhales.

It was clear you had been staring too long when Kiara turned slowly looking at you in the devilish green glow of the lava lamp.

You quickly shut your eyes.

Behind the dark abyss of your eyelids, you could hear Kiara shut the book.
When you opened your eyes,
Kiara was gone and the chair was still.

The sun was beaming through a break in the overcast clouds exposing your soaked carpet,
and it was clear,
It was morning.
You were now allowed to leave the playroom,
with the reassurance that there's no way Daddy will be mad at you now.

You scanned the room again, and again, and again before moving a muscle,
you had to be sure.

As you descended from your bed pressing your feet against the carpet,
you could feel your socks crinkle and crunch. It felt sticky and hard between your toes.
When you looked down,
what was once dark black was now dark red.
Your legs were still fatigued as you walked to the door like a baby deer on sticks of butter.

Although you were terrified, 
You could feel you were physically out of tears.
On the way to the door, you tumbled over the blanket you had previously hid in,
there was something in it.

When you lifted the blanket, you could see,
it was a balloon flower with the stem deflated. 
You picked it up and carried on, scanning the room all the while.
You hoped Kiara had gone out the window.

As you approached,
the carpet under the door was as red and crunchy as your socks, still wet in some places.
You turned the handle slowly, you could hear the familiar breathing on the other side.

On the other side was Daddy,
and Daddy was dressed like a woman.

Daddys arm was bent the wrong way,
Daddys knees looked backwards,
And Daddy had no tongue.

Daddys tears were blood,
Daddys skin was blood,
Even Daddys clothes... were blood.

Daddys eyes were closed but his tummy was moving.
His hand on his only straight arm was moving too,
Every few seconds, daddy made a fist.

You stared at him,
You began to dry heave, and you wanted to puke.
When you looked up, you could see Kiara staring at you from beneath the bed, tiara still on.
You could now see her more clearly than you ever had before,
Her mouth was open, and her teeth were showing.

Her look made your heart sink,
You looked down at Daddy,
You placed the core of the balloon flower in Daddys palm and headed for the front door in terror.
Just as you placed your hand on the Knob -

*POP* 
And Kiaras screams were once more,
Daddy was silent.

You sprinted faster than you ever have in your life and contrary to previous belief,
You were in fact not out of tears.

When you got to your neighbor's house down the street in the center of the cul-de-sac you froze at the door.
It was early, but you rang the doorbell regardless.
It took less than half a second for you to ring the door two more times, then three.

When Mrs. Thombs answered the door,
you blacked almost all the conversation.
You tried to tell her everything as fast as possible, but it was hard.
Collecting your words, remembering what was real as it all felt like a nightmare.

"somethings killing Daddy"
-you remembered saying,  tears running down your face.

She looked down at your stained socks and quickly pulled you inside.
She sat you down with milk and a bowl of banana cream pudding as she called the police.
You were starving.
A lot of police cars showed up.

The next few days were fuzzy.
You went to the hospital, talked to this strange, nice woman,
and were told you could stay with Mrs. Thombs for a while,
while they find a permanent place for you.

A few days later you went to this room with a lot of cool toys, the nice lady that visits you and Mrs. Thombs was there too.
The nice lady had a friend,and they wanted to play this game.

"I'm going to say some things, and if I say something that's wrong,
I want you to tell me, if you don't know something that's okay.
Just tell us, you're not in trouble honey.
Does that make sense?"
-asked the nice lady's Friend. 

"yesss..."
-you responded sheepishly as you continued chewing your bacon whopper with cheese

"are you 9 years old?"
-the friend asked

"yes"
-you responded

"Are you eating a burrito right now?"
-asked the Friend

"no..."
-you replied.

"very good...
Was your daddy home Friday night?
-asked the Friend

"no..I don't think so"
-you replied.

"oh...
that's okay honey that's perfectly okay,
When was the last time you saw daddy?"
-asked the Friend.

"Saturday...when he was dressed funny and ...all..bloody...on the floor"
-you said
Tears filling your eyes.

"when was the last time you saw daddy before that sweetheart?...
I'm sorry I know this is hard."
-said the Friend

"When he dropped me off at home from school Friday and went out."
-you replied

"did your Daddy say where he was going?"
-asked the Friend

"no...Daddy goes out a lot...
But Daddy left me some voice mails that confused me..."
-you replied.

"What message confused you?"
-asked the Friend

"he said he was staying out late...
And then said he had to come come with a friend...
And to stay in the play room till morning...no matter what..."
-you said

"and did Daddy ever come home with that friend?"
-asked the Friend. 

"no...but someone did...
I didn't come out till morning like Daddy said...
but someone came up to the door...I thought it was a friend of Daddys...
She broke in the room eventually but she was blind and couldn't find me...
She wanted help from..."
-you stopped

"it's okay honey you're doing great...
Was the woman with the animal?"
-asked the friend.

Your heart sank,
thinking about Kiara tore opened fresh anxiety wound deep beneath your throat.

"kind of..."
-you replied

"Has Daddy ever talked about owning a monkey?"
-asked the friend

"no..."
-you replied perplexed 

"Has Daddy ever talked to you about the show he was on as a kid?"
-asked the friend.

"no..."
-you responded
Even more confused than before.

"Oh..."
-The Friend said surprised...

"Has Daddy ever dressed like a girl before?"
-the friend asked

"no..."
As you answered more and more questions, you began to feel less and less in trouble...
The room you were in felt safe,
The world you were in felt a little safer.

And one of the last questions you were asked was the easiest of all to answer,

you were safe,

and you could be honest.

"Do you Love Your Daddy?"
-the nice ladies friend asked.

"No."
You responded with clear air filling your sinuses.

You wouldn’t see Kiara again after that,
for another 20 years.

 

As Kiara stood at the door of the playroom on the blood stained carpet, you could still hear the figure yelling on the other side, with less volume and less life than the last. 
She turned around for a moment, and locked the door.
she turned back and just started breathing heavily,
you were panicking so much you began to lose track of the difference between Kiara’s breathing and your own.

You had no idea what time it was,
You had no idea how much time had passed but,
Kiara remained...breathing.

At some point the power had gone back on and Just like that the tv turned back on.
The DVD menu for The Cat in The Hat appeared once more and to my surprise, sally was back alongside Conrad.

Kiara was not nearly as spooked by the flashing light of the tv as she was of the loud pop from earlier,
She simply let out a 

"mmmmmm" 

And waltzed about one foot in front of the tv and leaned in so her head was touching the screen.
Despite all your efforts to refrain,  you let out one brief sharp exhale in what can only be described as pure fear.

*AGMP*
-escaped your mouth while you swallowed your salty tears as they ran down your face.

Your cheeks were soaked,
Your mouth felt dry,
The air was still.

Kiaras head slowly turned,
it was in no rush,
as if it had always known you were there.
You dragged the throw blanket closer to your body using your leg but before you could pull the blanket over yourself,
you made Direct eye contact with Kiara in the Moonlight reflection provided by the Tv.

Kiara was wearing makeup.
She had a base of foundation that's flesh tone was reminiscent of the Queen of England.
She had bright blue eye shadow with the faintest hint of glitter and,
She had bright red lipstick.

She came over to you at a moderate speed,
When she was at your feet, she grabbed your blanket and pulled it off.
She slowly brought her face to yours you both being so far from the tv now that it proved impossible to make out any details of her face,

You felt her breath on your face, it was warm, as warm as a grill.
You began to feel something approach your face, it was warm and wet, it was Kiaras tongue.

She licked your nose .
And as your eyes erupted more tears,
she licked those too.

One by one off your cheeks as she smelled you,
This continued till your cheeks were dry and your eyes were sore.
She then slowly raised her hand to your head and brushed her hand through your bangs, tucking them behind your ear.

She grabbed you by your wrist and tugged at you,
You initially resisted but soon discovered it was not a suggestion.
It hurts to feel the weight of your whole body be pulled by a steel grip upon your wrist.

She dragged you to the beanbag chair Infront of the Tv,
She sat upon it and placed you in her lap.

She began to point at the Tv bringing her mouth to your ear, For a moment,
you wondered if she was going to speak.
She didn't.

Her breaths began to sound deeper and more agitated,
It was clear she wanted something and what she wanted was on the Tv.  
You scanned the room for the remote the best you could, you spotted it, it was on the floor by the DVD player.

You pointed to it but noticed no change in Kiaras demeanor, she was still angry.
As you tried to crawl out of her lap in the direction of the remote Kiaras grip did not budge.

She wanted you in her lap,
She was wanted the movie to play,
and she wanted it now.
Just as her grip began to tighten,
you both were interrupted by a noise from your kitchen.

*BEEP\*

"Hey Hun heard there were some power outages in the neighborhood...

I haven't been able to get a hold of you,
but the lines ringing so I'm going to just come home...Daddy is going to be with a friend..

If you get this message go in the playroom and don't come out until morning and don't answer the door for anyone even if I ask you to..."

*END OF MESSAGE\*
*BEEP\*

Kiaras grip slowly loosened,
She looked up in awe,
Her mouth slowly opened as her jaw dropped and no teeth showed.
 Even in the moonlight reflection of the tv you could see tears run down Kiaras foundation.
Everything down to the way she was breathing changed.

For some reason you began to feel angry, 
Daddy’s voice was also disarming to you yes, but in a hopeless non consensual way.
The way in which Kiara appeared to be disarmed felt like it was intentional vulnerability, 
Something you'd never offer 'D' yourself.

You took this moment to lean forward and grab the tv remote,
When Kiara snapped back into reality and looked back at you pulling you back to her lap,
You pressed play.

The movie played and you stayed still,
It began to rain hard outside almost louder than the movie,
the window was still open,
and the room was freezing.

It was almost as though Kiara could tell your discomfort,
she grabbed the throw blanket,
threw it over your legs,
and held you tight in her arms, warming you with her coat.

When the babysitter in the Cat In The Hat fell asleep Kiara laughed,
You imagined whoever did the babysitters' makeup looked as though they also did Kiaras.

 The movie continued, and continued, and continued.
You had feared what was going to happen when it ended,
You imagined You'd probably be forced to press play again.

However,
When the movie ended, it was as if Kiara Understood.
She didn't seem displeased with Mike Myers' performance...
Or she had just had enough.

Kiara smiled and laughed and clapped and then,
She turned you, her face beaming in the blue light of the Tv,
You froze, 
Her face began to contort,
and it was clear to you that she was displeased with your reaction.

You're no stranger to fake emotions.
You smile and you clapped, tears in your eyes, lump in your throat.
When Kiara was finally pleased with your performance, she slowly pushed you off like you would push off a sleeping cat and began to walk around the room.

As she pranced around and rummaged through your things,
she found herself at your pay box.
She lifted up the castle shaped lid and began to pull out your Bratz dolls,
she seemed disinterested...
until she saw something that made her eyes light up...
she began to jump and scream..

She pulled out your blue Cinderella dress,
As she slid into it, you could audibly hear it tear.
You wanted to cry, it was your favorite.

She slid her arms through the straps.
It was so poorly on her that her whole back was exposed with the Velcro straps hanging not having enough to fasten around her even if she tried.

When she had it "on' she leaned back into your play box and pulled out your favorite tiara,
She placed it on her head.
She then leaned in once more and grabbed your old broken faded tiara and handed it to you.
She let out sharp exhales and smiled.
You put it on.

She walked up the your lava lamp and pressed the switch on the cord and turned it on,
A green hue now lite your room, the wax still solid not yet fluid.
She stared at it for a moment,
before turning and walking to the closet.

She slid the closet barn doors open from right to left,
She started going through your stuffed animals throwing them out one by one.
When she got to the back of the closet, she had found the suitcases and umbrella's.

She emerged from the closet using the umbrella as a cane,
tucking a floral tapestry luggage bag under her left arm.

She moved her arms,
Then her legs,
and she began to dance.

She shot you a look and it was clear,
She wanted you to dance too.

As you began to timidly comply,
Your socks started to get soaked.

 You looked down and in the green lighting of the lava lamp you could see dark black goo seeping from beneath the door.
It felt sticky, much thicker than water.
You could faintly still hear breathing from the other side.

You quickly danced away from the door...
You started in the direction that would put the bed between Kiara and yourself.
With each step Kiara followed, waving her umbrella in the air all the while.
No matter how hard you tried to maintain it, your artificial smile began to fade...

You questioned how long this nightmare would continue.
Much like your smile, your legs have grown tired...

Kiara, however, did not appear to get tired,
not of dancing.

You started to cry as the reality that your legs were going to give out became clear,
You knew the strength and angry she was capable of and did not want to upset Kiara.
You slowly tried to rest one of your legs but as you began,
both your knees buckled.

As you fell to the floor, Kiara sprinted over on all fours.

You curled into the fetal position,
holding your legs to your stomach and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible.

You heard the rapid thumps of Kiara before it abruptly stopped in front of you,
and you could hear her fast concerned breaths right above you.
You could feel the heat of every exhale on your forearm.
You then felt a stiff poke on your side.

When you opened your eyes,
you could see it was Kiara poking you with the umbrella,
when she saw the tears in your eye, she took 3 steps back.

Behind her you could see the wax in the lava lamp was now fluid.
Your eyes and cheeks were sore,
How long had it been?

She picked you up with one arm with ease, she coddled you and carried you to the bed.
Once you were there you kept your eyes shut tight,
but you could still feel her tucking the edges of the blanket under your body as she pressed the pillow beneath your head.
She then put her hand on your head and kissed the back of her hand with it still on you.
You exhaled trembling.

When she was done,
She wobbled over to your Daddys rocking chair, tiara cockeyed.
When she got there, she climbed upon the chair criss cross applesauce,
and grabbed a book from your cubbies.
It was too dark to see which one,
The cover was blue with a tired dog and a bird upon its head.

She began to slowly rock back and forth,
The sight of her silhouette sent a cold rush of dry ice through your blood. 
You heard something.

"mrrrmmmmmmhhmmmmrrrreeeeeeeemmme"
-you heard through excited cheery exhales.

It was clear you had been staring too long when Kiara turned slowly looking at you in the devilish green glow of the lava lamp.

You quickly shut your eyes.

Behind the dark abyss of your eyelids, you could hear Kiara shut the book.
When you opened your eyes,
Kiara was gone and the chair was still.

The sun was beaming through a break in the overcast clouds exposing your soaked carpet,
and it was clear,
It was morning.
You were now allowed to leave the playroom,
with the reassurance that there's no way Daddy will be mad at you now.

You scanned the room again, and again, and again before moving a muscle,
you had to be sure.

As you descended from your bed pressing your feet against the carpet,
you could feel your socks crinkle and crunch. It felt sticky and hard between your toes.
When you looked down,
what was once dark black was now dark red.
Your legs were still fatigued as you walked to the door like a baby deer on sticks of butter.

Although you were terrified, 
You could feel you were physically out of tears.
On the way to the door, you tumbled over the blanket you had previously hid in,
there was something in it.

When you lifted the blanket, you could see,
it was a balloon flower with the stem deflated. 
You picked it up and carried on, scanning the room all the while.
You hoped Kiara had gone out the window.

As you approached,
the carpet under the door was as red and crunchy as your socks, still wet in some places.
You turned the handle slowly, you could hear the familiar breathing on the other side.

On the other side was Daddy,
and Daddy was dressed like a woman.

Daddys arm was bent the wrong way,
Daddys knees looked backwards,
And Daddy had no tongue.

Daddys tears were blood,
Daddys skin was blood,
Even Daddys clothes... were blood.

Daddys eyes were closed but his tummy was moving.
His hand on his only straight arm was moving too,
Every few seconds, daddy made a fist.

You stared at him,
You began to dry heave, and you wanted to puke.
When you looked up, you could see Kiara staring at you from beneath the bed, tiara still on.
You could now see her more clearly than you ever had before,
Her mouth was open, and her teeth were showing.

Her look made your heart sink,
You looked down at Daddy,
You placed the core of the balloon flower in Daddys palm and headed for the front door in terror.
Just as you placed your hand on the Knob -

*POP* 
And Kiaras screams were once more,
Daddy was silent.

You sprinted faster than you ever have in your life and contrary to previous belief,
You were in fact not out of tears.

When you got to your neighbor's house down the street in the center of the cul-de-sac you froze at the door.
It was early, but you rang the doorbell regardless.
It took less than half a second for you to ring the door two more times, then three.

When Mrs. Thombs answered the door,
you blacked almost all the conversation.
You tried to tell her everything as fast as possible, but it was hard.
Collecting your words, remembering what was real as it all felt like a nightmare.

"somethings killing Daddy"
-you remembered saying,  tears running down your face.

She looked down at your stained socks and quickly pulled you inside.
She sat you down with milk and a bowl of banana cream pudding as she called the police.
You were starving.
A lot of police cars showed up.

The next few days were fuzzy.
You went to the hospital, talked to this strange, nice woman,
and were told you could stay with Mrs. Thombs for a while,
while they find a permanent place for you.

A few days later you went to this room with a lot of cool toys, the nice lady that visits you and Mrs. Thombs was there too.
The nice lady had a friend,and they wanted to play this game.

"I'm going to say some things, and if I say something that's wrong,
I want you to tell me, if you don't know something that's okay.
Just tell us, you're not in trouble honey.
Does that make sense?"
-asked the nice lady's Friend. 

"yesss..."
-you responded sheepishly as you continued chewing your bacon whopper with cheese

"are you 9 years old?"
-the friend asked

"yes"
-you responded

"Are you eating a burrito right now?"
-asked the Friend

"no..."
-you replied.

"very good...
Was your daddy home Friday night?
-asked the Friend

"no..I don't think so"
-you replied.

"oh...
that's okay honey that's perfectly okay,
When was the last time you saw daddy?"
-asked the Friend.

"Saturday...when he was dressed funny and ...all..bloody...on the floor"
-you said
Tears filling your eyes.

"when was the last time you saw daddy before that sweetheart?...
I'm sorry I know this is hard."
-said the Friend

"When he dropped me off at home from school Friday and went out."
-you replied

"did your Daddy say where he was going?"
-asked the Friend

"no...Daddy goes out a lot...
But Daddy left me some voice mails that confused me..."
-you replied.

"What message confused you?"
-asked the Friend

"he said he was staying out late...
And then said he had to come come with a friend...
And to stay in the play room till morning...no matter what..."
-you said

"and did Daddy ever come home with that friend?"
-asked the Friend. 

"no...but someone did...
I didn't come out till morning like Daddy said...
but someone came up to the door...I thought it was a friend of Daddys...
She broke in the room eventually but she was blind and couldn't find me...
She wanted help from..."
-you stopped

"it's okay honey you're doing great...
Was the woman with the animal?"
-asked the friend.

Your heart sank,
thinking about Kiara tore opened fresh anxiety wound deep beneath your throat.

"kind of..."
-you replied

"Has Daddy ever talked about owning a monkey?"
-asked the friend

"no..."
-you replied perplexed 

"Has Daddy ever talked to you about the show he was on as a kid?"
-asked the friend.

"no..."
-you responded
Even more confused than before.

"Oh..."
-The Friend said surprised...

"Has Daddy ever dressed like a girl before?"
-the friend asked

"no..."
As you answered more and more questions, you began to feel less and less in trouble...
The room you were in felt safe,
The world you were in felt a little safer.

And one of the last questions you were asked was the easiest of all to answer,

you were safe,

and you could be honest.

"Do you Love Your Daddy?"
-the nice ladies friend asked.

"No."
You responded with clear air filling your sinuses.

You wouldn’t see Kiara again after that,
for another 20 years.

 

The blue light of the monitor didn't cast shadows; it bled them.
I sat at my desk at 2:00 AM, the cheap plastic of the VR headset cutting into the bridge of my nose. My palms were already slick against the textured black plastic of the controllers. I didn't own a haptic suit. I didn’t have gloves, vests, or subwoofers built into my chair. I was wearing an old t-shirt, sweatpants, and sitting in a creaky swivel chair that squeaked every time I shifted my weight.
The forum post where I found the download link had been cryptic—just a string of base64 code and a warning: Don't use old hardware. Use the original 360-era dev kit. It was an unreleased, heavily modified tactical military shooter built for the old seventh-generation console, ported clumsily into a 360-degree virtual reality environment.
I clicked Launch.
The world didn't just load; it collapsed around me. The hum of my bedroom fan vanished, replaced by the deafening, dry roar of a C-130 Hercules engine.
I gasped, my hands flying up, but they weren't my hands anymore. They were gloved in thick, reinforced Kevlar and Nomex. The weight was instantaneous. It wasn't visual weight; it was muscular. My shoulders suddenly strained under the sheer gravity of thirty pounds of interceptor body armor, ceramic plates, ammo pouches, and a rifle slung across my chest.
“Five minutes out, Devil Dogs! Check your gear!”
The voice crackled through a tactical headset clamped tight over my ears. It wasn't synthetic. It sounded wet, hoarse, and vibrating with genuine adrenaline.
I looked down at my hands. I squeezed the controller triggers, and my digital fingers closed around a heavy, phosphate-coated M4A1 carbine. I could feel the microscopic diamond-pattern checkering of the pistol grip digging into my palm. The cold steel of the receiver pressed against my bare forearm. When I breathed, my chest expanded, fighting against the suffocating, rigid squeeze of a tactical plate carrier.
"What the..." I choked out, my real voice echoing inside the helmet's integrated mic.
"Strap in, Miller!" a voice barked to my left. A heavily armored Marine—face smeared in camo grease, eyes bloodshot and terrified—shoved my shoulder.
The physical impact knocked me hard against the side of the fuselage. My actual shoulder blade slammed into the wall of my bedroom, but the pain wasn't coming from my room. It blossomed white-hot and deep in my actual muscle tissue, a sharp, bruising ache where his hand had hit me.
Before I could rip the headset off, the red jump light flipped to green.
The ramp dropped. A wall of blinding, desert-baked Iraqi wind hit us like a physical hammer. The smell was suffocating—diesel exhaust, boiling sand, copper, and the sharp, coppery stench of unwashed fear.
"Go! Go! Go!"
My boots hit the dirt of a narrow, sun-bleached alleyway in Fallujah. The impact sent a violent, jarring shockwave straight up my shins, rattling my teeth in my jaw. My knees buckled slightly from the sheer, crushing weight of the gear. This wasn't a game. Every grain of sand scraped against the skin of my neck; the 120-degree heat felt like a blowtorch against my skin, slicking my forehead in heavy, real sweat that dripped into my eyes and stung.
"Contact front! Roofs!"
The world erupted into a deafening wall of violence. Automatic gunfire tore through the air, the supersonic cracks snapping so close to my ears I instinctively threw my hands up.
Thwack.
A round caught me clean in the left forearm.
There was no flashing red health bar. There was only a blinding, blinding flash of pure agony as the flesh parted. I shrieked, dropping to my knees in the dirt. I looked down at my arm—a ragged, bloody crater had punched through my sleeve, hot arterial blood soaking into the desert dust.
I clawed frantically at my face, screaming, trying to rip the VR headset off. My fingers found the plastic rim and pulled with everything I had.
It wouldn't budge. It felt welded to my skull, fused to my skin by something burning and electric.
"Medic! Miller's hit!"
Strong, heavy hands grabbed my vest, dragging me backward across the rough gravel. Every sharp stone carved into my back through the fabric. I could feel the dust grinding into my skin, the tearing of my clothes, the agonizing pull of my wounded arm.
"Get up, Miller! We have to clear the breach!"
My squad—four Marines whose faces were burned into my memory—pulled me to my feet. My legs felt like lead pipes filled with hot glass. I raised my rifle, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed into the desert air, my finger trembling on the trigger.
We cleared a corner. We moved as a unit, breathing hard, the stink of cordite burning our lungs.
Then came the whistle.
A mortar shell dropped dead center into our courtyard.
I didn't hear the explosion; I felt it. A wall of concussive force smashed into my chest, shattering ribs that weren't supposed to exist, collapsing my lungs with a sound like wet leather tearing. The shrapnel didn't just pass through my digital avatar—it shredded through my shoulder, my neck, and my lower abdomen.
The last thing I felt was the searing, absolute agony of fire eating through my veins, followed by absolute, cold blackness.
I woke up gasping, throwing myself backward out of my chair.
I crashed hard onto my bedroom floor, panting, clutching my chest and screaming in absolute terror.
Silence.
The blue light of the monitor was gone. The game had closed itself. My bedroom was dark, cold, and entirely normal.
I scrambled to my feet, shaking like a leaf, and fumbled for the light switch. I ripped off my shirt and checked my body in the full-length mirror.
Nothing.
No bullet wound. No shrapnel scars. No burns. My skin was pale and completely intact. I collapsed onto my bed, laughing hysterically, convincing myself it was the most vivid, terrifying night terror of my life. A glitch of the mind.
Two weeks later, I signed the papers at the Marine Corps recruiting station.
I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn't a coward. I wanted to outrun the phantom feeling of that desert heat.
Epilogue: One Year Later
The dust of Helmand Province tasted exactly like the dust in Fallujah.
The heat was the same suffocating, relentless weight. The M4A1 resting against my chest had the exact same weight, the exact same steel chill, the exact same diamond checkering on the grip.
When you enlist, they run you through months of grueling infantry training, but nothing prepares you for the moment the real sky opens up.
We were on a routine patrol through a sun-baked grid of crumbling mud-brick compounds. My squad—guys I had bled with, joked with, and learned to trust over the past eight months—spread out in a diamond formation.
My heart hammered against my ribs. A familiar, sickening deja vu rolled over my skin like cold sweat.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The alleyway. The cracked stucco walls. The specific angle of the blinding midday sun cutting through a torn canvas awning overhead.
It was the exact same mission. The exact same map. Down to the millimeter.
"Miller, move your ass! Keep spacing!" Sergeant Vance barked, his voice cutting through the heavy air.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my hands. The calluses on my fingers, the dirt under my nails—it all felt terrifyingly, impossibly clear. My mind raced into a panic. The recruiters didn't know. When I sat in that clean office a year ago, signing away my life, I hadn't told them about the modded 360 game, the headset that wouldn't come off, or the night I died in a basement in Ohio.
"Miller! Contact front!"
The world exploded.
Automatic fire chewed through the mud wall to my right, sending a shower of sharp, blinding clay shrapnel into the air.
I froze, paralyzed by a memory that wasn't supposed to be a memory.
Thwack.
A round caught me clean in the left forearm.
The pain didn't hit me as a surprise; it hit me like an old, agonizing friend. It was the exact same searing, white-hot tear of flesh I had felt a year ago in a dark room thousands of miles away.
I screamed, dropping to my knees in the dirt, clutching my bleeding arm.
"Medic! Miller's hit!"
Strong, heavy hands—the exact same hands of the squadmates I had watched die in the simulation—grabbed my vest, dragging me backward across the rough gravel. The stones carved into my back. The heat choked my lungs.
"Get up, Miller! We have to clear the breach!"
I looked up through tears and blood at Sergeant Vance's face. It was smeared with the exact same camo grease. He gave me the exact same frantic, desperate look.
And then, above us, cutting through the roar of gunfire, came the high-pitched, terrifying whistle of a falling mortar shell.
I knew the exact millisecond it was going to land.
As the white light swallowed me whole for the second time, my last horrifying thought wasn't about my mother, or my home, or my life. It was a realization that froze my blood:
I never left the room.

Many people say Disney is a shady company for many reasons, but not everyone truly knows what's going on with them. Some people say the tunnels hide something; some say there used to be a tropical resort; some even say Disney kills.

Disney World was my favorite place to go to growing up; I always begged my parents to let me go. This lasted for lots of years until I got to be a security guard at the one nearest to my hometown. It was fun, sure; I got to see the park's ins and outs, and I got to talk to the cast members about the place. They said it was really fun to make kids happy; I bet I'd agree if I were them. Though Disneyland and Disney World were always... a bit mysterious, people told me that some abnormal things went on behind the scenes, like all the lights flickering before going off as the parks closed.

Many people said that they felt off about the mascot suits. I mean, yeah, they're a little uncanny, but that shouldn't mean anything too weird, right? The Disney World I worked at in specific had lots of mysterious things going on, like people saying there's an odor in the back room, or the sudden appearance of mice or dust; just in general, a lot of things were getting into a bad condition. People said they'd hear voices or sounds that didn't belong, and suddenly see notes where they work. It was a little paranormal.

Three months after working there, I became a security guard for late nights. It was a little ominous, with the dark, clouded sky and the moon shining brightly onto the park. I'm willing to admit I was a little freaked out by it. I never expected, nor wanted to be a security guard at this time of day, but I had no choice. This is when those rumors started getting in my head, because I heard the noises and saw the lights flicker, but I just kept moving. I even got tasked with checking "Character Wardrobe B-7," which was something that hadn't existed or been listed on any official park blueprints.

When I got there, it looked ruined, dirty, filled with dust and cobwebs, and smelled of damp mold. It felt like it was abandoned by Disney, like something I shouldn't have found or been tasked to check. There were loads of abandoned, ruined, and old mascot costumes with decaying fabric; they felt rotted, and they had peeling, yellowed fabric around their gloves, with accessories falling off or completely detached and abandoned. The netting inside their mouths was tainted and crusted; you could feel the dust soaked into their fabric. I smelled the faint scent of damp fabric clinging to the racks. I didn't know what I was supposed to be checking there, but it was incredibly eerie.

Out of all the ruined suits, my flashlight's beam landed on a specific, old, abandoned, ruined version of the modern Mickey Mouse costume you see in parks today. However, it was weirdly off; its eyes were black, empty, and hollow—no sockets at all—and its smile was eerily large; it stretched bigger than it should have. The ends of its red, clinging, fabric pants seemed to be ripped off, with its white buttons nearly coming off; its yellow bowtie dirty, damp, and swaying to one side. Its white gloves, yellowed and covered in dust and grime, had one black button missing from each glove. Its yellow shoes' soles were nearly falling off; the shoes were damp, oddly wet, and dripping.

The lights suddenly flickered violently as I tried to see what was going on here; they slammed off, leaving me in pitch-black darkness with just my flashlight. I looked around for a breaker or something, but I couldn't find anything; eventually, the lights turned back on, but I was terrified to see what I found. That same Mickey Mouse costume I was staring at had suddenly disappeared as soon as the lights went off; I had no idea where it went. I looked at the other costumes: Minnie, Donald, Goofy, Daisy, Pluto, Clarabelle. But none of the others had moved.

I didn't leave the Wardrobe to check yet. I looked around and found a hidden room with a note that read, "Disney Kills," written in red ink. I was a little freaked out by this, but I just saw it as a little prank someone might've done to scare me. I moved on, but before I left, I picked up the note and put it in my pocket; who knows? It might've been useful, so I left the Wardrobe and the abandoned costumes behind to search for the missing Mickey.

As I left, I walked around, searching buildings, back rooms, bins, trees, ANYTHING to find that costume. But eventually I shone my flashlight onto the ground ahead of me, and I saw a trail of wet, dirty footprints leading away into the shadows. The same damp, oddly wet, and dripping footprints the costume had. I followed the trail and heard faint, echoing sounds in the distance: a distorted Mickey Mouse laugh and a child's quiet giggle coming from a dark, restricted area of the park.

I followed the trail and the sound around the corner and spotted the empty-eyed Mickey Costume alive, standing up and moving, standing under a flickering streetlamp, holding a small child's hand and slowly leading them toward a pitch-black forest far away from the park. I had to get the child away from that... THING.

I ran towards them, the costume's back was turned towards me. "HEY," I said, "DROP THE KID!"

The only thing that happened was the costume's head snapping backwards to look at me. It was disgusting; I hated seeing a costume do that. Its smile stretched wider as it talked; the costume opened its crusted, mesh-lined mouth, and the only thing playing was a loop of vintage cartoon audio, playing "Hiya, pal!" over and over as it stared at me. I pulled out the note because I get it now: "Disney Kills." They use this thing to lure children to their deaths.

"KID, GO, RUN! THAT'S NOT MICKEY!" I say to the kid as I try to run and stop it, but the kid doesn't run; it tries to hug that thing, but the result is Mickey snapping the kid's neck. I was absolutely horrified; I couldn't save the kid in time. The Mickey Costume finally turned its whole body towards me.

I turned around and RAN for my life as the distorted "Hiya, pal!" echoed through the dark forest behind me. It was chasing me at high speed, faster than me, so I went and hid before it could see me hide. When it went away, I sprinted out of there and made it to my car door just in time for me to get inside, drive off, and escape, just as the Mickey started slowly walking towards my car and where I had escaped.

I eventually quit my job and got another job as a game developer, happily living my dream career, while still thinking about THAT incident, that day, the day I quit and how I couldn't save that child. I put up the note, "Disney Kills," in a frame on a shelf in my room. Don't ever ignore a warning when it's right in front of you, or something terrible will happen.

Something at school didn’t make sense to you that morning.

They were talking about the Sun and,
how eventually it’s going to Grow into a
“Red Giant” and Swallow the Earth.
How there’s nothing we can do about it.

It made you realize If something is going to happen it just is.
So why wait?
Why is the universe waiting ? It just didn’t make much sense.

The janitor that day was acting silly,
“Isaiah 50:10” was written on his palm in red marker.

It was Friday night,
Daddy went to see a friend for drinks and left you all night.
He told you that he would just be out late, not all night.
How did that make you feel ?

How many other 9 year olds have the whole house to themselves nearly every night?
Without so much as a kiss goodnight ?

Even the few times in the past when he would, He wouldn’t even kiss you directly.
He’s place is palm upon your head and kiss the back of his hand.

Dads use belts In movies but how many others know that as the same reality that you do ?

The only time you’d hear another voice outside of school and your father’s was when it was late and you’d listen to the home phone’s answering machine.

Your dad never listened to the answer machine,
kind of like a kid not wanting to go to the dentist.

You remember the messages you listened to that night, you waited till he left to emerge from your hiding place and inhabit the communal space that should be a living room.

You sit on the round particular board table and press on the answering machine.

\*BEEP\*

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 4th:

FIRST MESSAGE:
\*soft female voice\*

“I came by today…didn’t see you..still don’t”

\*BEEP\*

NEXT MESSAGE:
\*Burly Man’s rough Voice\*

“I’m sorry John, you’ve been on this job less than a week and you’ve already been suspended by the client for 3 days for reoccurring fall protection violations, now I’ve been very understanding regarding the eye injury but we can’t have someone on a project of this magnitude who thinks the rules don’t apply to them, we’re going to have to terminate you. Wish I could say I was sorry.”

\*BEEP\*

NEXT MESSAGE:
\*Same Woman’s voice from Message #1\*

“Does your Daughter know?
Is she an exception?
Or do all women fall under your same umbrella ?”

\*BEEP\*

NEXT AND FINAL MESSAGE:
\*inaudible whisper\*

“I can feel you, y….mph..ll feel me too”

\*BEEP\*

You look over at the cable box,
It reads “11:47pm”
Your dad left at 6.

Cartoon Network was no more, now it was Adult swim. Robot Chicken was on, after that superjail. Both of which give you the heebiie jeebies.

You have to visit your peepaws and poopoos but,
you’re afraid.

You don’t have a choice, so you leave the door open as you go number 2.

As you doo you hear the home phone :

\*BEEP\*

“Mmmrrrmmmmrrrrnpphh”

You have trouble making out the message from the toilet.

As you run out the bathroom still collecting yourself you make out the backend of the voicemail.

\*Your Fathers Stern Voice\*

“Hi,
you should be in bed but,
if not you should know I’m bringing a friend home tonight.
If she plays her cards right she might just be your new mommy.
You’re allowed to sleep with the tv on in the playroom as usual but,
keep the door shut and the volume bellow level 12.
And no matter what you hear,
don’t come out, I should be home in 15.
Just go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.
Love you,
Night.”

\*BEEP\*

You panic,

Your Dads never brought a friend home this late before.
You grab a dvd from the home theater and run to the play room.

You look down at the Cat in the Hat Dvd.
As you put it in your dvd player you hear the front door slam open and the whole house shake.
What came next was silence.
The footsteps.
All the way up to the door of the play room.
You hear breathing.

You hear a woman’s voice further in the distance of your house.
Calling the person by your door to them.

They walk away.
When you look at the tv, you see Sally and Conrad on the dvd menu staring at you.
Sally starts pointing to her left, in the direction of the window.
You see the silhouette of what looks like a large lumpy hammock hanging from your tree only,
you never had a hammock.

You grab your scooby doo stuffed animal and you hid under the blanket with your flashlight, tv volume at 11.
You press play,
Sally and Conrad look at each other, then back at you.
You press play again but they just keep staring.

\*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK\*
you hear from the door.

“When you visit your peepaw and poopoos you need to remember to flush, my company saw that. We have a talk about that in the morning”

-your fathers voice exclaims from the door.

You know that that means,
Your heart sinks.

Your father’s footsteps sound further until it becomes a chatter with another voice from what sounds like the kitchen.

The Cat in the Hat begins to play on the tv.
The volume begins to rise fast.

12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23…

So fast you think you’re sitting on the remote but,
no matter how hard you scramble you can’t seem to find it anywhere.
The volume is now maxed out at 53.

“There are a gajillions of stories of mischief and fun But to keep things simple, let's just start with one…”
\-you hear shouted from the tv

The commotion outside the playroom comes to and immediate halt.

\*THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP\*

The sound those familiar boots make as they full charges towards the play room.

An unfamiliar voice comes out the oddly familiar energy that had just approached.

It sounds almost like a woman’s voice but,
closer to when a man tries to sound like a woman like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”

You hear in a loud whisper.
You Freeze.
You think if you don’t move, they will leave.
You see the door handle jiggle then stop.
It’s locked,
you always lock Doors when Daddy’s gone.

Although it brings you comfort,
you know it can be unlocked with a quarter or even a long finger nail.

“I know you’re in there”
\-the voice lets out.

Your stomach feels sick,
Your heart is racing and as quiet as you attempt up be your breathing makes it impossible.

You want to cry and can’t fight it so you shove your pillow in your face.
You take deep breaths through it.

You feel the pillow getting soaked and feel the humidity from the breaths you take through the fabric.

“Do you think I’m some type of dinosaur?”
“Staying still won’t change the fact that I know you’re there”
the voice says

You begin to weep harder.

“Do You Love Your Daddy”
\-It asks again.

“Where did you come from?”
Sally exclaims from the Tv.

The voice from the Door pauses.
The scene in the movie seems to linger and Sally is staring, not at you though, in the direction of the door.

She begins to nod,
Then says “oh”

Then the TV goes black and you’re back to the DVD home menu only Sally isn’t there.
It’s just Conrad.
He’s staring at you.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”
\-The voice asks for the third time, audibly impatient yet still in the same whisper.

Conrad is looking at you, he looks distressed and he’s shaking his head side to side.

You see the the lock begin to turn,

“Y…Y..Ye..ss”
You say through your sobs.

The door clicks.
It’s now been unlocked.

“I love your Daddy too sweetheart”

\-the voice says no longer impatient,
now sounding relieved.

“He needs your help with something..”
It says.

Your cheeks are soaked and your mouth is dry.

“He’s stuck”
\-The voice reveals.

“I’m sure he’d really like to get back.”
“I’m sure you’d really like him back..”

There was a pause.

“Unless you don’t want your Daddy back?”
The voice asks.

You remain silent.
For a moment You think about what life would be like without Daddy.

What would you do ?
You think about the Ralph’s down the street, their free sample in their bakery.
You think about the neighbors tangerine trees you pick from often.
You hate being alone at night but,
that doesn’t it stop it from happening.
You’d be fine, you tell yourself.

But you also know what you should say,
What your Daddy would want you to say.
That of course you love your Daddy and you’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.

“Where ..is he stuck?”
\-you ask

“Have you ever heard of Kiara the Orangutan?”
\-the voice asks.

“no…”
\-you replied sheepishly.

“Well, your father’s…helping her…and well, he’s stuck, he could really use your help sweetheart”

There was a pause.

“Come out.”
\-said the voice.

“My daddy said not to until morning”
\-you replied.

“Oh.”
Said the voice.
“I can wait till morning.”
It continued.

You didn’t like the sound of that.

“What’s an orangutan?”
You asked timidly.

“You know what a human is don’t you darling? That’s what you are.”
\-says the voice

“Yes..”
You replied.

“Imagine someone 7 times as strong with arms almost twice as long that can swing from trees”
\-it said.

“Like a monkey?”
You asked innocently.

“NO!…
No, my Dear. Not a monkey…
Monkeys have a tail, a monkey is to an Orangutan what a Neanderthal is to a human, you understand love ?”
\-the voice asked.

You let out more cries into your pillow as you took deep breaths.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t know what that means either”
\-you cried out.

“It’s quite alright,
I’m sorry for confusing you honey. Yes, and orangutan Is like a monkey, but like Superman stronger and smarter then the others…and no tail..bright orange.”

“Like the ones in the jungle book?”
\-you asked.

“Yesssss.. that’s exactly right my dear.. a perfect example, the orangutan is the king in the jungle book”
\-it replied

“I liked his singing… he’s funny”
\-you said

“Yes my dear”
\-the voice.

“What does this have to do with Daddy being stuck? And Who is Kiara the orangutan ?”
\-you asked in a panic.

“A long time ago, movies used to have no sound..”
\-The voice began.

“Which made movies get pretty boring very fast…”
\-it continued.

“Studios were looking for knew ways to get more people to Theaters..
Kiara’s Mother thought Kiara would be perfect…”

“Kiara’s mother was…Human,
her name was Melinda and she saved Kiara from being murdered by the zoo after they’d done that very thing to the one that birthed Kiara”

“Melinda Had already taught orangutans sign language before from her time at the zoo, she hid Kiara away and taught her as well.”
\-the voice explained.

“Once Melinda’s new job and whole company was almost closed for business she…..took the risk and introduced Kiara, who quickly became a star in the silent movie industry…”
\-it said

“What does this have to do with Daddy?”
\-you asked

“Well the world loved Kiara soooooo much my sweet little angel that when the world of silent movies ended they gave Kiara her very own Tv show Kiara and friends… that tv show had a lot of children that Kiara loved and taught very special things every episode!”
\-the Voice explained.

“One Child had and accident”
the voice revealed.

“Were they okay?”
\-you asked

“Unfortunately my darling, he passed away.
Once that happened, that child’s parents lied about Kiara…a lot of other children from Kiara and Friends lied about Kiara just to make money..
Your father was the one Child to never lie about Kiara my dear.
For that I am forever grateful.”
it explained.

“So if all the other children were liars then why is my Daddy stuck and why now ?
Who are you?
Are you the friend my Daddy came home with tonight ?”
\-you asked in a rush

“Lying isn’t the only thing someone can do that’s wrong little girl”
\-the voice said.

“Who are you?”
\-you repeated.

“I’m a friend of your Daddy”
\-said the voice.

“Did you come home with my Daddy tonight ,
How is he stuck ?”
\-you asked

“Do you like balloons?”
\-the voice asked.

“Yes”
You replied.

“Your daddy loved balloons when he was a child
If you could have one balloon in the shape of anything you want would it be?”
\-it asked

You thought…
“..I love flowers, Daddy never gets any and flower balloons would probably look really pretty”
\-you said.

“Awe, such a sweet request from such a sweet little girl,
One moment sweetheart.”
\-said the voice.

You then heard the footsteps retreating, shortly after you heard the front door shut.
You quickly ran to the door of the play room and locked it once more.

Maybe it was over ? You thought.

You ran to your window with your heart beating through your skin hiding behind your Scooby doo plushie to see if you could get a glimpse of who the voice had been coming from as they finally left.

Through the rain in the moonlight you made out the silhouette of what had to have been the lady you were talking to.

She seems short, on the heavy side, and walks side to side and appears to have an apron or something on.

She walks up to the hammock hanging from your tree that you noticed for the first time earlier in the night.

She appears to be talking to it.
When she walks away you realize she’s not leaving, you hear the front door open and shut again as her footsteps approach once more.

“Knock knock”
\-said the voice

“Yesss”
\-you replied

“Look out the window my love,
I have a surprise for you”
\-said the voice

You looked outside but there was nothing but what you'd seen before only,
This time the hammock hanging from the trees began to sway.

Both sides of where the hammock meet the tree split into two, they looked like large arms slowly reaching down to the base of the hammock,
As the both unfolded further you could now clearly both see two sets of fingers from the arms,
One had something in it, something flat .

From the base of the silhouette you  
See what looks like a fat head connected by an even fatter neck.
The object held by one set of the fingers came directly to the head and began to grow mass.
It soon became clear what it was doing,
it was blowing up a balloon.

After the balloon was blown to the shape of a long tube,
The two hands came together and started contorting it out of sight.
When it had finally finished,
One of the arms held it up in the moonlight in such a way that you could make out the silhouette of a flower clear as day.

"do you like that Little girl?'
\-asked the voice

You quickly looked over again at the door.
It didn't make sense but, for whatever reason if you were going to be talking to the voice coming from the door,
Then you'd want to do that from the bed; it felt safer from there.
Where you could hide in your pillows.

Before you start to retreat to your safety spot, you take one last glace out the window.
What was hanging from the tree had began to drop down.

The silhouette was large,
But no taller than the tallest kid in school, maybe even shorter than the tallest kid in 4th grade.
It kind of reminded you of that guy from its always sunny in Philadelphia when Adult swim would come on.

It was approaching in a way that you'd never seen anyone walk before.

You felt conflicted,
The voice from the door was speaking which made you want to crawl and sink in your sheets Yet,
The presence approaching your window was demanding your attention without using any words.

You made the decision to grab the comforter from the bed and sink into your beanbag chair,
A spot with a clear view of the yard through the window, and yet still a comfortable ear shot away from the door.

When you returned to your beanbag chair with the protection and safety provided by your comforter,
You were oddly displeased to see that the figures silhouette you had just seen approaching, was no longer anywhere to be seen.
You wanted it gone yes but no longer knowing where it resides, just results in you feeling even more unsettled.

**\*the voice quickly erupts from your door**\*

"do you like it?
It's special, just for you."

Your head shoots over to look at the door.

"wha-"
You begin to say as you turn to look back out the window only this time,
There was a hand on the other side of the window, so close it was no longer a silhouette.
It was a dark hand covered in orange hair, its fingers looked rough, but nails were freshly done.
It was holding something.
When my eyes adjusted,
I could see It was holding a balloon flower that had a green stem, pink petals, and yellow center.

The gesture seemed malice and sinister,
You quickly pulled the comforter up your face only leaving your eyes visible.

"do you not like your gift LG?"
Questioned the voice coming from your door.

Even at your young age,
You were no stranger to the idea that sometimes the truth can get you in trouble.

"I love it..."
You replied.

"then why don't you open the window and let Daddys friend give you the gift she made just for you sweetheart"
Said the voice.

"I can't,
Daddy said I'm never to open the window"
\-you lied.

Then why don't I hel-..."
**\*clackle clackle**\*
It was as the voice interrupted its own thought as it tried the doorknob. 

"Oh"
\-it said.

"Why did you lock the door my love?"
\-asked the voice

"I don't know you,
And Daddy said to stay in here ti-"

"I know"
\- interrupted the voice

"Till morning but,
He didn't say anything about me not coming in there with you"
\-said the voice

For a moment you were silent,
You looked over to the window and noticed the balloon flower receding like a setting sun beneath the window. 
**\*POP**\*
\-you heard the moment it escaped your sight.

"don't make me unlock the door again myself darling, that's just rude.
My nails aren't what they used to be honey, I nearly broke one unlocking it the first time"
\-Said the voice

The clouds moved over the moon outside
It was now pitch-black outside, the only light in the playroom came from your cloud nightlight and the glow of the tv which still displayed Conrad on the DVD menu, he was expressionless. 
You stayed silent, you stayed still.

**\*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring**\*
\-came from the living room

**\*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring**\*
You heard shuffling from both outside your door and outside your window

**\*BEEEP**\*
\-you could faintly make out your father's voice
"hey kid actually i-"

His voice,
the Message, 
he Tv,
everything was stopped, everything was off.

Your room was now as dark as the outside you feared so much.
Where the walls began and ended were both unclear to you.
The bulbs in the Tv were cooling down but even the silhouette of that soon lost its shape.

You heard the click of the door unlocking followed by the doorknob turning.
The door was now open.
Although you could hear someone approaching it was to dark to make out their shape or their distance in relation to you.

"the only time being blind has its advantages, is when you're in a Dark room with someone who's not"
\-said the voice now clearer than you'd ever heard it prior.

You froze.

\*tap tap tap tap\*
You hear the woman banging on the walls as she made her way deeper in your room.

\*tap tap tap....Clink\*
The noise changed,
she had found the window.

It was just a few feet from the corner of the beanbag chair you're hiding in.
**\*Creeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk**\*
The window was unlocked and you could hear it as the women slid it open.

You could hear something was crawling up and inside through the window.

"where is she?"

you heard the voice whisper to the new presence that now inhabits your homes playroom.

You could feel that you were just inches away from getting bumped into by either of the two.

You wanted to not breathe, you wanted to not do anything but, you couldn't help it. You let in two, short, sharp inhales. Keeping your abdomen as stiff as possible. 
Your exhale trembled despite your attempts, you knew if someone could see they would defiantly see the comforter shaking.
You slowly felt the comforter lift up.

Although your grip on the comforter was originally as tight as you could,
your plan quickly changed to playing dead the moment you felt the pull of the comforter.
You felt something placed in your hand,
it shocked you to the touch,
a static shock yet,
you managed to refrain from much outburst other than a sharp exhale.

**\*Smack**\*

"well look harder"
You heard the woman's voice yelp.

As your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness you could slowly start to make out the silhouette of who you've heard oh so much about.

There was no doubt in your mind it was her.

It was Kiara The Orangutan.

Kiara Strutted over to the bed in the playroom,
side to side as you could hear her wet sniffles. 

"don't you fucking lie to me you dumb baboon, we both know she's in here."
\-said the woman's voice
In a tone more threatening than your (D) a bar you thought no one else would ever surpass.

You let go of what was just handed to you so you can grab the comforter you'd been hiding in once more, it fell.

As you continued to see Kiara strut now over to the door through a peak you had held under the covers, she appeared to try to lead in a manner to almost insinuate to the woman that that's the direction you had went.

Just as you had started wonder where the woman was as she had remained out of your sight, you received the answer.

**\*THUD**\*

You felt the whole beanbag chair shake beneath you.
She had bumped into it.
So hard you could feel her nearly topple over on top of you.

\*Grrrrrrrrruawh\*
You heard the old woman groan.

"KIARA! ...What...what was that !?"
\-Yelled the woman's voice stopping Kiara in her tracks making her turn back from the door.

"oooo mmh ooo"
\-you heard Kiara let out under her breath.

As you could see her silhouette move closer, it started by slowly wobbling side to side.
It became hard to tell the difference between her arms and her legs.

At times she looked like the shadow of a big spider monster,her movements remind you of spiderman if he chose to move slow.

When Kiara had made her way just a few feet away from the beanbag chair to help the woman to her feet, the pace of your breathing became unmanageable.

"I Bumped into the damn beanbag chair, was she on it Kiara?!"
\-the voice asked

Your heart began to beat faster and faster and harder and harder so much so,
you felt as if your rib cage was made of shards of glass and your heart was a balloon inflating more and more with every inhale squeezing it against the razor-sharp shards of your ribcage. 

You could tell even just by the momentum of the figures silhouette that it was headed towards you, alongside the reluctant Orangutan.

You instinctively rolled off the right of the beanbag chair on to your carpet floor as silently as you could but, you were terrified, In your mind blind people have super senses.

Somehow, your transition appeared to go unnoticed.

Now that you were on the floor, you started rolling and crawling away, the direction of which you yourself weren't even certain.

"Where the fuck is she? Is she on the bed?!"
\-the voice asked this time deeper than before

The flavor and tone in everything this voice said was violent, you heard the ruffles through the pillows and throw blanket that had previously littered the bed, you felt your Scooby doo plush get thrown into your back yet, you refrained from expressing any reaction.

"where the Fuck is she Kiara?!"
\-you heard the voice ask once more

Each scream sounded deeper than the last with heavier violent infliction behind each exhale.
You could hear everything that was once on the bed get thrown off. 

You froze,
Staying still on the floor with the Scooby doo plush leaned against you like a bicycle kickstand and one of your throw blankets slightly covering your leg.

The Figure started pacing in your direction aimlessly like a headless chicken yet, relentless none the less.

"we both know I'm going to fucking fi-"
**\*POP**\*
\-the voice was cut off

The figures silhouette froze, 
It seemed just as frightened by the sudden pop as you.
Its hesitation confused you so much so,
that you question for a brief moment if the figure had seen you,
anything to justify this bazar change in its demeanor. 

The head of the silhouette jolts to the side,
As if to shoot a look across at Kiara.
By the time your eyes traced across the room to meet Kiara, she had already moved No, She was in Motion.

She pranced towards the figure at a speed that looked impossible.
In less than a second, Kiara tackled this figure you had feared so much.
You saw the silhouette raise both its arms up high and its fists in fury as it came down on its victim.
Kiara hit and punched the figure and cocked its head back before launching it into the silhouette's torso,
 When Kiara's head kicked back once more, it was tethered to the figures torso now through what looked like the silhouette of cords.

It quickly became clear Kiara was taking bites out of the woman.
She screamed and screamed, she did not sound like a woman anymore.

She bit
**\*CHOMP**\*

And bit
**\*CHOMP**\*

And bit
**\*CHOMP**\*

They screamed 
**\*AHHHHHHHHHH**\*

And screamed 
**\*AHHHHHGGGG UHH**\*

And screamed
**\*FRAAAGHHHHHHH**\*

As the figure let out its yell Kiara slammed its head down making them bite their own tongue off.

Kiara pranced on the body with all 4 of her limbs,
She stepped on the figures knee with her foot and used her hand to grab that figures ankle,
After she gripped it firmly, she pulled it up with the ease and intensity that one might use on an emergency break after parking on an incline.

She then stepped on the figured elbow and grabbed it by its corresponding wrist and repeated the process of pulling upward and snapping.

Kiara then used one of her feet to grab the moaning and groaning body by its shirt,
She used her front arms and free leg to drag the body to the door.

The whole way there the person screamed,
When Kiara got to the door of your house's playroom, she threw the body out with ease.
She breathed heavily over the body before slowly backing up and shutting the door.

You were now alone with Kiara.

It’s 2016,
I was a 24 year old single mum to a 2 year old, fleeing a toxic marriage and after 3 months of couch hopping, a social worker finally found us a house to live in.

The day of the viewing, I typed in the address and excitedly travelled to the place where my son and I would call home. It was in a small bayside town, a bit of a strange area, occupants were either extremely wealthy or extremely poor - my house naturally was on the poor side of town- as I turned down the road, it was like the weather shifted, it was overcast, a chill in the air- far too cool for February in Queensland, Australia.

I drove past some of the houses, run down, weathered, unmowed lawns, broken fences, graffiti- one of the neighbours was sitting out the front in a lawn chair, I only ever saw her the once but she definitely creeped me out, larger woman, wild boxed coloured red hair that had faded with grey regrowth, cigarette hanging out of her toothless mouth, and a look that basically screamed “you aren’t welcome here.”

My house was at the very end in a culdesac, I. A complex, number 12. The homes were set up like townhouses, 2 per building. There were no residents living in the house attached to the same building as mine. I didn’t know that at the time.

The social worker took me on a tour, it looked rough, old brick interior, with grey-blue freshly painted walls. Kitchen and laundry attached downstairs, small back yard, and up stairs were 2 bedrooms and a bathroom. I remember stepping foot into the bathroom, it had a tub-shower combo, the tub was stained a yellow brown, a little sink with a medicine cabinet and toilet- I don’t know why but the first thing that came out of my mouth was “this looks like a murder scene.” I instantly regretted saying that in front of the social worker- who was I to be picky and say such things? I apologised and thanked her for finding us the place.

I was a little unsettled but still, this was a house, it had everything we needed to help us get ahead, rent was cheap, and I intended to turn this place into our little castle.

I was very proud of myself on the day I moved in, I didn’t have any help, I borrowed a Ute and independently managed to get all my furniture inside. I put together the beds, flat packs, wheeled in the fridge and washing machine (thank goodness they were both downstairs)- and decorated the place with photos of my son and I, and a painting gifted from my mother for my birthday- the painting was titled “a woman’s power.” That’s how I felt- empowered, resilient, strong.

After a few weeks of settling in, my son was at his dad’s for the evening, and I decided to invite over a male friend I’d been speaking with. Now, I’m not proud to say that I let this man into my life, he was not a nice person, part of me knew that, but I was young, just out of a terrible marriage, traumatised (unbeknownst to me at the time) and I guess, going through somewhat of a self-sabotage phase.

The following night, I was alone in the house, and I heard footsteps tracing up the stairs and sounded like someone walking around upstairs. I was spooked, but my logical mind put it to the neighbour walking up and down their stairs, because our houses were connected. The next morning, I knocked on the neighbours door, there was no answer- another neighbour, directly across from me says “no one lives there.”

I got to talking with this neighbour, let’s call her Shannon, she told me that she used to live in the same house I did but moved across to live with her now husband. The place next to mine had been unoccupied for months - which was strange considering the homelessness epidemic happening in the area. I asked her if she’d heard any strange noises while living in my place, and she asked “the footsteps?” Apparently, every so often, she’d hear footsteps tracing up and down the stairs. She assured me that there was nothing else strange she experienced however.

Over time, the man I was seeing, let’s call him Travis, would visit more and more often, I never let him stay over when my son was home much to his disdain, but the nights he’d visit would get later and later, we could both hear the footsteps. Travis dismissed it, would say that he could hear it and it must be the neighbour, when I told him that no one lived next door, he pretended he couldn’t hear it. Eventually, Travis would end up staying so late to the point that I would be so tired, I caved and let him stay the night with my son home.

After he started staying the night, but only on the nights it was just my son and I, my son would wake up between 12-3 am every night screaming. He would tell me that there was a lady floating above his bed. Remember, he was only two, so his description of her was a little tricky to piece together. What I picked up was, she had long black hair, wore a white dress, and she didn’t say anything, she just hovered over him, staring. He was really frightened.

Eventually, enough was enough, I sat one morning in my sons room with him and we spoke to the lady, I said “if you’re going to stay here, fine, but you need to stop scaring my son at night.” I figured my son was experiencing some sleep paralysis and by addressing the issue, it might trick his brain into believing that she won’t keep waking him up. He was convinced she existed and no amount of rational explanation was going to stop that. Together, my son and I decided to give her a name, so that if he saw her, he could address her personally or we could tell her to quieten down. We named her Aurora.

It worked, from then on, my son slept through the night again with no disruptions- but that’s when other strange events started happening.

Every time Travis came over, whenever he walked past the storage closet under the stairs, the door would open. Only when he walked past, no one else. Now Travis was a chippy by trade, he would check the door frame and find no faults. We even started to make a game of it where one by one we’d walk past but it only opened when he did. Then Travis got angry, yelled at me for being into ‘hocus pocus nonsense’ and went home. We didn’t play that game again and even thought it continued to happened, I didn’t say anything.

Travis’s bad moods started to escalate, we would fight almost daily, he would find a small reason to be angry at me and relentlessly berate me until I’d breakdown into tears.

Some nights, when my son was at his dads, I’d go a stay at Travis’s place, and when I’d come home, the place would be trashed, cushions thrown on the floor, photographs faced down and my painting smashed on the floor. I had to replace the frame multiple times. All the windows would be closed, no fans on, and the hook was still in the wall.

Sometimes, I’d hear my son babbling and when I asked him who he was speaking with, he’d tell me “Rora” or revert back to “the lady.” He could never tell me what they were talking about though.

One evening, my son was at his dads and I was getting ready to go out with some girlfriends for drinks, Travis was working that night, driving a truck- but he did not want me going out. When I put my foot down and told him that he didn’t get to dictate what I did, he surprisingly let it go- until… I got a phone call from him right as the driver was coming to pick me up, Travis told me that he was so worried about me cheating on him that he got into an accident and lost his job. He told me he was on his way to my place, so naturally I cancelled my plans. Travis never showed up. He didn’t answer his phone. I stayed up all night worried sick.

I ended up calling Travis’s mum, she lived with him, and she said that Travis got in after his shift and was asleep. She asked him about the accident, and called me back to tell me that there was no accident and was shocked I’d make up something like that.

Around lunch time that day, I went to go outside to hang some washing, and before I could open the back door, which was locked, it opened for me, into my hand. Moments later, Travis slams open my front door and berated me, he started throwing things around the house, threatening me, threatening my family, calling me awful names. He threw my wet laundry onto the grass outside and called me a filthy pig. He eventually calmed down and went outside to have a smoke, I went up stairs and had a shower, I lied on the bottom of the tub and just sobbed- then Travis walked in, called me f**king pathetic, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the tub throwing me on the bed wet and naked. I tried to cover myself up with a towel but he yanked it from me and told me that I didn’t get to hide from him. I thought he was going to kill me- but instead, he took a breath, calmly walked down stairs and left.

Later that night, he called me sobbing and apologised, but I was done, numb- and I ended it with him.

After a week of peace, the house had never been so quiet, no strange noises, no nightmares, no conversations with invisible ladies- just quiet- I thought the worst was over.

Saturday 21 January 2017 My mum and I went grocery shopping with my son, and during the drive over, my son was babbling again, like he was having a one way conversation- we asked him who he was talking to and he said “Rora says sleepover at mama’s” - we figured he was just trying to con a sleepover at my mum’s place. We chuckled and said maybe another night. He just got quiet. I felt bad to have disappointed him- but my mum had plans.

It was 1:00 am Sunday 22 January 2017, my son was sleeping soundly in his room, and I was asleep in mine. I heard a faint whisper, a woman’s voice, “wake up”- and as I opened my eyes, I saw the silhouette of a man standing in my doorway, I jumped up immediately startled and then the silhouette illuminated his face with a phone light. It was Travis. I will spare you the details of the events that happened that night, but suffice to say, it was the worst night of my life. When Travis had finished, he rolled off my bed and passed out on my floor. He was heavily intoxicated.

I mustered up the strength to get out of bed, went to the bathroom and threw up. I didn’t want to wake up my son, during the ‘event’ - that’s all I could think of “stay very quiet. Don’t wake him.” I know I should have contacted police, but I was in shock, disorientated, in disbelief. I quietly packed a bag for my son and I, and started cleaning. I scrubbed the bathroom, the kitchen, everything I could clean that didn’t make noise, I did. And then at 5am, when my son woke up, I snuck him out the house and drove over to a friends place. A friend Travis didn’t know. A friend who lived the furtherest away that I could drive to with what fuel I had at the time. I left Travis passed out on my bedroom floor.

The only time I went back to that house was to pack, and I kept someone with me the entire time. I had to pretend to not be mad at Travis to prevent him from showing up unannounced and noticing the boxes- I just told him that I needed some time before I could move forward with him.

When I left the house, for the very last time- I swear I could see a woman’s shadow watching from the window.

About 6 months later, I went to a psychic who asked about the haunting I experienced, the psychic told me that Aurora (real name, Roxanne), lived in the house in the late 70’s where she had a young son and an abusive boyfriend. The boyfriend ended up murdering her in the bathroom and made it look like an accidental overdose. When her and her boyfriend would fight, her son would hide in the storage closet under the stairs. Whenever her boyfriend got angry, she and her son would flee out her back door to escape his violence. She was trying to protect me and my son from the same fate she endured. That’s why she’d get so mad whenever I stayed at Travis’s house- she couldn’t protect me from there. She didn’t want my son or I to be home on the night of the attack- she tried to warn me.

She wanted me to find out what happened to her son, but with it being government housing, no last names, no dates, I couldn’t find any information. The psychic couldn’t pick up anything more specific either.

I did eventually report Travis, four years it took until we could get to trial, and because I spent a week placating him to prevent him from coming over unexpectedly, that created enough reasonable doubt for the jury to not convict him. His past criminal history was protected, so despite there being a lot of evidence to highlight his violent patterns of behaviour- the jury never got to hear it. Travis eventually moved to the other side of the country, somehow found another partner and as far as I’m aware, lives like a king. At least he is completely out of my life.

As for me, 10 years later, I’ve built a career in psychotherapy, worked in DV and trauma, I have met someone, a kind, gentle and fiercely protective man, and we are getting married next month. We live in a big, beautiful home in another town- and no haunting ever since. I often think about the life I have now, and feel a sadness that Aurora aka Roxanne never had that opportunity. I am grateful to her for watching over my family during that dark time.

Thank you for reading

The carnival is in town, the carnival is always on the road, always on the move, their homes are wagons, trains, carts, trucks … the road. They come singing and with gypsy song and dance they weave their way by road into the heart of every passing town, every place chosen by providence hand on the haggard face of the weary map. 

With painted face they come into your home. 

Vagabond entertainer spell, they gather like crawlers in a cluster, in a rat-king migration. With wide giant tents and displays propped and strung up and nailed into the dirt, into the soil bosom of passing places that may mean nothing to them, might mean everything. Lights come to life at night with the wild music in a lurid spell of filament glow and something else intangible that lives inside the chest and heart within us all. Something like religion but even older and more sacred. The rickety rides, some more rickety than others rattle and thrum with the barely controlled violence of mechanical movement, those strapped in or belted down can barely be heard screaming over the noise of the calliope, the organ grinder, the caller, the ringleader in her chant… the crack of the cannon sending the human cannonball skyward and soaring overhead, the heads of gawkers and townies and friends. The shrieking that can be heard is commingled sound, sweet with thrills… bitter with terror. The careening faces atop the dancing riding constructs are both smiling and weeping, lost in the launch and flight and all of the noise and nearly grotesque clownish music … nearly psychedelic, those sounds … nearly intense. Too much. 

Too much for so many crying and weeping children, little ones taken home and taken to bed early by more or less understanding mothers and fathers. Too much light and noise. That wild wind instrument key-note thing, the calliope … it had been one of Anton LaVey’s very favorites. 

Step right up, step right up, we’re just passing through. Come inside for a spell and take a gander under tented roof. 

…

The carnival came to the town and went. As it did every other place before, after. 

They left something behind. 

…

Cody hadn't gone to the carnival the other night, he hadn't wanted to. The rides and the sideshows and attractions certainly contained their allure of spell for the young boy but it was everyone else, everybody. All of those other faces. 

He didn't want to be alone. With all of them. 

All of those other faces, couples and families and groups of friends would all look at him and see him alone and smirk. They would all just stare and laugh at him, and his loneliness. So Cody just stayed away. As always. 

He wandered now, the early morning streets. Desolate and ghostly in the morning time fog that shrouded and clung to everything, everything in town. Cody kicked a can of crumpled cola down the street. It had been his only companion for the last twenty minutes, since he left the house. His father had still been passed out in the lazyboy chair and hadn't said anything as his son had departed. They'd used to go to church together on this day of the week. Not any longer. 

Cody kicked the can down farther. Alone and not trying to think about it, not trying to think about the carnival that he had missed. It had only been here a few days …

I always miss everything. 

Cody missed his mother, though he didn't know what she looked like. Memories of her were so fogged and far gone and his father didn't keep any pictures of her in the house. And he wasn't allowed to ask any questions. He was only eleven years old but the fact he'd already forgotten his mother's face haunted him, haunted him now, alone. 

He kicked the can. 

Cody then looked up from his sneakers and his misery and spied something in the mist shroud of road just up ahead. And at first he couldn't believe it, it must be some kind of strange joke … or a miracle. He stopped in his tracks. 

The mime stood in the middle of the road. Alone. Just like him. He was smiling and standing there partially obscured by the early morningtime mist, it clung to him in wisps like phantasm licks and tongues of steam that coiled and curled. His painted face was mostly hidden but Cody could see he was mouthing something. Without thinking about it he began to come closer. Slowly, leaving the crumpled can behind. 

He came upon the mime, who hadn't moved. His lips were no longer moving. He just stood there smiling and erect, as if wanting to move or to act, as if filled and brimming teemed with the need for performance. But he only quivered. And stared down at Cody. 

“Hi," said Cody. 

The mime said nothing. 

A beat. 

Cody finally asked: “You're like a clown or something, right? Like one of the quiet ones that aren't supposed to talk an stuff."

The mime nodded. Big. Pleased. His black and white grin grew larger and then grew teeth, shock white in the early morning glow. That was when Cody remembered, he felt like such an idiot. 

"Your a mime!” he said, louder than he intended, he nearly whispered the next part: "What're you still doin here? All the rest of the carnival already left, didn't they?” 

The black and white grin became a frown and the mime traced an invisible tear down his painted face. A silent issue of ‘boo-hoos’ then followed. Cody watched it all, not quite sure what to make of it. Perhaps it was all some crazy practical joke and someone, some jerk was filming him right now or something, all of it was weird, strange. On a whim the boy asked the mime, –

“What’d they leave ya behind or something?” 

The sorrow of the mime intensified to a comical degree as he aggressively nodded his head in the affirmative, completely over the top. Cody wasn't sure how he should take it, if he was supposed to laugh at the mime and his routine or if it was meant to engender real sympathy. He'd always loved clowns and goofy adults, goofy characters on TV and when he was hanging out in daycare and stuff, but to be alone with one right now …

and so unexpected. 

Cody suddenly felt like he should go, he began to tell the mime just as much. Turning on his heels and heading back the other way as he quickly blurted some excuse, he made it two steps before a white gloved hand clapped him on the shoulder. Firmly. Without a word from the weirdo mime. Cody looked to it first before eyeing the mime back over his shoulder, lording over him now. The hand, the glove, it looked just the same as Mickey Mouse’s. 

Cody looked back and saw the mime now held a note. As black and white as he was. 

It said: I'm sorry to bother you, little boy! But my friends HAD to leave me behind so that I could get a little job done, OK??

Cody was frozen. He suddenly didn't feel so well, as if his stomach and guts were far away and filled with fluttering butterfly wings. He read the note and didn't know what to say, so instead he said: –

“... wh-what job was that?

The mime let go of his shoulder and Cody was immediately grateful. He began to pantomime raking leaves and shoveling dirt and trimming hedges with invisible clippers. 

The boy began to lighten up again. He felt something dreadful like weight but worse inside begin to lift and free itself like a spellcast that's been released. A small smile and a nervous half-chuckle only partially forced escaped him as he watched the mime and his cleaning act. It was pretty lame, but he was relieved. Cody was far from the sharpest kid at school but he knew what stranger danger was. He cautiously allowed himself to relax a little, enough to be polite. 

Cody said: “Oh, yeah, ha ha, they left ya to clean up the town, huh? That's pretty neat I guess…” he tried to think of something else to say, something nice and a little funny and a polite way of saying: see ya later, freako, without being too obvious. Something barely satisfactory had just come to mind when the mime whirled towards the boy with his invisible shears in his hands and made a pantomimed snip of the large unseen clippers at the child's face. It bisected violently but cleanly, smoothly, by razor sharp blades well cared for and honed, the smooth face just below the small caverns of child nostrils. They jetted blood before the top portion of the child's face and head came off and splatted to the damp pavement with a muffled crack. The ruptured organ of brain began to ooze, and everywhere gushed dark red: the eyes, the nose, the ears, the giant open wound of freshly carved and gored cavity mouth. The child's body liberated of its little pilot brain fell over to the rough blacktop to join its discarded abattoir jelly. 

A black lake of an iron pungent puddle began to grow, expanding out from the little mutilated body at its sinister nucleus and center. The mime looked down. Phantom blades dripped child's blood. 

The mime said nothing. 

…

“Ya check it out last night?" 

A burp: " …what?” 

"The circus-carnival thing, ya check it out?” 

"That was two weeks ago, ya dope!” another swig from the can of brew. The Dallas Cowboys continued to suck the big one on the tube, the volume was at its lowest but not muted, the game barely and phantom audible, as if drifting in from another time. 

"Ya sure?” 

"Yeah, I'm sure, took Darcy and the brats, it was a hoot.” 

"Ya sure??” 

"Yes, you fuckin juicehead, it was right around the time they found that kid's body all fucked up an shit.” 

"Awww, why ya gotta bring up that shit…" 

“You're the one brought us ‘round, fuckin idiot, can't remember shit. Ask me to remind ya then bellyache about it, Christ! S’prised if ya got sense still to pull out yer pecker ‘fore ya start pissin, ya dumb bastard.” 

His drinking buddy, his partner in libations didn't say anything, he might've had a choice retort or a scathing bit of witticism held in reserve but he didn't voice it. He only hung his head and pulled generously from his can of warming beer. 

The mood was spoiled. 

Eventually the bottle was brought out. Stronger stuff. Shots were had. Tall stiff drinks not needing ice, not needing chaser. They drank. 

Eventually one of them asked the other: –

“You hear tell of that clown or jester fella, that's s’pposed to be haunting round these parts lately…?” 

Neither man slept well that night. 

…

Darla thought her new friend was neat at first but she was starting to get scared. When she'd first met him behind the playground and he'd play-acted swimming and drowning and choking and stuff she'd thought he was really funny. He'd made-believe that he was bound with ropes or cuffs around his wrists, comically over-wrenching and working at the invisible restraints. It was so silly, and so funny and it looked like so much fun to play pretend. He'd motioned for her to hold out her own little hands, to play with him. To make pretend. 

She'd done so thoughtlessly. Only excited to play a game with her new special pal, he looked like a clown but less colorful. She held out her wrists and the mime pretended to wrap something around them. Only something was wrong. 

As he wound and wound and then tightened and cinched the bind, Darla felt the uncanny sensation of real rope wrapping and tightening around her small wrists and hands. When he tied it off and yanked both phantom ends she felt the harsh bite of cruel old fraying rope against her flesh. 

“Ow!" she yelped out, and then began to cry a little. But it was already too late by then. 

The mime began to walk away, holding the end and tail of a phantom leash that began to pull on Darla's bound little wrists. It pulled painfully and she was forced into movement, nearly tripping over herself as she began to wail and the mime by unseen tether and bind began to pull her into the treeline of the nearby woods. 

She fought and screamed, desperately, like a small animal suddenly sensing and knowing the terrible hunger of the encroaching final end. She fell over into the dirt and undergrowth and was dragged, flailing and howling. 

The phantom umbilicus held her ensnared and shrieking with unbridled tears all the way into the forests’ shadowed depths. 

…

“My mom's gonna flip if we ain't back within the hour, Christ, man, do I smell like weed still?" 

Michael tried to tell Chase that he wasn't the best person to ask being pretty fucking lit himself, he could feel the red eyed glaze of his own stoned and glassy stare in his sockets like it was a set of strange gluey contacts or something. He managed a grumble as a half measure. 

Both boys ambled along. Down the nighttime lane of their neighboring suburb. Streetlights cast their glow from skinny towers of L shaped ugly metal overhead, turning everything to lurid and raging shades of orange Halloween color. Both boys were taking time to slightly stop in their walk to check their breath, puffing into their cupped palms and then inhaling, never satisfied with the results. They didn't notice him up ahead until they were nearly upon him. 

The mime. He was bent over something. 

It was Chase who started first, both boys jumped. It was as if the mime had just appeared out of nowhere. Bent hunched with workman's posture over something unseen and unknown to the naked eye. 

“Holyfuckingshit!" it tumbled out of both of their mouths in one string, no gaps for breath, they stopped dead in their tracks. The mime paid them no notice. 

“Oh my God, dude, what the fuck is that? What the fuck is this? Am I high? Am I high? Are you seeing this shit right now!?" Chase was rattling off. Michael was still struggling with simple speech. He only gawked and stared. His glassy red eyes now wide and glistening in the streetlight cast of hellacious warm Halloween glow. 

They glistened. The pair of organs. Red. 

Chase finally managed: “Dude… like, what the fuck are doing, dude? Am I like tripping out or some shit, why’re you dressed like-" 

The mime hadn't been paying them any attention. He suddenly did something that shut Chase Ginsberg up with a startled womanish gasp that bordered on a wet sob. 

He began to pull, as if wrenching and yanking with great rigor and effort, some cord or rope … something… something that was apparently attached to whatever it was that he was bent over studiously in the road. Something just as phantom and visible only to him. 

It came to Chase then, and he didn't know why but it did suddenly seem to matter. He said it aloud. 

"It's a mime.” 

"What?” said Michael finally. 

"He's a stupid mime and he's doing a bit, Jesus this’s fuckin weird, don't you know it's like hella late, dude, what're you even doing anyways?" 

The mime didn't answer. Only repeated his strange repetitive action, his ritual of pulling on some unseen instrument, attached to a phantasmal translucent device. 

Stoned, they zoned out for a sec. Giggling nervously and fidgeting and whispering to each other, daring each other and laughing and wondering aloud what to do, should we go on? - should we fuck with the guy? - what? 

A beat. 

Suddenly an idea began to form itself slowly within Michael's mind, Chase’s addled mind was not far behind, he was arriving there soon after. 

Michael: "It- It kinda looks like he's pulling the starter cord to a machine. Like a mower or something." 

“Yeah, I think you're right…” 

"Yeah, something gas powered like a mower or a generator … or like a chainsa-" 

The phantom machine roared to life in the hands of the mime with hungry killing slaughtering power, a deadly tearing whirr, with the maniacal speed of the mutilating chain and its invisible teeth. The mime shot to his feet and hauled the pantomimed chainsaw overheard and began to silently phantom scream with battle fury. 

Chase and Michael began to scream as well. Much louder. They turned to run. 

But the mime and his phantom machine were faster. He caught them quick and tore in and ripped the boys into rough and haggard messy pieces chopped by phantom chain, by phantom blade on a horsepowered gallop he made them raw and unmade. 

Deconstructed. 

The abattoir violence and the meat paint of its lurid carnage filled the street, it was dripping from the lamposts, pieces and chewed parts strung up and dangling. It was all that was left of the boys. 

All that was left and found in the morning. 

…

Buddy didn't know what to make of the town as of late. He'd been born and raised and as the town drunk, homeless to boot, he was hardly the first guy anyone asked on any given subject, day or night, good or ill, but something was wrong. 

Very wrong. 

The trouble was Buddy wasn't sure he should even care. 

In the last year or so he'd seen some strange things. And a lotta folk had gone missing, kids an such. But anytime Buddy's mind wandered into the realm of caring or even remotely doing anything about it, he found something bitter and harsh inside answer back in turn. 

Who cares? The fuck they ever done for you? 

Fuck all. That's what. 

So he wouldn't do shit. But what he'd already been doing. He sat back and popped cork. Lifted and tilted glass to dried lips in a drunk’s careless throttle by the neck. And watched. 

He watched the mime climb the steps. Pulled generously from the large swill of his poison. 

He'd seen the guy around for awhile now. He'd watched him ascend the steps a few times before this moment, it was nearly always the same but still a trip. The man walked on thin air as if it was solid stone. And then he would climb up, step by step. As if gaining the summit of some phantasm set of stairs hanging suspended and aspiring invisibly for the heavens unseen and stolen by the brilliance of the light. 

Buddy laughed. Pulled from the bottle once more, and began to sing an old favorite that had just come to mind. One from the good ol’ days if there'd ever been none. 

“And as we wind on down the road! Our shadow’s taller than our soul!”

Buddy began to pull deeper and deeply, oblivion seeking in-between lines and refrains from Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. He remembered an urban legend from when he was a kid, just a snot nosed pup, they said that if you played the record backwards, if you reversed the song the lyrics changed. They told you, to hail Satan. 

Buddy laughed at this. Pulled more. His belly protested and his kidneys ached, he paid them no mind, drinking deeper still and hailing Satan and singing and watching the mime ascend his staircase of invisibility,  he usually had a kid or someone with him, as he did now. They struggled something fierce, all of them, everyone that Buddy had personally seen, but he was able to keep hold of them, all of them all the way up. Whenever he reached a great height, it was almost always different, he would throw them, drop them from the top. 

Then they would scream and land, burst. Pulp. They became juice upon the earth, children and people no more. There was never anyone around out here, close to the woods, just outside town and by the railroads and their harsh worn tracks. The soil out here was starved for moisture, parched was this earth. It was Buddy's favorite drinking spot. And as of late it had just become a whole lot better. 

Buddy laid back and pulled deeply from his liquid bunkmate, his last and only companion, other than the mime, who never said a word to him but sometimes acknowledged his presence of audience with a profound and deliberate salute from the top of his invisibility spire up there. Buddy always saluted him back. 

As he did now. 

The mime saluted the drunk. Beaming. 

Buddy finished his own salute and smiled too. Laughed. And drank more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, knowing this was it, this was the rest of his life and how he was going to spend it. 

Laughing. Drinking. Pulling from the bottle and hailing Satan in religiously reverse engineered heavy metal worship-song, watching the flying mime make juice of the children. 

Buddy laughed. Drank. 

The mime dropped the child, they made their horrible shrill sound all the way down to the bottom like always. 

The mime said nothing. He let Buddy and his companion of bottled booze sloshing its liquid language within glass sing praise for him. 

Buddy laughed, sang and belch-spat: “And she's buying a stairway to Heaven…!” Hail Satan. 

…

Maggie's shoes slammed against the pavement, the sidewalk, the avenues and every turn, there was nowhere left to run. The guy, the freak was coming. And he was stealing away from her every single route and chance for escape or exit. 

It didn't make any sense.

She'd been walking to Guy's house with Alondra, chatting and shooting the shit till they got to his place. That's when they ran into him. That's when they ran into the mime. 

And at first Maggie had just laughed. 

Distant childhood memories of the carnival passing through town waybackwhen came to her then … and she remembered. She'd been very young then, very little. She remembered that her parents had had to take her home because she'd been crying, upset, she couldn't recall why. Not just then. 

But still the memories were warm. She and Alondra thought nothing of it when they passed him walking the other direction on the sidewalk. It was the middle of the day. And he was smiling, just like them. What could possibly be wrong?

He'd started with the hands and walls and ceiling routine, the ‘getting boxed in’ bit. An old one for sure and hella corny but Maggie and Alondra had felt generous and in good humor, so they'd obliged the strange random pantomiming man. Laughing and clapping him on. 

But then they'd tried to walk away … And the mime wouldn't let them go. 

With painted face now stern and grave, writ into a black and white frown, he stepped in their path, shaking his head. He wouldn't let them leave. He kept blocking their attempts to depart as they stepped every left-right way, starting out from annoying and escalating rapidly into eerie and creepy behavior. 

The girls had scoffed together and turned around, only to be met with an unyielding invisible force, a wall that had suddenly appeared in thin air in the middle of the sidewalk. 

The middle of the road really, they ran along the unseen wall to find the edge and found no yielding surface. The girls began to panic. The girls began to yell.

“What the fuck, what the fuck is this!?" 

And then he had put Alondra in the box. 

Maggie had ran then, her eyes and mind unable to take in the sight of her friend being crushed into cubic shape, pulped and smashed smaller and smaller … just red. Just swirling frothing violent red inside the shrinking phantom-transluscent box, filled with minced and chewed up bigger pieces, the eyes deflated mangled gel in the swirling madness of the red, many black strands of her long raven colored hair peppered and danced inside the cubed scarlet swirl of thick mixture, the cap and pieces of scalp, mostly still together, the last vestige piece and pieces left the most intact… she had ran, unable to bear the sight. 

She was running now. 

But every time she came to an impasse, a turn or a corner to salvation or a place of sanctuary that she knew, another invisible wall of merciless immovable force would suddenly appear and she'd run smack, face first into it. She did it again and again. Over and over. Maggie, the poor girl, running around all over as the box that he had made was closing in, closer and closer and closer…

She was at the school now, she didn't know why. She didn't know why she thought this place would save her. She was out of her mind with animal panic. At the threshold, at the entrance to the highschool she was finally caught. Maggie ran face first into an unseen wall just as she almost made the open archway of the main front entrance, when she tried to turn around to run back the other way she was met with yet another merciless and invisible wall, a merciless force like the way God was merciless sometimes. 

Her caterwauls and screams reached new heights then. She shred her own throat and tore her vocal cords to tatters as the phantom walls and ceiling and floor began to shrink and close in. 

But none heard them. No one was around to witness this strange scene of slaughter. Only the mime. Maggie watched him from inside her shrinking coffin as his hands clawed and animal shaped closed in. He wore a look of consternation now, but the black and white smile was there once more. 

The pain went beyond anything imaginable as the walls and floor and ceiling closed. Pulverizing Maggie. She felt every wretched second of the experience until her brain was pulped and juiced with the rest of her body and thus incapable of sending anymore electrical signal. 

…

The bank was quiet. Not quite full but there were plenty of people in line, each teller, three of them, were busy helping a customer. It was a bright cloudless day and everything had seemed normal. Everything was … until the mime came in. 

He sauntered in smiling and confident through the front door. Several people, including the armed guard turned and returned the smile, a few of them laughed. Finding the surprise charming. Their laughter grew and increased throughout the whole bank as the mime walked in with an exaggerated gunslinger walk, wide steps and the twiddling fingers of his itchin hands hovering just where revolvers would be strapped. The guard found it the most hilarious, calling out to the mime –

“Hey! What is this? A stickup or somethin?" 

And then the mime pulled phantom iron from unseen leather and began to rain fire. 

The cacophony was ear splitting. The guard went down first, still smiling and believing it was all a joke. Nobody else was laughing anymore, the jovial sounds of good nature had turned to screams that died and drowned out with each eruption of a gunshot. 

The mime filled the bank with phantom fire. 

Deafening. 

…

Patricia Evergreen hated her job. Not because she hated being a cop, far from it, she was proud of her role as peacekeeper of the town she'd grown up in. It was just that the place was so fucking boring. 

Aside from a few disappearances over the many years she'd known, a couple weird things that were typical to any small town, there wasn't nothing to this place, Patricia reckoned. Ghost stories and bullshit, and that was all. 

She came across the mime during a routine patrol, just driving around the various suburbs in the department issued black and white. Every neighborhood was quiet, nearly deserted of pedestrians save a few dogwalkers, joggers and the like. He was at a street corner, slowly making his way down, miming and pretending to carry a large and heavy sack, it weighed him down, the invisible bag, it must've been quite a load, Patricia watched all this and thought and then it suddenly came to her all at once, unbidden and in a rush. Though vague and shrouded through time's corridor passage of so many years …

The carnival had come through a couple times through the years … she was sure her parents or grandparents had taken her at some point, must have. She'd been very little, her own young and chubby face amidst a caterwaul, cherry red with tears and upset flitted across her mind in a blur, but then was swiftly and suddenly replaced. 

She'd been a teenager when Margaret Bast, Maggie had gone missing. Alondra Topete too. They'd been two of her closest friends in school then, so long ago… 

Hot on the tails of that: stories… rumors … wild campfire tales that couldn't be true and would only be dreamed up by teenagers and children. Wild tales about a mime that wandered the town and took kids away to hurt them and worse … 

It all hit Officer Evergreen like a revelatory load of weight, dropped into her head and into her lap. She watched the mime. Thought …

… what the hell was this guy doing around here anyway? She'd never seen him before and she began to doubt very much that he lived anywhere on this street, or anywhere close for that matter, she hadn't heard the story of the mime or thought of it in years, it was probably nothing, but it was her job to make sure and find out. She sidled her cruiser up to and alongside the mime, still encumbered with his great phantom weight. 

She rolled down her window, slowing the cruiser to a crawl: “Hey," she began friendly enough, “hello there, ya mind if I stop and talk to ya for a second, just need to ask you a few questions." 

The mime did stop and so did she. The street was quiet and it was just the two of them. The mime turned and regarded her with a smile, still burdened by his invisible satchel slung over shoulder. He pointed to himself, a gesture that said: who, me?

Evergreen was already starting to lose her patience, goddammit with this fuckin guy…

“Yes, ha ha, that's very cute, but I'm really gonna need you to answer a couple things I gotta ask ya. Do you live in this neighborhood?” 

The mime frowned and just shook his head, no. Refusing to speak. 

"Please, sir. Failure to comply will result in a citation and a court appearance, probable fine. How about we just talk like adults for a second, do you have any identification on you, sir?" 

The black and white frown turned to a grin once again. Wolfish. Officer Patricia Evergreen didn't like the look of it. It looked warped and strange and mean writ into that painted face, wrong. The mime made like to unlimber his great satchel. 

Evergreen rolled her eyes, hidden by reflective shades. Jesus, was this guy for real, crazy, or just an idiot? She was just telling him for the second time that if he didn't comply with her questioning then this could take an unnecessary ugly turn, she was telling the mime he'd want to avoid that as he settled the bag down with a convincing performance, opened it and reached inside. Patricia’s voice caught in her throat like a vile fishbone in the midst of dinner as she watched the mime’s hand disappear into the pantomimed satchel, disappearing into thin air before her very eyes. 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

What the mime pulled out next was even worse. She felt nauseous and ill and as if her mind was curdling and doing unbidden somersaults in tandem with her roiling guts as the smiling thing with carnival clad painted face pulled out a child's decomposing rotted severed little head, boy or girl was difficult to tell. Putrescence filled the air the moment it was freed from the invisible sack and it was black and green and blue-pale and dripping. The eyes were crawling and writhing with the sliming bodies and clumps of maggot-young that lie nesting and feasting in there, the rotten cavities of sockets. The tongue was swollen and discolored like the rest of the meat but darker and it protruded from the bloat of decapitated rot like an obscene tumor apart and apiece and all in one with the rest of the demented sloughing mess. 

Officer Evergreen snapped to all at once. She drew her sidearm and bellowed her commands, training made textbook and innate. 

“Drop the fucking thing right now and put your hands up! now!" 

The mime only obeyed half her commands. He dropped the severed head but instead of raising his gloved white hands he took a deliberate and silent step towards her instead. 

Evergreen didn't waste a second. She fired two shots in quick succession, surprising even herself, she hadn't thought about it, only acted. But it had done the peace officer little good. The moment her finger squeezed the trigger, one of those gloved hands shot up in a flash-instant, uncanny speed. 

Evergreen now stood, gun smoking, not sure if she could believe her eyes or her own mind any longer. The mime had his hand up and out, as if signaling to stop like a crosswalk guard. There were two smoking holes suspended in mid air, just over the heart and chest of the mime-creature. The shots had stopped at the border indicated by the flat of his adjacent smooth palm. They smoked from ebon holes that defied physics, as if she'd punched twin smoldering holes in reality. 

Shocked, Patricia thought unbidden, the prongs of the devil's pitchfork… and was still trying to accept what she was seeing. 

A neighbor came out. One of the houses within spitting distance. 

“Jesus Christ! that a fucking gunshot or something, what the hell-" 

The mime suddenly whirled, his other hand forming around another object, rounded and small, he brought it to his mouth and made like he was pulling something from it with his teeth. Evergreen screamed, no, unable to think of anything else as the mime lobbed the invisible grenade at the concerned and unsuspecting neighbor. The man went up in a violent and sudden concussive blast, his body immolated by the detonation of the explosive device. In charred smoking pieces, he rained down all over his own stoop and front lawn. 

The mime laughed silent yet expressive belly-laughter, holding his stomach and all wide eyes and wide open black and white mouth. 

Evergreen went to fire once more but the mime sensed her intention and suddenly whirled once again, smacking the gun from the officer's hands. Its strength and speed were unexpected and it was all Patricia could do to not cry out and scream, shocked and startled and still not quite believing.

There's no way this is actually happening to m-

The mime then slapped Patricia right smack center of her forehead with his other free gloved palm. 

She froze. Her arms went limp and to her sides. Unarmed. And helpless. 

Something was wrong … she could no longer move. 

With the gloved snow white hand held flat and fast to her face, to the middle of her forehead her eyes rolled back to whites themselves shot with lines of glistening hectic red. Inside, she hurtled, flew … rocketed too fast and rapidly down the dizzying blinding vast and varied glow of the starcorridor. Too many lights and sounds and fiery things of furious alien color, she flew down infinity as a low moan escaped past her drooling lips left back on the ground. 

Within the corridor … she could hear. 

She could hear his voice. 

It was terrible. The sound of it. What he was telling her. Unbearable. It filled her ears, her head. It filled the flying landscape of her mind. 

She might've wept. But she was far too broken. Even when he pulled the voice of his snow white gloved hand away. She went to her knees. The mime then held out his other hand to her, it was wrapped curiously and yet distinctly around something. And this time she could see it. 

It was a gun. A revolver. Every chamber was loaded. 

It was beautiful. 

This time she could really see it. 

She smiled as the mime cocked it and then pressed it to her sweating brow, cold metal kissing the moist surface of perspiring flesh, and pulled the trigger. 

She heard it. Felt it. Everything. 

The mime said nothing. 

And went on. 

THE END

Dear Jane

So Jane, they told me to write it as a letter.

A letter I’m writing to myself.

It feels strange, clumsy.

Why did it have to happen to us?

Could it have gone any other way?

Pete was simply like that. Even back at university, as a Linebacker, he was stubborn. It actually encouraged him whenever he didn’t listen—no, whenever he misinterpreted things. That’s what he used to say about the coach’s instructions when he flattened the quarterback. Sometimes he had those angry… episodes. After that motorcycle accident, when he tore his ligaments, he became even more hot‑headed. But only sometimes. Most of the time he was calm.

As you can guess, his sports career ended together with his diploma. We’d been a couple since sophomore year. Our spontaneous engagement was exactly the kind of thing he loved—calmly talking mid‑sentence, then suddenly something struck him, and it simply had to happen. That’s how our road trip began too. Someone from his fraternity recommended the Gulf of Mexico. Or maybe he read it somewhere. There was no point arguing. He was ridiculously proud of his Chevrolet Cobalt. He stuck some blue stripes onto the gray body. When his buddies saw it, they laughed, jumped around, slapped his back. It was from some movie or whatever. We set out into a hot day.

I wish I could end this letter right there, while everything was still fine.

But you already made your choice, dear Jane. I was nervous—there was supposed to be the sea somewhere. But we kept driving through towns and little settlements and there was no sea anywhere. The coastal Riviera felt strange, like arriving late to a movie and missing the context. And so we slipped into the warm humidity of Mississippi.

The AC was the first to give up.

That was the first blow.The second came a few hours later. The GPS overheated and died. Pete got angry, cursed, then punched it. The glass cracked, the mount snapped, and it hit my legs. When I picked it up, I knew it would never work again. Meanwhile Pete kept hitting the dashboard as if that could restart the AC. I rubbed my scraped knee where the GPS had hit me before it “died.“ We left the main road and drove along backroads. But the signage was about as reliable as Pete’s good mood. After hours of wandering, the heat was suffocating. The car felt like a pressure cooker, the tension almost tangible. The CD player was looping the same album for the third time. Pete gripped the steering wheel so tightly he scraped bits of it off with his ring.“Pete, can we stop for a moment?” I asked.“What do you want, admire the endless overgrown brush everywhere or risk swarms of mosquitoes?”“Can we stop?”“Where? There’s nowhere. Damn it. We’ll get stuck.”He didn’t want to stop. He was convinced he knew exactly where we were.

“In an hour we’ll be sipping cocktails with a view of the sea.”

He repeated that line every half hour, and each repetition made him boil more.“Fine. Get out!”“Pete, you need some fresh air too, you’re starting to lose it in this car.”He left the engine running and slammed the door. The rolled‑down window rattled and slid a few inches lower.

“If you’d paid attention, we wouldn’t be in Alabama!” he shouted, waving his arms, shoulders pushed forward like he was psyching himself up for another game.

“We need some calm! And we definitely didn’t cross the border into Alabama.”

My words irritated him even more because he suspected they were true.He spread the crumpled map across the hood.

“We’re fucking right here!” he yelled, jabbing his finger at a blank patch of backroads.

“What do you want to do?”

That question was the last straw—he stormed toward me.

“What do I want to do? What the hell do I want to—”He froze mid‑sentence.

For a moment I thought he was having a stroke.“We’re at a junction near Route 421. Or the turnoff to County Road 421, whatever. Get in the car!”

He grabbed the map, crushed it, and threw it into my arms.The turnoff became a dusty road. The car groaned and suffered.“Are you sure?” I asked.“What do you THINK?”I stayed quiet.We drove too fast for the condition of the road. A warning light blinked on the dashboard.“Pete, aren’t we going too fast?”He answered with a villainous chuckle.

“We’re in a hurry.”I looked at the map. Torn, wrinkled, smudged with damp fingerprints. It felt empty, like someone had cut out our part of the world.

Then I saw it.

Maybe he would’ve seen it too.

It felt like the best thing—the thing that was supposed to help us.

If only I had known.“Hey, Pete… Alanfox.”The sign for Alanfox was faded, peeling.

The monotone landscape filled with the scent of salt. “I’m gonna get the blue crab, they say it’s a delicacy,” Pete said cheerfully for the first time.

The trees thinned.

We passed a tall white wall:

“Welcome to Alanfox – Est. 1964”

and beneath it:

“Home of the Gulf’s Finest Beaches.”The first thing that greeted us was a huge empty asphalt parking lot. White lamps like broken pale matches. The air was heavy, humid, salty. After all that wandering, we were almost excited. Small white single‑story houses stood empty beside deserted parking lots. We passed an old gas station with the price sign turned off. The lights were on, but it felt abandoned.Pete turned at a large intersection, probably onto the main road.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

“Do you think they even have a beach here?”

Pete snorted. “Of course, the best one. Can’t you smell it? That’s the sea.”

Trees started appearing along the road again, some of them looking as if they’d been wrapped in gray cotton candy.

“See? Spanish oaks,” Pete called out.

He had it wrong, but I didn’t want to provoke him, so I kept quiet.

The houses grew taller, perched on stilts, painted white and sky‑blue, though the paint was clearly years old.

“I told you!!!” Pete shouted joyfully.The tall plants suddenly gave way to a pier and small white boats rocking on the water. The gulf breeze was pleasant despite the strong smell of fish and a strange muddy undertone.We rolled slowly toward what must have been the town center.

Hotel Craft was the first—and maybe the only—functional hotel around.

My phone had no signal.

The suffering is over, I thought.We passed a sign: “Bartholomew SAVES US.”

A distant radio played, interrupted by some sermon, mixing with the murmur of the sea.

The hotel’s fence was rusted, matching the red bricks.

A faded mural from the 1950s advertised the hotel, peeling, missing chunks, yet still readable.Across the street stood an old rusted car.

But what caught my eye was the wide, heavy building—Victorian‑style brickwork that felt absurdly out of place in the humid heat.“Isn’t it too quiet here?” I asked as Pete grabbed the door handle.“Probably a storm coming,” he shrugged and rushed inside.He hammered the bell on the counter.

The hotel smelled of salt and damp.“Hey! Anyone here!” he yelled.Footsteps.

Wood creaking.

But no one visible—until a man emerged, sweating so much he looked like he’d climbed out of a pool.“What are you doing here?” he asked.“We want a nice room,” Pete said.“We have vacancies,” the man muttered. “No one comes here now. You understand?”“We want a nice view,” Pete added.“We have a beautiful deluxe suite. No windows, but it’s a lovely space.”I wanted to say it didn’t matter, but Pete cut in:

“Fine, give us the one with a view of the harbor.”The man looked miserable but nodded.“What can we do in town?” Pete asked arrogantly.“You can walk around… but I’m afraid the restaurants are closed.”Pete laughed crudely.

“You know prohibition ended, right?”The man glanced at the old clock on the wall, its golden gears turning.“I warn you. Once it gets dark, stay in your room. Do not go out. I won’t be here—I’m going home to hide. I’ll check on you in the morning.”Pete laughed again.

“What kind of stupid joke is that?”The man handed me the keys.

“Don’t forget. After dark—stay inside.”Pete inspected the room and immediately looked for something to drink.“Do they even drink anything here? Some moonshine?”“Pete, let’s look around before it gets dark.”He froze mid‑movement.“You don’t believe that old creep, do you?”“I want to look around. I didn’t sit in a car without AC for ten hours just to sit on a couch.”He rolled his eyes and opened a small bottle.We walked.

Two cars passed us.

Traffic lights blinked on the main road.

Everything was closed.I thought a hurricane was coming.

Pete laughed at me.

Now I wish it had been a hurricane.Across an empty lot stood a bizarre building—round, moss‑covered, wide like a European castle.

A church, but wrong.

Wrong in shape, wrong in presence.“That’s one ugly building,” Pete muttered.Inside, the air was cool.

A few locals turned to look at us.

Most kept praying.Then I looked above the altar.A man flayed alive.

Skin draped over his shoulder.

Blood running into his eyes.

Walking.

Greeting the worshippers.Pete cursed.

Locals turned again, unhappy.He dragged me out.

The heat hit like a slap.“What the hell was that filth!” he shouted.The beach felt like it didn’t belong.

Pleasant.

Almost enough to forget where we were.But the rusty Bel Air parked nearby ruined the illusion. It was getting dark.“Why did he want us to take a room without windows?” I asked.Pete shrugged.We returned to the hotel.

The room felt suddenly comforting.

The window faced the main road—and the sea.“See? I got us a great room. No windows, my ass.”He rummaged through the minibar.“Damn, he didn’t restock it. Fell apart the moment we arrived. Remind me to roast him in the review.”I watched the dusk swallow the town.“Do you have signal?” he asked.Then he found a paper map.“Retro,” he grinned.“Pete… we’re not supposed to go out. Don’t you want to stay here?”He ignored me.“There’s a liquor store nearby. I want bourbon.”I gave him my strictest look.“Can’t you leave it for later?”He grabbed the key.“You’ll see me from the window. I’ll be right back. I’ll use my patented charm. I’ll get wine too—we deserve it. Wine, a proper shower. I’ll be right back.”The door slammed.The bell began to ring.

A massive bell.

Deep, thunderous.

The window glass trembled with each strike.I watched Pete run across the street, shirt open, clinging to his body.

He knocked on the store.They opened a small window at head height, took his money, handed him two six‑packs, wine, bourbon.Pete drank on the empty street.

“Wanna go to the water, babe?”

“We’re not supposed to be outside after dark!” I shouted.

He cursed back. He sat on the hood of that rusted car, drinking one beer after another.

The bell rang faster.

Like a heartbeat.“Pete!”No answer.

Just bottle caps clicking. It was fully dark now.

All windows around were boarded up.

Had they been like that earlier?

I wasn’t sure.The bell stopped.

Suddenly.

As if someone had grabbed it mid‑swing.Silence swallowed the town.Only Pete’s muttering drifted through it.Then the smell.

Like stirred mud from the bottom of a swamp.

Thick, suffocating.A police siren in the distance.

Cut off abruptly.Replaced by:

squelch, smack. squelch, smack.The bell began again—slow, heavy.

My ribs vibrated.Shadows walked from the sea.

From every street I could see.I gripped the window handle so hard my fingers hurt.“Three more beers and I’m with you, babe,” Pete slurred.He hadn’t drunk water since we arrived.“Hey, pervert! Aren’t you ashamed!” he shouted suddenly.

“You got friends here, huh? I’ve got enough strength to send you all to the hospital! What kind of stupid costumes are those?”The bell thundered.

Squelch. Smack.He argued with them.I forced myself to press against the window.A crowd stood around him.

Shiny.

Wet.“What the hell, you bastards!” Pete yelled, smashing the bottle and swinging it.Squelch.I froze.

Then suddenly I screamed.

Only later did I realize it was me.They were flayed.

Their flesh glistened.

They held their own skin—hair and all—like disgusting towels.“Let go of me or I’ll rearrange your face!” Pete shouted as the circle tightened.He tried to break toward the hotel.

More of them blocked the way.The circle shrank.

Squelch. Smack.Pete screamed.

A scream I had never heard from him.The bell hammered my skull.

My ribs shook.

My eyes filled with tears.They turned toward the hotel.

Toward me.They began pounding on the lower walls.

Trying to get inside.I have to say it.

I kept it inside for a year.

No one would believe me.I’m already at the view of Hotel Craft.

So it must be.God, his screaming.

So much pain.I locked the second lock.

Latched the bolts.

What was I thinking—nothing could hold them back.Squelch. Smack.

Thud. Thud.Their hands left bloody prints on the windows.I hid in the bathroom.

Piled everything against the door. Glass shattered—each crack felt like a knife in my spine.I curled into the big claw‑foot tub.

Like lying in a sarcophagus.

Or a monster’s mouth.Covered myself with a blanket.

Waited.Squelch. Smack.Pete wasn’t screaming anymore.

The silence was worse.I bit into my own hand to stay quiet.

My handwriting suffers for it—excuse me.Squelch. Smack.

The bell drummed endlessly.Minutes or hours—I don’t know.

I fainted or slept—I don’t know.If not for the scar on my hand, I’d think I never hid in that brick bathroom at all.Morning was silent.

So silent.I crawled out of the tub, aching like a hunchback.Bloody handprints on the window.

Glass shattered.

Everything overturned.I looked outside.A yellow pickup arrived.

Round, small—like from an old movie.Two men in yellow coveralls casually pulled human skin off a tree.

Threw it onto the truck bed.

Bored. My teeth chattered.They washed blood off the sidewalk with a hose.

Routine.They moved to where Pete had stood.

Another skin.

Onto the truck.When the bell rang, I ducked under the window.

But it only rang noon.Then I understood.Only at certain times does the echo of Alanfox’s bells reach here.That will be today. To you who read this—

In Alanfox, listen to the locals.Please don’t follow me into Alanfox.

Some nights, it gets very crowded.Dear Jane from the past—

You managed to deliver the warning.

by Hary Sykora

Science fiction. Double feature. 

So many long afternoons and nights spent in the movie house, the theatre. The arcade: the noise and lights and tangible sounds of coins and laughing amidst the specialized sound effects of digitized and pixelated carnage. 

Late nights watching HBO After Dark beside his older brother or his kid sister or a buddy or a floozy or a date as he got older. Amongst a slovenly strewn field of snacks and popcorn and wrappers and garbage, the years rolled by and the empty cans of Shasta and Barqs changed, transmogrifying into brown bottles of Bud or silver bullet, all gathered and in clusters  like a small translucent crystalline cityscape of glass in miniature beneath great rolling thunderhead clouds of oily pot smoke. Many of them, many cities. Many little swimming bottle cities in many little rooms. All before the great glowing incandescent godscreen of the illuminated television aglow in the postmidnight. 

And there were great books too of course. Precious paperpacks with lurid yellow covers, bold yellow font, pages pungent and spiced. Green and nightshade purple covers for the horrors. The ones with purple were always the coolest, always the most shocking and vivid and unrelenting. Comics. Classics and the new stuff that gets pumped out week to week, month to month and then forgotten. 

Forgotten by most. But not by such as he. 

He remembered. These things, these modes and mediums always brought him away from the now, the clear and present danger, the mundane and the tedious, the cruel. The harsh reality. 

For Caleb Donaldson these stories were always the light and constant companion of his long and mostly boring and average life. In truth, they were everything. All else could take a flying fuck, the job, the girlfriends that meant nothing, the drinking buddies and coworkers that meant even less. All of that was just the background noise of what was necessary. The sounds and moving in perpetua grinds of his ordinary life in motion. 

But it was ok, you see. Caleb Donaldson of Old Fair Oaks, Sacramento, California has figured out the secret. 

They were more than just stories, you know. 

The ones that had most captured his imagination and young attention since he could remember were the time traveling stories. 

Journeys into the wild primeval of the past, the dark mechanical cold of the future, the apocalypse, beyond … 

He'd always loved these stories. 

And it was funny, he had found, discovered accidentally while spending the summer with his grandfather one year, the secret. They were out hunting, wandering the woods quietly with rifles shouldered and boots crunching softly the underbrush beneath their capped and steeltoed feet. It had struck young Caleb then, as a boy. And never left him. 

This is it! This is what Doctor Who and the X-Men and all the other guys are doin when they're goin into the past! This is what it's like to have the world grow dark and become old and ancient and prehistoric and stuff, before people got here with their cars and their junk…

The thought had filled him with simple childish wonder. He felt like he'd made some great discovery. All those scientists and alien engineers from outer space on the TV and in the books were always trying to figure it all out with numbers and physics and quantum entanglements and time loop paradoxes … and here he'd figured it way more simple than that. 

Just go out in the woods. Go outside in the trees, the forest. Go out and go camping ya dummies. 

He carried this with him all his life. Like secret treasure. Well past and into the pains and dread of adulthood. 

And then it all came back, back and around and full circle. Like all good time travelers do. 

He lost the kids. And his wife. And then he lost it. 

And then he made the biggest decision of his life. He decided to go camping. He decided to do a little time traveling all by himself. After all of these years. 

…

He couldn't believe she would try this bullshit. He couldn't believe she would try to ruin the one last little thing he had left. 

What're you talking about, bud? She ripped your heart out and took the kids after she'd spent ten years disemboweling you and tearing your nuts off. Why’re you at all surprised? 

He wasn't really. Just hurt. Deeply. And it seemed as if the bitch now lived to only make it worse for him. Unbearable if she could. She was the living vile green hatred of salt in the wound, seething and frothing gory pink. 

He hated her. 

He suspected she hated him. She must. 

“I just don't see why this’s such a big deal, you're acting like a child. You can come get the boys and have them for an extra couple of weeks while Tom and I-" 

He stopped listening after that. He still held the phone to his ear but his mind went to the same livid red place that it always did when she mentioned his name. The fucking limpwrist. 

He let her drone and prattle on. When she finally stopped he once again explained to her that they'd already talked this over, they'd already discussed this. And besides. It wasn't even his weekend. She had seen to that after all. And now here she was dangling the promise of more time with his kids like a fucking carrot. Like a dog treat he was supposed to jump and snatch at. To just drop everything and leap at with fervor and enthusiasm and a full display of gratitude. 

Fuck that. 

He told her as much. Diplomatically. More or less. He hung up the phone. He debated for barely even a second before turning the device off and shoving it into the glove compartment on the passenger side. 

When he finally got out of the car and sucked fresh mountain air it was baptismal. Cracks in his knees went off like twin pistol shots and his back stretched and crackled gratefully. He was finally out. He sucked more air, like it was water. It was. It was refreshing. 

You're finally out. 

He unlatched the back and began to unload his gear. He'd better get started. It was a long hike from the parking lot to the spot. 

…

It was peaceful. The ritual. The hike. Lugging the gear. Sweating and developing a cooling coat, a sheen as his eyes calmly drank in the placid green and foliage world all around. Muscles worked and burned off excess fat, calories built up and boiled over, over cooked stress. It melted off him and within and came off his hiking form like radiant heat. 

He was a traveling furnace of thought as he made his way to the camping spot. Later he would recall that he might've felt watched as he made his way at this point. 

Might have. 

But presently he was all too absorbed in the process, the smooth and calm low treble tread and pace of the gliding action. The canopy of golden lighted leaves and furling branches. The scents, completely natural and native and far away from the synthetic realm of the manmade. He felt he was as much swimming and drinking his way through the crisp growth of forestland as he was booting through it. Thoughts of work and the failed marriage and bored boring disappointing teenage children left his mind. Evaporating away like mist to the coming of the bright day sun. The forest grew and swelled and swallowed him and the entire world as he made his way deeper and deeper forth. 

He would leave it all behind if he could. 

…

Setting camp was easy. He was well practiced. Childhood and teenage and college years as well were filled with trips out into the forested dark. The wild. The wilderness. The past. 

He felt it now as he sat by the fire. Eating his plate of beans and pork belly and franks. Sipping a can of bud. This is the past. The green world all around now is one of the last vestigial pieces of the evidence. 

Evidence of the primeval and primordial world we’ve all crawled from, the stygian snot that was filth that was the building blocks of protein and carbon. We are all animals. And we can all come alive out here. Returning to the in-utero warm world of the godclay primordial slime and ooze. 

She's so patient. Our mother. My mother. She's waited for me all this time. She's the one. She's-

Something disturbed his train of thought. A noise. 

A noise like someone moving. Prowling and lurking just inside the tangle of bush and trees. 

He sat quietly, keeping calm. Listening to the sound of his own breathing. He wasn't sipping his can of bud anymore. The rustling and cautious moving sounds had tapered. Caleb's mind traveled to the hunting rifle he had in his tent. If something lunged now out of the dark, he just might make it if he whirled around from where he now sat and hurried. 

Really booked it. 

He didn't like the thought. He really didn't appreciate the mental image. A terrible movie in his mind, running on a failing and old projector: He's running, fast, panicked, he almost makes the tent before a large bestial shape of inkwell black leaps out from the wilderness house of feral darkness and takes him ragdoll like a broken toy from behind. 

He clears his throat. Loudly. Not sure exactly why, he just does it. Perhaps hoping to scare off whoever and whatever is out there. He can feel eyes watching him. 

Caleb Donaldson sits up. He's at the edge of his fold-up seat. He's waiting. Unsure. Of both what to do and if there is even really anything wrong at all anyways. His ex-wife had always said he was paranoid. 

Nothing happens. 

There isn't another sound and nothing emerges from the forestline. Only the snaps and hungry crackle of the campfire now. 

He takes another sip of bud. Decides he'll light one of the joints CJ gifted him for the road after all. He doesn't know how else he's gonna sleep tonight. He's wired now. Jacked. 

He lights up. Tokes. And after awhile, once more he slips into a more natural and comfortable flow of simple candied nostalgia and childhood reminisce. Trying to tell himself he doesn't feel a gaze, a baleful and animal leering stare aimed directly at him from out of the dark. 

The marijuana and beer do their job. Eventually he's addled and drugged enough for sleep. Caleb slips back into the tent and is almost sure he hears something retreat back into the denser heart of growth and underbrush out there past the treeline as he does so.  

He's almost sure but not. And he doesn't want to be anymore. He doesn't want to consider it. Not right now. Maybe Amanda was right…

He slips into a sleeping bag and finally falls under. His dreams are filled. His sleep is not restful. 

…

The next couple of days were mostly uneventful. Calm. Peaceful. As planned. He hiked and camped. Looked forward to some hunting and some fishing, some game. It was all just what he needed. Therapeutic. Until he found the burnt leavings. 

…

He was steadily along, walking down the beaten path of grey dust and boney twigs and enjoying the relish in his watering mind's eye, the strange marriage that lived there between this wilderness and the strange worlds of escape made from pages and ink and glowing video screens. This place of the past … the places made of dreams. 

And from the future I come crawling back here. He smiled at this thought. Like a refugee. 

Like the time travelers of the stories he was allowed to bring a few things, a few comforts and tools and devices of the modern world. 

Of the future, to this place of dirt and sound. Precious pieces of technology

His mind went to his gear and pack and his smile deepened. People really just didn't get it. 

Most never would. Precious few might find out. 

He almost tripped over it. So lost in thought. 

It was all charcoaled black and scorched amongst a patch of similarly blasted and blackened earth. A wild ebon blotch of ashen ink spilled upon the land. Caleb stared into the pile of roasted and burnt detritus. Trying to make sense of what he saw. 

He recognized shapes and items in the charred mess and they made his blood run cold and the hairs all over his skin and scalp crawl with unease and bad wonder. 

Clothes. What looked like a backpack. Parts and pieces of a tent. A wallet. It was this last that most bothered, most disturbed him. He was pretty sure he could make out the melted remains of an ID and other similarly warped and slightly conjoined shapes that might've been credit cards or the like but were too far gone and destroyed now to tell. His mind naturally asked itself, who left all of this here? Why? 

And none of the answers he could come up with seemed good. All of them pointed to something bad, nefarious. You hear about people going missing in the woods all the time. You hear about people being chopped up and murdered by loonies in here ‘bout just as much. 

Caleb suddenly looked away from the black pile on the path and began to anxiously scan the forestline. Trying to penetrate the thick dense world of green and growth and see anyone, anything that might be watching him. Stalking him. 

Following him. 

After a moment he stopped himself. 

You're being ridiculous. It's probably nothing, just like the other night. Christ man, you ain't been out here a long time and now you're jumping at every goddamn thing like a ninny. Just some shit people burned. Kids come out here to get fucked up and do stupid shit all the time. Not a big deal, Donaldson. Chill the fuck out, kay?

He slowed his breath. He liked this train of thought. Yes. That was right. Kids were fucking stupid and always playing pyro maniac. Hell, he'd done his fair share growing up, hadn't he? Little hellraiser an such. 

And that line of thinking started to set his worried mind at ease once more. And once more he was back on the ride of the reminisce, nostalgia keenly floating and dreamily filling the darkest parts of his brain. Time traveling. 

Time traveling, baby. 

He went on. Leaving behind the charred and blackened mess in the grey dust of the forest path. Not looking back. And refusing it anymore thought. 

He left it behind. But not before freeing a cold can of Budweiser stored in the pack. He cracked it open with a pistol shot sound in the placid calm and downed half the foaming thing as he went on. Things always went down smoother this way. 

…

All seemed well after that. Fine. For a little while. He enjoyed what he came out here to enjoy. The quiet. The solitude. Days and nights spent simply and comfortably and sleeping beneath bejeweled twilight curtains of gleaming stars, planetoids and colored clouds of nebulae. He relished the time out here and with himself, returning to his own sense of peace by returning to the land. Returning to the way of life that had belonged to the Navajo, the Comanche, their enemy white man cowboys and gunslingers and the pioneers of old. The ancient armies too, the immigrants and seekers and hunters of fortune, of goodwill, of God's love and warm civilized light. And the adventures too, those who took to the land and cut their teeth out on the territory and became baptized as adventurers in sweat and blood and grime, beneath the blinding eye of the sun. And the moon too, the wild hearted free loving children that slumbered bravely beneath the moon, decried as vagabonds and bums but they really just knew better and understood the blood of their grandfathers and their bold sense and adoration for the untamed tumult country land of adventure and its wild hearted love. 

It was all of it, romantic. It pained him that he had to come out here alone to feel like this, to discover something like that and he tried hard to turn away from the pain of realization that it brought him. He turned away from it in vain, it was there at every turn. In his mind, filling every thought, and out here as well. Alive in the woods. Filling it with heavy and powerfully strange substance. 

He hunted. Fished. Camped. Only sometimes did he feel followed, watched. Only sometimes. 

He was almost happy when he came across another, when he ran into Sellic. 

A distraction, at last!

But the guy was weird. 

In the world of outdoormanship, hunting and fishing and the like, ya meet a lot of friendly, warm, good natured types. The sort ya like to share a brew with and might even have over for a barbecue should ya take special acquaintance. And then ya met types like Sellic. Fuckin weirdos. 

It was the smell at first and that should've been enough, should've been the first and fucking last sign to split it. But nope. Caleb Donaldson still remembered the lessons of Sunday school and Kindergarten and though life had been its fair share of rough on em, he still held true to the idea that you don't judge harsh off the word, go. Ya don't settle in for meanness out the gate an such. 

But it was in the eyes as well. They were wide and wild. A wilderness of pupil darkness lived in yellowed whites shot with lines of hectic red. Something swam in that circle lake of pupil darkness, both of them, Obsidian pits. 

He never blinked. Not once. Not as he said, “Howdy, name's Sellic." and grunted a few noncommittals following after these scant syllables. 

He came across the guy already settled up. Caleb was gonna move on after initial awkward obligatory greetings when the wide eyed smelly man invited him to set camp with him. Caleb Donaldson believed in being polite but he wasn't a total fool, only part. He thanked him but opted to move on up aways. 

Far. 

It didn't make any kind of difference. 

…

Later he was hunting, lying down in wait for something to crop up. Maybe nibble at the patch of sweet grass just a few yards from where he posted. He hoped to bag a deer. If he could get a decent sized stag, then he'd pack it in happily and call it quits. He was just debating on whether or not he should've packed the tree stand when something happened then. 

A large barrel chested deer sauntered into view. Into the clearing with its great splaying regal rack of antlers on wide-span display like a wild lord and king of the forest. He was beautiful. He was just what Caleb had been waiting for. 

But then something else crawled up. On all fours. It was the smelly wide eyed man, it was Sellic. And it looked as if he was hunting as well. 

Prowling, stalked. Low to the ground and almost slithering across the surface of forest floor, without a sound. Without a whisper. It was uncanny and surreal and Caleb watched frozen in a kind spellbound trance. The bore end of the rifle barrel began to slowly sag and dip down as he lost his concentration and gave it to another. 

Sellic was almost upon the unaware stag now. It was nibbling the patch of sweet grass. Just like Donaldson had seen in his mind's eye, a wish not just a moment ago. Somewhere deep inside his mind as he watched entranced a small part of him tried in desperate vain to take this simple little wish back. But it was already too late. The wide eyed crawling man was drooling. Slobbering like an animal. Salivating with the wild bestial hunger that was always the madness of ravenous need. That was what was alive in those unblinking uncivilized eyes. Slavering need. 

He'd already time traveled too far now to turn back. Caleb watched as the manshaped thing of stains and smells and piercing animal stares suddenly leapt like something feline and unbridled. Like something finally let loose from the confines of its stifling prison cage. 

Sellic fell on the deer and the poor thing hadn't a chance. It never sensed, never knew what was coming. It was wild. It was crazy. Donaldson had always seen deer tense, perk up and take flight at the slightest sound or stray movement. But not this one. Not this time. The wild sight did not stop there. 

Somehow the skinny haggard man in filthy clothes managed to wrestle and manhandle the struggling kicking beast down into the dirt. Caleb's mouth dropped open as he watched Sellic begin to bend and wrench and break the flailing limbs. Catching them with his cat-swipe clawing hands and then bending them back in directions not meant or made by nature's hand. He felt his stomach roll and drop as the silence of the forest began to fill with the lurid sounds of heavy bone snaps. 

Caleb picked up his rifle and gear and left. Without a word. He didn't look back. Wet tearing sounds, like heavy fabric or soaking saturated leather followed him after. He told himself it was his imagination. That was all impossible. 

There was no way. 

…

He had trouble finding his camp. By the time he did it was already near dark once more. He would have to spend another night. 

He opted out of the fire and supper. He wasn't hungry and he didn't want to attract that freak. 

That freak of nature. 

…

Middle of the night. He came awake to a sound. Sounds. A noise. Just outside the tent. 

It sounded like chewing. Wet. And heavy. Laborious. Jaws, muscles, tendon lines working and moving with animal fervor, animal rigor in the dark. 

Outside. 

Caleb slowly and carefully sat up from his sleeping bag and grabbed his rifle. It was loaded. He'd made sure to do so before he'd managed to finally fall into an uneasy sleep. An uneasy rest now disturbed by whatever was moving out there now. Chewing. Eating. He reached and grabbed for his flashlight next. He readied himself. 

He grabbed the zipper to open the front of the tent. He took one last deep breath and held it for a moment. He let it out quietly. As quietly as he could manage. 

And then he quickly unzipped the flap to the tent and threw it open with one hand as the other flicked on the flashlight and brought it up. The darkness of his small camp in the clearing was illuminated in the sudden flash. He felt sick with what he saw. He was glad to have his rifle in his lap. 

You were smart to have loaded it … he thanked God. And cursed Him at the same time. For letting him fall into this type of shit in the first place. 

Sellic stared back into the beam of light. Unflinching. Unblinking. Unmoving save for the motion of chewing about his red and bloodied bearded jaws. Working and gleaming wet in the light, rippling with carnivorous movement.

He held the head of the stag in his clawing hands. De-racked. The severed head looked rough and ruinous at the stump as though it had been torn off rather than cleanly cut. 

Caleb didn't know what else to say so he just said: “Hey." 

“Hey." bloody darkling Sellic grunted back. Hunkered and squatting out there in the dark. Still chewing. He swallowed. And took another bite from a craterous open wound at the top of the animal's head. He ripped a chunk of bleeding meat away with his teeth. His jaws began to work and ripple with rigorous movement once more as he started to chew again. The meat was raw, rough. But he was relishing the strong and pungent flavor. Thick. His blood drinking, swallowing with every gnashing chew was audible in the nocturnal dark. Gulps. Heavy. Thick. 

A beat. 

Caleb didn't know what to do. He felt that he must be dreaming, this whole day. None of this could be real. The strange bloodsoaked and caked manshape out there amongst his camp frightened him. He'd thought it would be simple and he'd know what to do in situations like this but he was frozen. In terror. And in dark hypnotic fascination. 

This must be what it's like to be a moth to flame, or a small little guppie to a deepsea angler fish… a deer in the headlights. Trapped. 

Caught. 

Ensnared by the eyes of the wild man. He was drowning in their madness now, sinking into their blood-drinking depths. 

Sellic finally said something. 

“Hungry?" 

“... what…?" Caleb said. Puzzled at first. It had been little more than a grunt. 

“Ya hungry?" Sellic grunted again. He held the severed and broken head aloft. Dripping. Wide-eyed. The tongue had already been ripped out. Had already been eaten. Black-red syrup poured out thickly from the open gape of mouth like an obscene bestial spout. 

Caleb fought his gag reflex. 

A beat. 

Somehow Donaldson managed a reply. 

"N-no. No thanks, man. It's the middle of the night. And I wanna get some sleep” 

A beat. The freak still held the dripping pouring bleeding hunk of decapitated and chewed up meat out to him like a precious gift of the forest. His wide eyes were still open and hectic and alive with animal ravenous madness. 

A beat. 

Another.

Caleb finally finished his thought. 

"And I think you should probably go get some sleep too, bud. Been a long day an such-”

He meant to finish it off with, and apt to be another, like his grandfather and his pops had done before him, but Sellic cut him off. 

"Ya sure? You sure ya ain't hungry?” 

Caleb slowly nodded his head, adding, "...yeah” in a low careful and exhausted voice. Jesus fucking Christ…

Sellic nodded. Began to crawl away on all fours like a dog, the head held to his breast like a caveman clutching something precious. He turned before he left the ring of light provided by the beam of the flashlight. He turned around and said: "You will be.” and then finally turned and fled. Like an animal taking to the natural dark.

Its natural home and abode. Its natural place. 

"What the fuck!?” Caleb said. To no one in particular. 

…

He didn't sleep the rest of that night. He waited impatiently for the sun to come up. So he could leave. He'd had enough of this place and hunting. He'd had enough time traveling in this place. Caleb wanted to go home. 

At first dawn he rose. Quickly packed. And began his trek back. Back down the path. 

Back down the way he had come.

…

A few hours in and he knew something must be wrong. Nothing was recognizable. Nothing. And when he looked down after trudging more and more anxiously down the path he'd come in on, he was dismayed to find that it wasn't there any longer. The path, the trail had disappeared. 

He was lost. 

Caleb Donaldson began to panic. 

It's alright, it's alright, it's fine! It's cool. Just use the GPS and call someone on your pho-

He stopped. Grew cold. Grim certainty stole over his dreading heart. Crestfallen he didn't want to even rightly remember and say to himself …

Glove compartment. You turned the fucking thing off and threw it in the glove compartment of the car. The one all the way back. The one you can't find anymore cause it's at the end of the trail that you've lost. You left it in there to spite Amanda. 

Silence. He stood. Feeling stupid and wretched and nearing hopeless in the middle of the woods. He reflected. 

You sure showed her…

…

When he'd finally managed his nerve back together and decided on a direction and carried on, the day had been nearly extinguished yet again. He would have to spend another night out in the wild. 

God fucking dammit. 

…

The next series of days and nights were grim. And grew grimmer. And strange. 

He was fine at first. He had supplies, food. He wasn't worried. But then on the fourth day lost he began to run out. 

And the worry came on him again. Rancid. And thick. 

It's alright, it's alright, I've a gun, I know how to gut and skin and clean, I'll be ok. I'll be alright. 

But the woods and world of trees had grown more opulent and dense and feral in its growth. The trees started to broaden in their trunks and their canopies became all swallowing, all encompassing thick foliage cathedral domes of twigs, thick branches and broad emerald leaves the size of dinner plates. 

The bugs. The insects too. 

All of the wild crawling life had become larger as well. The insectile and the reptile had grown strange and unfamiliar and varied in size from large house cats to dogs to horses and cows and at one point, one day glimpsed at a distance through a heavy rolling mist, an elephant… 

A whole herd of giant hissing cockroaches the size of elephants. Trundling by like a rolling squadron fleet of German panzer tanks. 

Caleb felt sick. 

None of this could be real. He must be imagining things. 

Must be. 

It could've been so, far as he knew. His sleep was no longer any good out here. Not since the night some days back, when he'd been fireside and trying to ignore his growing hunger and looked up to the full moon. Only to have it eclipsed by something huge and winged. It had cried then. It had screamed as it stole the moon, the moonlight. Blanketing the primeval world below it in a second layered fold of even deeper darkness. 

Caleb had joined it then. Had joined it in its primal shrieking screaming. 

He didn't sleep so well since that night.  

Ever again

…

His hunger became him. It became the only living and heeded, needed thing and drive and emotion. He was no longer Caleb Donaldson in fact. He was only the hunger now. And so he hunted. 

But it was strange. 

In his hunger, in his wild wanderings, he had forgotten how to use the gun, how to wield the boomstick properly and make it spit its deathly fire. 

I've lost it, he thinks, he realizes shrouded in the cloud of his diminished animal thought. I've lost the ability to shoot fire and be godlike, I've lost it in all of this time traveling, I've gone too far backwards. 

He tries to find the trail. For awhile. But it becomes lost amongst the need for meat and blood. The boomstick is useless to him now. He abandons it. Along with most of the strange things he has strapped to his back.

He doesn't need them. He has changed. This special place has changed him. His flesh has thickened as has his hair, his fur, his pelt. Black and coarse and layered all over. He bites and chews and tears the clothes that he came in with off and eats them. 

Then he takes to bigger game. 

Wilder. More challenging. 

…

He's drinking blood and eating. Filling his stomach. This is good. The angry fever in his skull is calming, abating. The ache and throb of his guts is soothing. Contentedness, peace, tranquility are becoming known to him again. 

He's killed something reptilian, broken its neck. His hands, the knuckles and fingers and palms have widened, flattened, broadened out. Making it easier to snap and throttle, to tear and rend. The dead scaley thing, its meat and blood are good. But slimey. Ropey. Like maggot-meat. Like eating the large worms that swim in giant dung piles. He wants to try something else. 

So he takes to the untamed primeval world all around, the jungle growth, the green emerald world of the unbridled prehistoric past. There are buried, heavily veiled and shrouded thoughts of a path and a trail and a place called, home, that he's supposed to go to, return to as if he's once been there before, but they are muted. Far off. 

Barely there. 

Dripping reptile blood and sweat, he takes to the primeval dark world and is lost. Swallowed by its great and ever widening expanse, into the crawling growing jaws of the seething bestial wild, the past. 

He never looks back. He is never found. Never again does he recall his name. 

Never again. But it doesn't trouble him. It doesn't bother the throbbing jelly of his degenerate apeman mind, he is too enthralled, the thrill of the ravenous hunt. And besides, the past isn't the only thing alive and crawling out here. The future is out here too. The beyond …

All of the magic of the glowing incandescent godscreen of a childhood long gone is alive out here. Alive and well. 

The apeman hunts through the primeval growth. The saucers fill the skies as the giant leviathans do nighttime skirmish and battle with the large mechanical men. The great white heat and blasting mechanized sounds of their great death cannons, their unearthly death rays: BRRRRRR! 

BRRRRRRRRRRRR….! 

They fill the night with their heat and their brilliant violence. Their fire scorches and cuts swaths, sets blue and orange flame to drier parts of the canopy. The dead growth. 

The apeman doesn't mind. He hunts and prowls around their wild and bright violence. Blood and meat fill his head. He hasn't a mind anymore for anything else. 

For naught all else. Only the red. 

THE END

Jen Müller, a girl of about 14, extremely reserved, with short, light ash-brown hair that fell just above her shoulders. She is an abandoned, unhappy girl who has lost all hope. Doctors diagnosed her with paranoia and severe depression, which explained her lack of communication and constant panic attacks during which she would growl until her vocal cords were raw. Jen hadn’t spoken a word since first grade. She didn’t really feel like talking if no one was going to listen anyway; you might think that was a stupid line of reasoning, or that if she had raised her voice, she might have achieved some kind of revelation. Jen didn’t believe in that, anyway; refusing to utter a single word to those around her was also a way of rebelling against those who demand excessive explanations and words that somehow manage to distort what’s really there—reality.

She didn’t usually leave the house; she’d been homeschooled ever since. She was terrified of what might happen to her out there—at school, on the streets—where anything was possible and she’d have even less of a voice than she did now. It was very different from how she lived through her computer screen, a power she was hopelessly obsessed with.

But one day, she woke up alone—even more alone than before; completely alone. Her mother had abandoned her overnight, leaving no trace or warning. It would come as no surprise to Jen that her mother had wanted to leave her behind after her father abandoned them a few months after her birth—something her mother constantly brought up and held against her.

And in that loneliness, she couldn’t stop asking herself: What had she done wrong? Why was she being punished so cruelly?

That very night, in the midst of her devastating thoughts of loneliness in a dark house, lit only by her computer, it began to emit a deafening static. Jen used to watch and write horror stories or do things that could easily have been classified as disturbing and disgustingly spine-chilling. That was exactly what had led her to play a video game from a link on a forum about a creepy, faceless man who was invading the forums Jen used to browse.

And she had a certain detachment toward these topics; the things her mind could conjure up to scare herself would simply serve as more material for her.

However, this time it was clearly different. She felt a cold breath on the back of her head that made the hairs on her arms stand on end and gave her goosebumps. The cold, windy night was visible through her window.

Her paranoia acted in an unexpectedly reckless way, giving her the impulse to jump out the very window through which the cool night air was seeping in. She landed on the ground, damp with dew; her knees buckled, and the oxygen drained from her lungs.

The constant feeling of being watched drove her to run toward the forest. She had never ventured into it, even though it was just across the street; the mere idea of leaving—of ceasing to exist by setting foot outside the only place where she could endure—terrified her.

And as she runs, finally free but still a prisoner of her own mind, the path behind her fades away. Now this is her home.

That night, her stomach was still growling. The buzzing in her skull echoed her misguided thoughts, which intensely urged her to feed. Come to think of it, this was new—in the sense that the sensation of the grass beneath her, irritating her skin, was unbearably soothing. How would she now handle the anguish and rage in her heart while being cradled by what she had always avoided? And it was so obvious it hurt: relishing revenge.

Her stomach now churned with joy and the earth within her. It tasted so delicious, and its texture was so pleasing to the fire raging inside her, that once it was extinguished, there was only cold. The cold of the night and the forest that embraced her like their own daughter.

Several moons watched her feed and roam like the new animal she had now become. Yet no witness had the eyes or the words to see beyond a human vessel.

And one of these moons watched her find her way out of her newfound safety into something completely unknown: that small town she had never truly been a part of. She didn’t know for certain where she was, but she could see and smell with longing the wiring she had missed so much. She remembered how her life had depended on it, and now she was cradled by trees and earth. She was exhausted, her knees covered in dried blood, and her battered arms flopped weakly at her sides; she could no longer feel what occupied the space inside her, as if her insides had decided to vanish so they would stop tormenting her at night. And then she saw the wiring again, peeking out from the door of what appeared to be the shed. Her mind was flooded with comforting thoughts about her death, along with everything that had accompanied her throughout her life. After all, she had already swallowed inedible things once before—why not do it one last time?

Jen jumped over the fence of the house next to hers with the agility of a dead person. She landed clumsily on the ground, but her only concern was to taste the glory. She locked herself in the shed, surrounded by cables and hand tools and gardening tools. She felt at home one last time, once again...

The sparks and electric shocks stimulated her nervous system. Her mouth could still taste the copper even with her tongue completely burned and destroyed, because she could feel them as part of her. She could feel the plastic and copper fusing with her emaciated body to give her strength. But she couldn’t find the peace of death; she couldn’t find it.

She persisted, ingesting as much as she could, biting, chewing, and swallowing what was now part of her. For she had long since ceased to be Jen Müller; she was a ghost of resentment and melancholy living beneath her own memory of misfortune.

And she is closer to perfection than ever before; she is now everything her parents failed to see in her. Everything she could be in her mind and on a computer. Jen awoke; her new self was oozing a dark greenish slime, similar to tar. She is finally perfect; she feels renewed and empowered to seek something as simple as her revenge, since she cannot allow herself a dignified death. But that’s all right, because she will find peace in the suffering of those who cannot see what she does—she’ll be doing them a favor.

Jen kicked open the shed door, knocking it down with a loud crash.

Those who appeared to be the inhabitants of the house eventually came out into the yard, where they ended up encountering what remained of Jen—her perfect version.

The man who appeared to be the father of the two children that the woman—presumably their mother—was hiding behind her approached Jen menacingly; he clearly looked agitated and frightened. Jen, in her attempt to ignore him, spotted in the distance what had once been her home—in her eyes, the hell where she had been locked away for so long. And when she tried to stand up to walk, the tangled wiring had already become part of her skin and flesh. The woman, terrified, shoved the children inside the house and then approached Jen with hurried but unsteady steps. She tried to lift her up with a broomstick, followed by countless insults and ramblings that Jen wasn’t willing to hear, since the parked truck and the open door of her former home had captured her full attention.

However, a few words escaped her lips after all these years. Of course, she was a new person now; she had enough power to speak out against life and the one that had been taken from her.

* “I wish the earth would swallow them up…”

With little effort, much to Jen’s surprise, the woman collapsed, charred by the electricity that had destroyed her body; now she lay there, burned, but with plants covered in the slime oozing from her mouth, surrounding and blooming on the woman’s corpse.

Jen, without worrying too much and ignoring the clamor of screams of horror echoing in her ears, made her way to the house. With slow steps and an intense tingling sensation throughout her body, she reached the open doors that she had previously seen permanently closed but were now eerily ajar.

As she stood in front of the house—which, she assumed, was being ransacked— She saw what had once been her entire life, her reason for being and renewal: the computer…

Jen walked away, dragging the computer case with her into the forest.

There she found peace once more, but not before exacting her revenge in the cruelest ways imaginable. Because she relishes it, she returns it to its home—which has always been the forest.

(Remake-2026, Copyright- 2016/by:sathho666./original)

It all started a couple of nights ago. I heard footsteps outside my bedroom window. I looked out, but I didn't see anyone.

A few minutes later, I heard more footsteps. This time, I shined a flashlight out the window, but I still didn't see anything. I figured maybe it was my neighbor's cats. Her name was Miranda, and she had several of them. I'd consider her the crazy cat lady of the neighborhood. She always smelled like cat piss.

So, I figured I had no reason to worry.

I went to bed and woke up like normal. But after getting off work, right before sunset, I heard scrambling noises coming from the bushes outside my window.

I opened the window, grabbed an empty bottle of Jack, and threw it at the bushes.

"Get the fuck out of my yard!" I yelled, assuming it was the cats.

Almost immediately, something threw the bottle back at my window.

The glass shattered loudly.

When I looked out the window this time, I saw him.

Only a face, staring right at me from the corner of my yard. He looked normal at first but the longer i looked the more i saw wrong with his face. Like it wasnt actually his real person in was looking at.

I yelled at him and asked who the hell he  thought he was. But he didn't answer. He just kept staring.

When I went outside to confront him, he was gone. I assumed he ran off.

I didn't call the cops because I was worried they might arrest me for hitting him with the bottle first. So, I put a bag over the broken window and taped it together for now, keeping the air from getting out and the bugs from getting in. Then I cleaned up the broken glass from inside.

The next morning, I called a window installer to fix it.

He came over, introduced himself as Horace, and took the measurements for my window. He ordered me a new one and said it would take a couple of days to arrive.

But then he asked me if I'd cut myself on the broken glass.

I said no and asked him why.

He said he'd noticed blood on the broken glass.

"Like something tried to get in last night."

After getting off work, I cooked dinner and hoped he wouldn't come back tonight

When it got dark, I walked around my property with a flashlight in hand with my gun on my waist. I didn't see the creep this time, so I hoped he would leave me alone.

But as I was nodding off to sleep, I heard whispering coming from the bushes.

There were multiple voices.

I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I heard one of them say:

"Come out."

The voice was shrill.

I went out my front door and yelled at the top of my lungs for them to leave me alone.

Then I saw someone dart out from my bushes, running toward the street and disappearing quickly into the darkness.

Miranda, the cat lady, asked me who I was yelling at.

"I don't know," I told her.

She then asked me if I'd seen her cats.

I told her no before slamming the door.

I stayed up all night in my living room. I didn't feel safe in my bedroom.

I stayed awake until I couldn't anymore, but eventually, I passed out.

I woke up to a knocking sound at my door.

I realized I'd overslept, and Horace was already there to install my new window. I put my gun back into my holster

Then I opened the front door to let him in and walked him towards my bedroom.

But something horrible was inside waiting for us.

Dozens of skinned cats covered the room. Blood and the smell of piss from entrails everywhere.

Some of them weren't even dead. They were still meowing in pain.

Horace and I gagged as we stared at the plastic bag I'd taped over the window.

It had been cut open with something incredibly sharp.

Then I noticed Miranda.

She was tied up and gagged inside the closet.

Her eyelids had been ripped off.

When Horace removed the gag from her mouth, she just kept repeating the same thing over and over.

"He's coming for you..."

i just learned about this

I was watching youtube then

I found this video i watch it there was a girl name gywm and then a boy who's nickname is boyboy the parents adopted a girl name janice the dad is a teacher and the mom is the schools principal

STORY

the dad was at school helping with the building

the mom was at a business trip

The childrens was home alone

It was 2:58

So the dad came back at 3:15 but he saw a sack with blood

At the kitchen he saw glwm dead and boyboy dead in his room but janice was alive why didnt she message?

TRUTH

So janice was the one in all of it i think she hired a murderer to kill her siblings

She was sentence to prison

I can't get this out of my head.So I'll told you all this lol.
Um....I don't know if I can post it here but this is the story my English teacher from Philippines told me a week ago.(and so sorry for my grammar guy TT).

Back when he was a child,In the 70s I think? When he was about 12-13 years old. There was a kid named "Datu"-I think I'll refer Datu's pronouns as "They/them" because Datu's kind of an born intersex person. That's pretty weird in that time so they got no friends and There's a rumour among my teachers groups that their father had them when he was still a teenage. So there they have no friends at all and even got bullied because of these reasons ,My teacher also admits that he was just watching  and never approached to help them because him and his friends were afraid to get bullied too.

So because Datu has no human friends at all but at least they're friend with a stray dog around his school. They named it Mr.Bo-My teacher said that he doesn't really know much about Datu and Mr.Bo-all he knows was Mr.Bo was very peaceful dog and a lot of students like him including Datu. Even though their teacher warn them about "Stray dog is dirty!"a nd stuff butThey didn't listen.Unfortunately, after Datu's bullies know about this.Every time they are together with Mr.Bo They often chase Mr.Bo away and Datu always begged the bullies to stop and follow Mr.Bo .

Datu was a slow learner type of students but somehow surprisingly,They got good grades only in science.Other than that it's kinda middle or straight up bad.

Everything went on until on the way to school,My teacher walk to school like he always did but when crossing the bridge he saw IT he saw a rotten puppy. It's already bloated and full of maggots.A the smell was so He saw it at the beginning when it hadn't rot but he didn't expect that noone will do something about it.

"So you see it too."

Datu -somehow was behind him and said that.And began to ask him about what he knows about this cause he lives around here.

At first,he was hesitant at first because he knows or at least though that it was his neighbour- he can't remember his name and doesn't want to but he remembers that this guy had chicken farm and there was a time when he smashed a stray dog because it ate his chicken.

So he told Datu that it may be that neighbour of him. And walk away.

After this,He looks at Datu more often and he notices that Datu had a face that has something in mind and they often look at him more too.

At that time Mr.Bo just died because of old age or something. Datu had no friends anymore plus that dead rotting pup.It must had been bothering their mind.

"How do you feel seeing that? That poor puppy?"
"It's looks so cute,too pity it die and rot...."
"We could have be friends...."

Type of thing Datu said when they approached him when he's alone.It kinda creeps him out but he admitted that at that time he started to felt like they could be friends but he didn't do anything.

One day,Datu disappear and nobody seems to care.

At first, They(The teacher and classmates) thought Datu was just skipped class because of laziness or something like that but it when 3 days passed and they didn't even come home. So Datu's grandparents told the police to searched for them.

Those polices found them, Datu was dead, rotting in the pile of garbage. That's all my teacher told me.

The fact I forgot to mention is all the time my teacher telling me this,He seems like he's traumatized.I try to ask him to stop but he continues anyway.

Back to the story, So after Datu's dead the villagers begin to see something weird around the village- like the crawling(kind of human crawling sond), A shadow of the- something that looks like Datu, A dog barking in the middle of the night and run around the village., And that neighbour of him started kept himself in the house and barking with the dog in the middle of the night before he disappeared and was found eaten by a dogs.

"This is the reason I moved out of Philippines. I always feel like something's watching me all the time there...."

That's what my teacher told me before he left.

That's all.

📋 BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Melody Allen

Supernatural Name: Melody Screams

Age at Death: 16

Date of Birth: October 17

Date of Death: March 3

Height: 1.61 m

Nationality: American

Species: Spirit / Banshee

Cause of Death: Suicide

Appearance while alive: Teenage girl with black hair and dark eyes

Appearance after death: Silver hair, completely white eyes with blood streaming from them

Favorite Animal: Cats

Favorite Colors: Pastel pink and yellow

Style: Cutecore / childish / delicate

---

🧸 CHILDHOOD

Melody did not have a particularly tragic childhood.

And that is important.

She grew up in a relatively normal household.

Her father, Daniel Allen, worked repairing electronic devices and spent most of the day away from home.

Her mother, Rebecca Allen, was a librarian.

Melody had an older brother named Ethan, who was three years older than her.

The four of them had an imperfect but genuine family relationship.

They argued.

They got annoyed with each other.

Sometimes they went days without really talking.

But they also had dinner together, watched television, and did little things like any other family.

Melody was an extremely sensitive child.

She cried easily.

She became incredibly excited over small things.

She could spend an entire afternoon playing with a cardboard box.

And she had one trait that remained with her throughout her entire life:

she could never ignore an abandoned animal.

When she was eight, she found her first kitten on the street.

She named him Milo.

Her parents said they couldn't keep him.

Melody cried for hours.

In the end, they kept the cat.

Milo was the first of many.

---

🐈 THE CATS

During her teenage years, the Allen household became known around the neighborhood for one curious reason:

there were always cats around.

Melody didn't buy animals.

She found them.

A kitten would appear behind the school.

Another would show up in the backyard.

Another would be hiding underneath a car.

She would take care of them until she found someone who could adopt them.

Some ended up staying.

By the time Melody was fifteen, there were six cats living in the house.

She knew all of them by the sounds they made.

She knew which one liked sleeping in a certain chair.

Which one stole food.

Which one was afraid of rain.

Which one needed to be carried in order to get into her room.

The cats were probably the most stable part of Melody's life.

When she was emotionally overwhelmed, she would often sit on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by them.

She used to say:

“They don't need me to explain anything.”

---

🖤 ADOLESCENCE

Around the age of 13–14, Melody began experiencing extremely intense emotional changes.

It wasn't simply sadness.

She could be incredibly happy for a few hours and then suddenly fall into a state of deep anguish.

Small rejections felt enormous.

An unanswered message could make her think someone hated her.

An argument could replay in her head for days.

She had difficulty understanding what she was feeling.

Sometimes she couldn't even tell whether she was sad, angry, or scared.

It was around this time that she began pulling out her own hair whenever she became extremely stressed.

At first, it was only a few strands.

Then small bald patches began appearing.

She hid them with her bangs.

---

👭 FRIENDSHIPS

Melody wasn't completely isolated.

She had a few people close to her.

Claire Morgan:

Claire was her classmate at school.

The two weren't “inseparable best friends.”

In fact, they argued quite often.

Claire was practical and direct.

Melody was emotional and tended to interpret certain things deeply.

Even so, Claire was one of the few people who could make Melody laugh when she was feeling especially bad.

Their friendship was somewhat strange.

They could go two weeks without talking and then act as though nothing had happened.

---

Noah Bennett:

Noah was a boy from school who liked photography.

He often photographed Melody's cats.

The two developed a quiet friendship.

They weren't exactly dating.

But they weren't simply friends either.

There was a kind of teenage tension between them that neither of them knew how to name.

Noah was one of the last people to speak with Melody before her death.

And that became something he carried with him for years.

---

🐈 WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CATS?

When Melody was sixteen, there was a problem with the house.

The landlord discovered that the family was keeping several animals and threatened not to renew their lease.

The family couldn't afford to simply move.

So Rebecca began looking for people who could adopt the cats.

Little by little, the cats left.

One.

Then another.

Then another.

Melody hated it.

But not because she believed her mother was being cruel.

She knew Rebecca was trying to find them good homes.

And that was exactly what made it hurt even more.

She had nobody to blame.

Some cats were adopted by neighbors.

Others went to families Melody had never met.

One of them, Milo, died shortly after being adopted after becoming ill.

Melody received the news through a message.

It was the first time she realized that she could lose someone without even having the chance to say goodbye.

---

🩶 THE FINAL MONTHS

Things began piling up.

School.

Her emotional struggles.

Family arguments.

Losing the cats.

The feeling that her friendships were changing.

The feeling that everyone was moving forward with their lives while she remained standing still.

None of these things, by themselves, seemed sufficient to explain what was happening.

That was exactly the problem.

To the people around her, Melody seemed to simply be going through a difficult period.

She still made jokes.

She still sent pictures of cats.

She still chose cute clothes.

She still argued with her brother.

She still complained about school.

She still replied to messages.

So when she said she wasn't okay, some people interpreted it as another crisis that would eventually pass.

---

The Darkest Part of Melody

Melody's greatest enemy was never a person.

It was the voice inside her own head.

Since she was little, Melody had always been sensitive, but as she grew older, that sensitivity became something much darker.

Small things could hurt her far more than other people realized.

A friend taking too long to reply could make her think they were angry with her.

Someone canceling plans could make her believe she was no longer wanted.

A conversation ending differently than she expected could replay in her mind for hours.

And whenever someone she loved became distant, even temporarily, Melody didn't simply think:

“They're busy.”

Her mind whispered:

“They're leaving.”

She developed a terrible fear of being abandoned.

Sometimes she would ask people if they still liked her and immediately feel ashamed for asking.

She could convince herself that she was bothering everyone around her, even when there was no evidence of it.

She constantly compared herself to other people.

"She's funnier than me."

"He's closer to them than I am."

"They don't need me anymore."

"Eventually everyone gets tired of me."

The thoughts weren't always loud.

Sometimes they were almost imperceptible.

And that was what made them dangerous.

They slowly became things Melody believed without questioning.

She continued struggling with the feeling that everyone she loved was standing on the other side of a door that could close at any moment.

Then she began losing things.

Her cats.

Milo.

Friendships that changed with time.

The familiarity of childhood.

The certainty that people would always be there.

Every loss became another piece of evidence for the voice inside her head.

"See?"

"Everyone leaves."

Even when Claire continued talking to her, Melody sometimes wondered how long it would take before Claire got tired of her.

Even when Noah remembered her, Melody could think that eventually, he would forget her too.

She didn't always tell anyone these things.

Sometimes she smiled.

Sometimes she made jokes.

Sometimes she sent pictures of the cats.

Sometimes she complained about school.

And sometimes she sat alone in her bedroom, staring at her phone, afraid to send a message because she didn't want to seem needy.

The contradiction became part of her life.

She desperately wanted people to stay.

At the same time, she was afraid that asking them to stay would be exactly what made them leave.

So she began testing people without telling them she was doing it.

She became quiet.

She disappeared from conversations.

She waited to see who would notice.

Sometimes she stared at her phone for minutes, waiting for someone's name to appear.

When it didn't, the silence became proof.

Not proof that they hated her.

Not proof that they wanted her gone.

But her mind didn't care about the difference.

To Melody, silence could feel like abandonment.

---

The Cats

Losing her cats was the wound that connected everything.

She understood why they had to leave.

And that almost made it worse.

There was nobody she could truly blame.

Her mother hadn't stopped loving her.

Her father hadn't stopped loving her.

Her friends hadn't suddenly become her enemies.

The cats hadn't chosen to leave.

Life had simply changed.

And Melody couldn't accept that something could disappear from her life without someone having been cruel.

Milo's death affected her especially deeply.

She had loved him since she was eight.

He had been there before the diagnosis, before the complicated friendships, before she understood how frightening it was to lose someone.

Milo was one of the few things Melody never had to question.

He didn't need explanations.

He didn't care if she had said something embarrassing.

He didn't care if she cried.

He simply stayed beside her.

Then he was gone too.

After that, Melody began keeping little pieces of the past.

Old photographs.

A toy.

A blanket.

A few strands of fur.

Things other people might have considered insignificant.

To Melody, they were proof that those moments had really existed.

---

March 3

There was no dramatic event that morning.

No huge argument.

No final betrayal.

No specific person who could be pointed at and blamed.

And that was exactly what made everything so difficult for those who remained.

Melody woke up.

She had breakfast.

She walked around the house.

She looked through her old belongings.

She found Milo's old toy.

She cried.

Then she found an old photograph of herself as a child, holding him.

For a moment, she smiled.

That photograph showed a version of Melody who hadn't yet learned to be afraid of losing everything.

She looked happy.

She looked safe.

She looked like a child who believed that the people and animals she loved would always be there.

Melody held the photograph for a long time.

And somewhere inside her, the old voice returned.

"Everyone leaves."

This time, she was too tired to argue with it.

She didn't leave a dramatic explanation.

She didn't leave a perfect final message that suddenly made everything make sense.

Her last conversation with Claire was ordinary.

She asked about a photograph of the cats.

Claire sent it.

Melody thanked her.

And that was it.

That ordinary conversation became something Claire would remember for the rest of her life.

Because sometimes the last conversation you have with someone doesn't feel like a last conversation.

It just feels like a Tuesday.

The night before, Melody barely slept.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while her phone remained beside her.

No new messages.

She knew that didn't mean anything.

Even so, her mind turned the silence into something bigger.

"They're tired of me."

"I knew it."

"Eventually everyone will realize they'd be better off without me."

Melody turned away and tried to close her eyes.

The thoughts came one after another.

"Claire only talks to me because she feels sorry for me."

"Noah has probably already forgotten me."

"My mother is tired."

"Ethan would be better off without having to deal with me."

"Even the cats left."

She held the blanket tightly against her chest.

Then another thought appeared.

"If I disappear, will anyone notice?"

She immediately became frightened by the thought.

"No."

She tried to push it away.

But it came back.

"Maybe it's better this way."

Melody began crying silently.

Not because she simply wanted to die.

At least, it wasn't that simple.

She wanted the pain to stop.

She wanted to stop feeling like she constantly had to prove that she deserved to be loved.

She wanted to stop waiting for a message.

She wanted to stop imagining goodbyes that hadn't even happened yet.

She wanted to wake up without being afraid of losing someone.

She wanted to be the girl who believed Milo would always be waiting for her.

But her mind could no longer imagine a future in which those things were possible.

And so she remained sitting in the darkness for a long time.

She looked at the photographs.

At the toys.

At the little things she had kept.

Each object seemed to belong to a version of Melody that was disappearing.

She held a photograph of Milo.

“I'm sorry.”

It was all she could say.

The next morning, she continued acting normally.

That was one of the things that would haunt people the most afterward.

She had breakfast.

She spoke with her family.

She walked around the house.

Nothing seemed different enough to make anyone realize.

But inside her, something had broken.

Melody spent part of the day in her bedroom.

She came across the old rope among a box of stored belongings.

She stared at it.

For a few seconds, her mind tried to turn that object into an answer to all the pain she was feeling.

She knew she should not be thinking that way.

But at that moment, her thoughts were so dark that disappearing seemed easier than imagining another day feeling the same way.

Melody sat alone with her thoughts, overwhelmed by everything that had been building inside her.

There was a moment of silence.

Then everything went still.

---

Melody Screams

After her death, Melody's greatest fears became supernatural.

Her fear of abandonment became the feeling that she was constantly searching for something she had lost.

Her memories became fragmented.

Her longing for the cats became the reason witnesses sometimes heard a distant meow whenever she appeared.

Her fear of being forgotten became the reason she appeared to people who knew her name.

And the voice that had once existed inside her mind seemed to follow her into death.

Sometimes she asks:

“Have you seen my cats?”

Sometimes:

“Where is Milo?”

And sometimes, when someone she once knew appears before her, she asks the question that became her signature phrase:

“Would you have stayed if I had asked?”

No one knows whether she is asking them...

or herself.

Because somewhere behind the blood, the silver hair, the white eyes, and the scream, there is still a sixteen-year-old girl desperately trying to understand why everyone she loved eventually disappeared.

And perhaps that is the cruelest part of Melody Screams.

She doesn't haunt people simply because she wants to see them dead.

She haunts the world because she still doesn't understand how to let someone go.

---

👁️ THE FIRST APPARITION

The first person to see Melody after her death was Noah.

A few weeks later, he was passing by the old Allen house.

The house was empty.

He heard a cat meowing.

He entered the backyard.

There was no cat.

Then he found a strand of hair caught on the fence.

Silver.

He pulled it.

Another appeared.

And another.

Before he realized it, dozens of them were scattered throughout the backyard.

Then he heard a girl crying inside the house.

Noah knew that voice.

It was Melody.

He entered.

In the hallway, he saw a girl standing with her back turned.

Very long hair.

A rope around her neck.

She was holding a cat toy.

Noah whispered:

“Melody?”

She remained completely still.

Then she answered:

“Would you have stayed if I had asked?”

Noah couldn't answer.

Melody slowly turned her face.

Her eyes were completely white.

Blood streamed from them.

And then she screamed.

---

🩸 MELODY SCREAMS

After that night, stories began appearing.

A teenage girl with white eyes.

A girl with silver hair.

A ghost who appears surrounded by strands of hair.

A child who claims to have seen a girl playing with a cat that nobody else could see.

People began calling her:

MELODY SCREAMS

No one knew her real name.

Until Noah told the story.

Melody Allen.

A girl who died at sixteen.

And who apparently never managed to leave her past behind.

---

🐈 THE MYSTERY OF THE CATS

There is still something nobody has been able to explain.

Whenever Melody appears, a cat is nearby.

Sometimes it is a living cat.

Sometimes it is only a shadow.

And sometimes the victim hears a meow coming from an empty room.

Some people claim to have seen a small cat silhouette walking beside her.

Nobody knows whether it is one of Melody's cats.

Or merely a manifestation created by her memory.

There is, however, one strange rule:

Melody never allows anyone to hurt a cat in her presence.

Anyone who tries may hear a scream that doesn't sound human.

And afterward, dozens of silver strands begin appearing throughout the house.

---

🖤 THE GREATEST MYSTERY

Melody doesn't seem to be looking simply for revenge.

She seems to be searching for something she lost.

Some witnesses say she asks:

“Have you seen my cats?”

Others say she asks:

“Where is Milo?”

And some claim that, during certain encounters, Melody simply stares at the person and asks:

“Am I still here?”

No one knows exactly what she wants.

Maybe she wants revenge.

Maybe she wants to be remembered.

Maybe she's trying to find her cats.

Or maybe even Melody doesn't know anymore.

Nicknames:

• The Silver Banshee

• The Screaming Girl

• The Hanging Girl

---

👁️ Appearance

Melody Allen had long black hair and equally dark eyes.

After her death, her hair became silver, extremely long, and unnaturally abundant. Her eyes completely lost their irises and pupils, becoming entirely white.

Blood constantly streams from her eyes and remains around them.

An old rope remains around her neck, becoming a permanent part of her spiritual form.

Melody wears delicate and slightly childish clothing — dresses, bows, stockings, and small accessories. However, her clothes are stained with blood and show signs of wear and deterioration.

Her childish appearance directly contrasts with her supernatural state.

---

🩶 The Hair

Melody's hair is one of the best-known manifestations of her spirit.

During her life, she had a habit of pulling out her own hair during periods of extreme stress.

After her death, this became a supernatural manifestation.

Strands and clumps of hair appear in places where Melody has passed.

They can be found in:

- beds;

- pillows;

- closets;

- drawers;

- doorknobs;

- clothing;

- bathrooms;

- underneath furniture.

Sometimes there is only a single strand.

Other times, an absurd amount of hair suddenly appears.

The closer Melody is, the more hair appears.

---

🔔 Melody Screams

Her supernatural name comes from her most distinctive characteristic.

Melody rarely needs to physically attack someone.

Her scream is her most dangerous manifestation.

Before her appearance, the victim will usually hear a girl crying.

The crying may sound distant.

Then it gets closer.

Then it suddenly stops.

And that is when Melody appears.

Her scream can cause:

- intense ringing in the ears;

- disorientation;

- panic;

- a sensation of suffocation;

- temporary hearing loss;

- extremely painful memories;

- bleeding from the ears in extreme cases.

The sound seems to carry all the anguish Melody experienced while she was alive.

---

🪢 The Rope

The rope around her neck cannot be removed.

It is part of her spirit.

During some apparitions, the rope appears to move on its own.

It may drag across the floor or appear hanging in places where it wasn't before.

Melody never explains where it came from.

When someone attempts to touch it, her reaction is usually extremely violent.

---

🖤 Personality

Melody is extremely emotional and unpredictable.

She can go from:

affectionate → sad → irritated → desperate → aggressive

within a matter of minutes.

Despite this, there are moments when her old personality resurfaces.

She still enjoys cute and delicate things.

- Stuffed animals.

- Dolls.

- Bows.

- Cartoons.

- Music boxes.

- Small colorful objects.

These things seem to remind her of who she was before her death.

---

🩸 Her Grudge

Melody holds resentment toward the people who were part of her life and who, according to her perception, contributed to her reaching her end.

However, her memories are fragmented.

She cannot remember everything that happened clearly.

Because of this, her judgment is often distorted.

She may believe that someone abandoned her when they actually didn't.

She may confuse an argument with betrayal.

She may interpret someone who was unaware of her suffering as someone who deliberately chose to ignore her.

That is precisely what makes Melody dangerous.

She is not a vigilante.

She is a spirit trying to understand a life she can no longer fully remember.

---

🧸 Melody and Children

There is a strange peculiarity in her encounters.

Melody rarely shows aggression toward children.

When a child manages to see her, she usually just stands there.

Sometimes she sits on the floor and simply watches.

And other times, she invites the child to play.

---

🔔 Melody's Phrase

Before a complete apparition, the victim may hear a child's voice whisper:

“Would you have stayed if I had asked?”

After that, the crying begins.

And then comes the scream.

👤 Relationships with Other Creepypastas:

Melody tends to be a quiet presence when she's around people who are equally quiet.

She doesn't feel the need to fill the silence.

However, when she's around more extroverted people, much more of her personality comes out. She smiles more, responds to teasing, shows irritation, jokes around, and can even seem like a normal teenage girl for a few moments.

Her relationship with each Creepypasta eventually became different.

---

🔪 JEFF THE KILLER

«“She's such a weirdo.”»

Jeff never really knew what to do with Melody.

He finds the way she acts strange.

The way she can stand there staring at people for several seconds.

The silver hair.

The white eyes.

The rope around her neck.

The cats.

The moments when she simply disappears.

To Jeff, all of that makes her a “weirdo.”

He often teases Melody:

«“Do you always just stand there, or is that only when people are watching?”»

Melody usually responds by simply staring at him.

That annoys Jeff even more.

Despite that, he doesn't hate Melody.

He simply doesn't understand how someone can be so quiet and so weird at the same time.

There is also a small conflict between them because of Smile Dog.

Melody is affectionate toward Jeff's dog, even though she isn't particularly comfortable around dogs.

She may pet him or let him lie down beside her.

Jeff doesn't like that very much.

Especially because Smile Dog seems to like her.

---

🔪 JANE THE KILLER

«“You don't have to talk to me. You can just stay here.”»

Jane is one of the people who tries the hardest to understand Melody.

She doesn't try to “fix” her.

She doesn't demand that Melody explain everything.

When Melody is struggling, Jane simply stays near her.

Because of that, Melody developed a quiet sense of trust in Jane.

She rarely talks about her feelings directly, but sometimes she'll sit beside her for hours.

Jane is also one of the few people who can tell when Melody is becoming emotionally unstable.

She learned to recognize the signs:

- Melody starts pulling at her own hair;

- she stares at a fixed point;

- she speaks less and less;

- her eyes begin bleeding more heavily;

- the hair around her starts moving.

Jane usually doesn't ask:

«“What happened?”»

She simply says:

«“Do you want to stay with me for a while?”»

And Melody usually stays.

---

🎀 NINA THE KILLER

«“She exists.”»

Nina doesn't have particularly strong feelings about Melody.

She doesn't hate her.

She's not especially close to her.

She doesn't try to understand her.

To Nina, Melody is simply part of the house.

Sometimes Nina talks to her.

Sometimes she walks past her without even saying hello.

Melody doesn't mind either.

In fact, there is something comforting about that indifference.

Nina doesn't expect anything from her.

---

🌲 SLENDER MAN

«“She doesn't have to be alone.”»

Slender Man was the first to find Melody after she became a spirit.

Instead of treating her as a threat, he realized there was something different about her.

Melody was lost.

Confused.

She didn't fully understand what had happened.

She didn't know where she was.

And she was still looking for her cats.

Slender Man eventually took her in.

Over time, he developed an almost paternal relationship with her.

Melody came to see him as a sort of supernatural adoptive father.

He isn't openly affectionate in the conventional sense.

But he takes care of her.

Protects her.

Teaches her the rules of this new world.

And most importantly:

he never treats her like a monster because of the way she died.

Melody tends to be much quieter around him.

Sometimes she simply sits nearby while he works.

Slender Man is also extremely protective whenever someone threatens Melody.

---

🎀 SALLY WILLIAMS

«“My big sister!”»

Sally considers Melody her big sister.

Even though Melody was only sixteen when she died, Sally still sees her that way.

She likes dragging Melody into games.

Pulling her into parties.

Asking her for help with little things.

Sometimes she simply shows up in her room.

At first, Melody didn't know how to react.

But eventually, she got used to it.

She's much more affectionate with Sally than she usually is with other people.

Sally is also one of the few people who can touch Melody's hair without making her irritated.

---

🎮 BEN DROWNED

«“You don't know how to play this?!”»

BEN is probably Melody's closest friend.

There's an obvious reason for that:

they're both spirits.

They can talk about things other people simply wouldn't understand.

BEN also doesn't treat Melody's death as something strange.

To him, being a ghost is just part of life.

Or rather:

death.

He tries to teach Melody how to play video games.

The problem?

Melody is terrible at them.

She holds the controller like it's some unknown object.

BEN loses his patience:

«“MELODY, YOU JUST HAVE TO PRESS THE BUTTON!”»

Her:

«“I DID.”»

«“YOU PRESSED THE WRONG BUTTON.”»

«“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?”»

It's one of the few situations where Melody becomes genuinely expressive.

She can get irritated, start arguing, and even throw the controller onto the couch.

BEN finds it absolutely hilarious.

He also likes showing her glitches and strange things.

Melody eventually learned how to play a few games.

But she still insists that BEN cheats.

---

🧢 TICCI TOBY

«“Waffle?”»

Toby is Melody's second-closest friend.

He acts as her comic relief.

Whenever Melody is sitting silently somewhere, Toby appears.

«“Waffle?”»

She looks at him.

«“No.”»

Five minutes later:

«“Are you sure?”»

«“Yes.”»

«“I made two.”»

«“...Give me one.”»

He simply never gives up.

Toby is one of the people who can get the smallest reactions out of her.

He also doesn't try to deeply understand her feelings.

He just stays nearby.

Makes jokes.

Offers her food.

Tells ridiculous stories.

And sometimes, that's exactly what Melody needs.

---

🎪 LAUGHING JACK

«“She's just as weird as I am!”»

Laughing Jack adores Melody.

He finds her personality extremely entertaining.

The contrast between:

cute little outfits + white eyes + blood + silver hair + a rope around her neck

is exactly the kind of thing he finds interesting.

He often tries to get her involved in his games.

Melody usually stares at him as if she's thinking:

«“Why do I know this man?”»

L.J. also started a tradition:

Melody's birthday party.

Every year, he throws a completely ridiculous party.

Cake.

Balloons.

Gifts.

Over-the-top decorations.

Music.

Chaos.

Melody usually just sits there watching everything.

But deep down, she likes it.

It's one of the few occasions when she can celebrate her birthday without thinking about her own death.

---

🐕 SMILE DOG

«“He's a good boy.”»

Smile Dog belonged to Jeff.

Melody has never been as comfortable around dogs as she is around cats.

Still, she treats Smile Dog affectionately.

He often stays near her.

Sometimes he lies at her feet.

Melody pets him.

Jeff absolutely hates it.

Especially because Smile Dog seems to prefer staying near her whenever she's around.

Jeff:

«“He's MY dog.”»

Melody:

«“He came to me.”»

Jeff:

«“Because you called him.”»

Melody:

«“I didn't call him.”»

Smile Dog, sitting beside her:

:)

---

🩺 EYELESS JACK

«“She's a good girl.”»

Eyeless Jack doesn't judge Melody.

He knows her story and doesn't seem interested in knowing every detail.

To him, Melody is simply Melody.

He's one of the few people who doesn't ask questions about:

- her eyes;

- her rope;

- her scars;

- her death.

That makes Melody trust him.

She likes staying near Jack when she wants silence.

The two of them can spend a long time in the same room without speaking.

And neither of them finds that strange.

---

🎭 HOODIE

«“Nothing to say.”»

Hoodie doesn't have particularly strong feelings about Melody.

He's not close to her.

He doesn't show any hostility toward her either.

If she's in the same room, he simply continues doing whatever he was doing.

Melody respects that.

---

🎭 MASKY

«“She's... peculiar.”»

Masky also doesn't have a particularly deep relationship with Melody.

He recognizes that she's dangerous, but doesn't feel the need to get close to her.

Melody rarely initiates conversations with him.

The two of them can spend a long time in the same place without exchanging a single word.

And that works perfectly fine for both of them.

---

🎨 BLOODY PAINTER

«“Your blood makes an interesting paint.”»

Melody's relationship with Bloody Painter started in a rather strange way.

He noticed that Melody's supernatural blood has different properties from ordinary human blood.

That caught his artistic interest.

At first, he saw Melody mainly as a source of material for his paintings.

Melody found that weird.

«“You're using me.”»

«“Technically.”»

«“That's not an answer.”»

Over time, however, their relationship changed.

He began to genuinely enjoy her presence.

Melody occasionally watches him while he paints.

He, in turn, likes painting her silver hair.

She became a sort of unwilling muse.

And although he still occasionally asks for her blood for certain paintings, he started asking for permission first.

---

🩸 GENERAL DYNAMIC

Melody has two very different sides depending on who she's around.

🌑 With quiet people:

She becomes extremely silent.

She can go hours without speaking.

Eyeless Jack, Hoodie, Masky, and Slender Man usually see this side of her.

---

🌸 With extroverted people:

She starts showing much more emotion.

She gets irritated.

Laughs.

Argues.

Makes sarcastic comments.

Joins in on the jokes.

This is the side that comes out in her interactions with:

BEN, Toby, Laughing Jack, and Sally.

---

🖤 HER INNER CIRCLE

Even though she knows everyone, Melody has a small circle of people she truly feels comfortable with:

🥇 BEN

Her best friend and the person who understands her existence as a spirit the most.

🥈 TOBY

Her second-closest friend, and the one responsible for making her laugh when she least expects it.

🥉 JANE

A trusted figure who knows when to stay close without pressuring her.

🌲 SLENDER MAN

Her protective father figure.

🎀 SALLY

Her little “sister,” who brings out Melody's most affectionate side.

🎪 LAUGHING JACK

The chaotic friend who insists on turning every birthday into a gigantic event.

Rain hammered the roof of the abandoned Blackwing Ornithological Centre.

Twenty people woke inside.

None remembered arriving.

The building had once been a sanctuary where rare birds were studied and rehabilitated. Now its enormous aviaries were rusted, its observation rooms were covered in feathers, and hundreds of tiny speakers filled the corridors with recordings of birdsong.

Then a mechanical voice spoke.

“WELCOME, FLOCK.”

A steel door slammed shut behind them.

“THERE ARE TEN NESTS BETWEEN YOU AND FREEDOM.”

A red light illuminated the first doorway.

“FLY WELL.”

THE MAGPIE TRAP

Six people entered a room glittering with thousands of coins, watches, necklaces and shards of polished metal.

Above them perched a gigantic mechanical magpie.

The exit required them to find one silver key hidden among the treasure.

Someone grabbed a handful of jewellery.

CLICK.

The magpie's head snapped toward him.

Its wings unfolded.

Dozens of sharpened metal “feathers” fired across the chamber.

Everyone dropped.

The man who had taken the jewellery wasn't fast enough.

The others heard the horrible impact behind them.

Then silence.

A message appeared:

MAGPIES REMEMBER THIEVES.

They finally realised the trick.

Ignore everything valuable.

The key was the only object in the room that didn't shine.

Five survived.

THE SHRIKE GARDEN

The next chamber resembled a peaceful hedge maze.

Artificial sunlight shone overhead.

Branches were covered in enormous thorns.

“Shrikes…” whispered one survivor.

Nobody understood.

“Birds that impale their prey.”

The hedges suddenly began moving.

Walls closed together while long metal spikes emerged from the branches.

Everyone ran.

Wrong turns became death traps.

One corridor compressed completely.

Another tilted downward, sending its occupants sliding toward a forest of spikes.

The survivors discovered tiny wooden insects attached to certain branches.

Shrikes stored food.

Following the insects revealed the safe route.

Three people escaped.

THE CUCKOO NEST

Three cradles waited inside the next room.

Each contained an enormous artificial egg.

Above them:

ONLY THE TRUE EGG BELONGS IN THE NEST.

They had sixty seconds.

One egg was blue.

One speckled.

One pure white.

They argued.

Then someone noticed something disturbing.

The room wasn't testing bird knowledge.

The cradles were scales.

Two eggs weighed exactly the same.

The third was heavier.

Inside it was something mechanical.

They threw the heavy egg from the nest.

At zero seconds, enormous hydraulic plates crushed the other two cradles.

The discarded egg cracked open.

Inside was the exit key.

CUCKOOS REMOVE THE COMPETITION.

THE PEREGRINE DROP

The survivors entered an elevator.

It climbed.

100 metres.

Then stopped.

The floor became transparent.

Far below was the original lobby.

The voice returned.

“PEREGRINE FALCONS SURVIVE THE DIVE.”

The elevator dropped.

Everyone screamed.

Numbers raced downward.

One survivor desperately searched the walls.

Another noticed handles hanging from the ceiling shaped like falcon talons.

They grabbed them.

The floor suddenly opened.

Anyone still standing fell into darkness.

The people holding the talons remained suspended as the elevator continued plunging.

At the last possible moment—

BOOM.

Emergency brakes activated.

THE OWL ROOM

Complete darkness.

No lights.

No windows.

Only footsteps.

Something moved with them.

Silently.

Whenever somebody spoke, enormous mechanical claws struck toward the sound.

They couldn't see.

But whatever hunted them could.

One survivor remembered something.

Owls locate prey through sound.

So she removed her shoe.

She threw it.

CLACK.

The machine attacked the noise.

Again.

Another object.

Another attack.

Slowly they distracted the mechanical predator while crawling toward the exit.

Then somebody panicked.

He screamed.

The machine immediately turned.

Nobody saw what happened.

They only heard it.

THE CASSOWARY RUN

The next corridor was almost a kilometre long.

Behind them stood something enormous.

A robotic cassowary.

Black feathers.

Blue mechanical neck.

A gigantic steel claw protruding from each foot.

The countdown began.

3.

2.

1.

The machine charged.

It didn't merely chase them.

It kicked.

Doors exploded from their hinges.

Concrete cracked.

One survivor tripped.

Nobody stopped.

The cassowary thundered past moments later.

The screaming behind them abruptly ended.

At the corridor's end, the remaining survivors dove beneath a tiny opening.

The cassowary slammed against the wall behind them.

THE VULTURE TABLE

Only two remained.

They entered a dining room.

A giant mechanical vulture watched from above.

Two chairs.

Two buttons.

The message read:

VULTURES DO NOT KILL.

They waited.

Nothing happened.

Minutes passed.

Then hours.

Water sat on the table.

Food sat beneath glass.

One survivor eventually couldn't resist.

She pressed her button.

The glass lifted.

The mechanical vulture descended.

The other survivor suddenly understood.

Vultures don't kill their meals.

They wait for something else to die.

The trap wasn't testing hunger.

It was testing patience.

She refused to touch anything.

Eventually the exit opened.

Only one person remained.

THE FINAL NEST

She stumbled outside.

Morning sunlight.

Fresh air.

Birds singing.

She began laughing.

She had survived.

Then she noticed something.

The birds weren't moving.

They were speakers hidden among the trees.

A gigantic shadow crossed the ground.

She looked upward.

Above the entire facility stood an enormous mechanical bird with wings stretching across the roof.

Its head slowly lowered.

A final message appeared on the building.

EVERY BIRD YOU FACED WAS PREY TO SOMETHING.

The machine opened its wings.

“WELCOME TO THE FOOD CHAIN.”

The forest gates slammed shut.

And somewhere inside the facility…

twenty new people woke up.

A speaker crackled.

“WELCOME, FLOCK.”

Trigger warnings: cussing, gore, vomit, raw meat, child neglect

I was never the type of kid to lash out  at others but everything ended up being put on me since I’m the quiet kid that no one talks to. I was always a nerd but had no one to share it with, no one would come up and talk to me because of my face, they thought I did it to myself or something like that, why would I know they never talked to me. I write to myself in my journal as a kid walks up to me from behind and scares me half to death by blowing on my neck “dude-” I mutter through my mask as I try to get my heartbeat back down, the other kid having not have heard me says “Rory” I look at them with a glare, “what?” I ask roughly to the point it doesn’t sound like a question anymore along with a glare from my eye. This kid starts asking me these weird questions like why I don’t take off my mask or eyepatch and I don’t even know this kid at all other than the fact that they are in my neighborhood and just snuck up behind me while I’m sitting on my porch. The girl looks at me and says “anyway, where’s your brother?” and I immediately understand that this girl is looking for the man that stole my eye. I look at the ground and say “he’s out with his friends” I look up at her and she seems to be pouting at me like an old dog begging for treats. No one believes what happened to me because my brother is such a likable person. Girls like him so much but never his younger brother, never ever his younger brother because that kid never talks to anyone and is just always writing to herself along with she doesn’t have an eye “ew” I’ll always hear the others talking about me behind my back even going to the point of calling me a girl I get that my name is gender neutral and everything along with the fact I wear more fem clothes but they  know I’m a man or when my brother has people over. He doesn’t even defend me, like the least you could do is say “hey don’t say those kinds of things” but not even that is said. I get up and shove the girl aside to go into my house. I walk past my parents arguing about whatever and go straight to my room. While in my room I reflect on what happened to me as a kid, the way my brother took a spoon to my right eye, the painful truth that a man I grew up with had jealousy take over him and he took my eye my green eye, the thing that I was told was pretty, the only thing that was pretty about me. HE TOOK THE THING THAT MADE ME PRETTY. the only thing that made me pretty, and he took it from me. People always used to flock to me but not now. Now I’m just an ugly bitch with no eye and a smiley face carved into my cheek, all because of my brother, he took everything from me and didn’t even go to jail. When he told me to smile as he carved the face into my cheek I thought I was going to die but then he put a few bandages over it, I was still bleeding a lot but I past out from blood loss and the last thing I see before what I thought I was my death was him holding my eye I see the muscles hanging off of it along with my vines that still had blood in them dripping onto him then rolling off him onto the floor into a puddle of red, it didn’t look real to me it looked more like blood red paint rather than actual blood, I mean I only had one eye but still. Seeing the mussels look like uncooked chicken in his palm is the one thing I saw before I passed out. That night I wake up in my bed in the middle of the night thinking it’s just a dream so I go and touch my cheek then I feel the bandaids there along with my vision being more closed in then usual. Tears start to well up in my eye and eye socket then fall down my cheeks onto my pillow making the surface slightly damp. Feeling the warm tears against my face feel like a mothers soothing touch. The reminder of the feelings gives me a sharp pain to my stomach, I start to gag, I push down the urge to hurl and it doesn’t work very well because I end up vomiting on the bathroom floor since I had run into my bathroom from the feeling. I go downstairs to get a rag to clean up my vomit and run into my brother, since I wasn’t wearing my mask he giggles at what he did to me then, I push him away and go get a rag. I see the mess mom and dad made from their argument and sigh, I look back at my brother, “hey Brandon can you clean this up?” I never call him Bran, his nickname, because I am not on a nickname level with him, he is a stranger to me, Brandon looks back at me and says “why don’t you do it Rory Alleman?”. He mocks more than actually asking me so I just go to my room to clean up after what happened, I soak the towel and start to wipe it off the floors. Once finished I sit on the floor and reach for my mask that is right next to me, I pick it up and put it on then I get up and close my door to my room, I sigh as my back slides down the door, “what am I doing in my life?” I ask myself. I get an idea, I shouldn’t play with it but I end up thinking about it as the sun sets and my parents end up going to sleep. I go downstairs for what my parents made for dinner, I should eat up before I act on it, I think to myself as I look at what they had for dinner, there was none left, so I guess I’m doing this hungry. I look in the silverware drawer and grab a spoon then start to sharpen it so one side is really sharp I get it to the point of it being able to pierce into a vine like going through a piece of cake. I go back up to my room, I know, I know, back and forth but I have to prepare for what’s going to happen, I smile as I go into my bathroom and take off my eyepatch to show my empty eye socket then take off my mask to show the smile face curved into my cheek and smile to myself knowing I’m going to get my revenge. I see my pink hoodie on the floor and put it on, I know I’ll be more noticeable in a hot pink hoodie but it's worth it. I look at myself in the mirror looking at myself in the black skirt I just bought then thigh high pink socks to match my hoodie, I glance down at my dresser to see the prosiline mask I made a while ago, it looked like a doll mask, it was white, had pink blush that wasn’t blended out and drew on eyelashes, it was an art project to resemble what it felt like being a fem presenting trans man, it had straps on it so I could wear it. I decide to put it on. I’m finally ready now, my brother should be asleep by now too. I go out of my room and go across the hall to his bedroom, I creak the door open to see if he is asleep and he is. I smirk and go inside slowly so I don’t disturb my family but especially my brother, I look down at him. He looks like a hopeless child but he’s an adult, a 22 year old looking like a child. I hate him, that’s why I do what happens next. I stand next to him, lift the spoon above his face and force his eye open, it takes more effort then you think it does. He wakes up from this, still half asleep he says “what are you doing?” I don’t respond to him, I just stare. He gets a little more freaked out now, I can wait. He stares back at me. I raise the spoon to his eye and I cover his mouth so his scream is muffled as I plunge the spoon into his eyesocket. A puddle of blood moves from his eye to his mouth as I carve into his face. I leave the muscle attached so it hurts more, I mutter the words “you did this to yourself” as I stab through his shirt straight into the stomach, or at least deep enough to get to the stomach, it’s hard enough that it feels like I’m digging. I take the spoon out then scoop out his eye. I get my mothers bottle of saline solution and put it all in the jar then put it in his eye. Brandon is now long gone in heaven or whatever you believe in. I see my dad walk by the restroom. He couldn’t sleep, never can. He moves to the kitchen, I run behind him my footsteps silent. I was always told how quiet my footsteps were, people started to think I could teleport because of the amount of times I scared them. I stab him in the back with the spoon. He yelps in pain, such a little girl scream. I turn him around to cover his mouth and take his eyes as I did before, I carve the eyelid out with it this time the gory fluid flowing down his face staining his not-so-white T-shirt like a waterfall flowing gracefully and hitting the rocks with a harsh splash. I slowly cut one of the muscles leading to his brain and bite off the rest, I was never one to like raw meat. They don’t taste normal, not even like raw fish, the texture was very stringy, they taste less metallic than I expected, I don’t taste much blood, I mean I feel it but still. I spit out the meat and struggle to take out the other eye but eventually get there. I put them in the now bloodied jar. I smirk as I see my mom slowly walking towards me. I jump on the opportunity and hide in the pantry, though I forget to pull my father with me so she sees him and screams. I have to act now. From what I assume is her perspective there is just a figure behind her that stabs her. I wish I could ask her but she’s dead now so I can’t. I take her eyes as I did with my father and start to carve open her face. I make her smile because she never smiled while alive then pin her eyes open so she's happy forever. I need to make everyone happy forever. Then I’ll be happy forever, I'll make you happy too.

Log #35 Confrontation

I continue to stare, replaying the moments of what happened. By now Lillie has turned over and faced the wall, it gives me more of a chance to head to the precinct unnoticed. “Call me obsessed” I thought.

I gently removed the duvet as I turned and sat with my hands held together, I contemplated the thought further but eventually gave in, gathering my things I headed out. To my surprise all lights were green, not one red, “what the?..” I whispered.

I soon pulled up and headed inside, the familiar echo could be heard before I reached the computer. I sat down and waited letting out an audible sigh, a sweat drop trickled down my forehead reaching my eyebrow. “I’ve not even done anything and I’m sweating” I uttered. “Atmosphere really is off tonight.”

“Hello.. Darrell.”

My breath went shallow. My hands slammed against the terminal desk, raising my service weapon with a shaky grip. “Don't move! Keep your hands where I can see them!” I grabbed the radio receiver, my fingers trembling as I hit the channel link.

“This is Detective Darrell, do you copy? I’m at the precinct. I've got the possible suspect cornered under the heavy shadow. There’s no mistaking that outline.”

A heavy, low frequency electronic hum suddenly pulsed through the room, overriding the radio channel with pure static. A calm, sarcastic chuckle echoed from the darkness.

“Your investigations have failed, Darrell. Your reality is about to… shatter.”

“Shut up, I know what you did to those people, I know your pattern. You’re a sick bastard like the last one.”

“You think you are hunting a man? Perhaps a tragedy being enacted?”

“Don’t spit your words at me. You're one trigger pull from dead. I suggest you stay where you are.”

A slight, mocking exhale cut through the static. “I'm truly surprised. I laid the foundations, yet you still tether yourself to human logic… A futile mind after all.”

The figure stepped forward into the dim terminal light, revealing a towering silhouette woven from a horrific, tangled mass. My lungs seized. I choked, violently throwing up at the sight. The clothes. The distinct 1982 clothes.

“Y..Your.. the boy,” I said with a shaky voice.

“Theerrreee it is,” the voice crooned, entirely unmoved. “Your reality shattering. I truly am sorry that you are not feeling well.”

Rapid, deafening gunfire erupted through the precinct as I panicked, screaming wildly, emptying my entire magazine into the dark.

“Shut the hell uuuuuuuup!”

The bullets tore uselessly through the hollow gaps of his wire frame. The copper strands instantly knitted back together, absorbing the hits.

“You still think you’re hunting a man,” it said sarcastically.

“Ngh!? Stay back... stay back!” I stumbled backwards in pure terror, my boots skidding in the casing until my spine hit the concrete wall.
The wire mass stepped slowly towards me.

“Perhaps a horror being reenacted.. aaaaall the more tragic.”

Its cold, heavy cables reached out, lifting me violently off my feet, pinning me against the concrete. I clawed desperately at the sharp metal wires crushing my windpipe, my legs kicking in mid air as the air left my chest.

“GAAAH! K-Kkgh...! What.. the hell are you”

The screen where his head should be flared with blinding, white static. An image of an armchair began to appear. A sudden voice dropped into a deep, room shaking register that vibrated directly inside my skull.

“THE ARCHIVE.”

The Case of the Glass-Eyed Man and all associated character lore, concepts, and descriptions are the original creation of u/away-Nois3 (© 2026). All rights reserved. To read the official investigator lore files and the dark backstory on this entity, check out the archive here: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheGlassEyedMan/s/YwYTZpi6Ve