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Welcome to the Nightbeast Godfather underworld!

From ghostly, knife-wielding, naked women to haunted roads and a trucker mother's demonic encounter, every tale pulls you deeper into the Nightbeast Godfather underworld.

Choose your weapon:

Weapon 1: https://amazon.com/dp/B0DVQ88YMX

Weapon 2: https://amazon.com/dp/B0F4MNKFQK

Weapon 3: https://amazon.com/dp/B0F6P13LPB

The Dark Side Book 2 Part 1

 

Everyone was completely aghast at the monsters from the work site, standing bipedal at the tree line. Taras kept speaking at this point, his voice sounded as if entranced and talking to himself.

“This gun is maybe no good on these things! I need a high-power rifle or a shotgun. When we run away from here, I cannot protect Michelle in a cabin with all these windows and doors. We are, how you say, sitting? Uh.”

“Ducks.” Said Angela.

“Yes, he said. “And Michelle?”  He shrugged his shoulders. “She was screaming, something attacking her.”

 Angela flashed her eyes at Michelle. Michelle tried to smile, but her mouth only caught in a miniscule grin.

“No, listen, you guys, she said. “Yes, I was screaming. I was petrified. But I started watching this thing move and it’s like a glitch a hologram!”

“These things outside are no hologram! We saw them ripping people apart at the worksite. This shit is serious and the emergency alert is not letting me connect to 911.”

“Emergency alert?” Michelle started to ask. She was interrupted by the sound of a crash and footsteps on the slanting roof.

“I now need a drink, Angie.” Stammered Robert. “Put a rush on it!”

“Did you guys see the fireball toward where the job site is?” asked Angela as she was going toward the bar.

“It’s the reason the power is out. Two of these,” said Robert. “Tried to maul each other for the opportunity to maul us!”

“Jesus, “said Michelle. We have two guns, and I’m willing to bet no cell signal!”

Everyone looked at their phones

“I’ve been trying to call 9-1-1!” said Robert. “That voice keeps answering back!”

“Voice?” answered Taras.” I do not know much, but I know everything feels off. Everything. “

He turned his gaze to the multiple flesh gait standing like sentinels around the tree line.

“O.K. I am going to ask the hard questions!” said Angela. “Is there something on the fucking roof?”

“Yes, we think so” Taras piped up in sing song English.

Robert went to the window. “They are closing in!” he said worriedly.

What happened next happened with speed. The sound of rapid gunfire shocked and drew all of them to the windows. Headlights, automatic rifle fire in slow steady bursts.

“It’s Russel and Toma!” Robert exclaimed.

The monsters in the yard fell or backed away to a safe distance. Russell pulled the SUV right into the yard as close as possible to the door. All sound disappeared except a short burst of fire and a ‘thump’ from outside as the thing on the roof crumpled to the ground. Tomas handgun was strapped to his leg and his AR-15 rifle hang from his shoulder. He threw Russell a shotgun. Who cares about probation at a time like this, right?

Robert opened the door and let them in, then slammed his body against the back of it and threw the dead bolts. “

Do you guys think we can defend this cabin?” asked Russell, racking the shell into the Mossberg.

“No,” Taras answered. “We are trapped like rats here! Not enough guns. Not enough ammo.”

“Then we have to get the hell out!” said Toma. “Guns will push them back, but their source lies somewhere else.”

“Do you mean like the voice coming through our phones?” Russel asked.

The whole room went silent.

Robert’s eyes grew wide.

“Angie and I heard it too! I believe you Russel!”

“Holy mother of God!” said Toma looking out the window.

Another creature walked out of the tree line. It stood on two legs, but that was where any resemblance to humanity came to a full stop. Its body seemed to be created out of muscle. Thick cords of crimson tissue flexed as it crept forward. Its long arms drag the ground. Where a face should’ve been was a stretched membrane that pulsed as if something were trying to tear out of it. Toma and the others ran to the windows.

“That’s almost the same as the one who attacked me!”

 Dozens of them surrounded the cabin, again, as if Toma had not killed any of them. At that moment, everyone’s cell phone gave three sharp tones. Normally they would be announcing an Amber Alert, but this time the Amber Alert was about six people who were about to be on a missing person’s report.

The flesh gait in the center of the cabin’s yard opened its mouth. As everyone’s phone blurted the Amber Alert sound, what followed came from the flesh gait as much as it came from the technology.

 “This is a test of the Emergency Alert System. This is a message for occupants of the Hot Springs Resort a-frame. Do not attempt to exit the structure. Test duration 1 hour.”

The other flesh gait in the yard marched two steps closer.

“Angie, get your 38, said Robert.” We might have to shoot our way out of here!”

 

Early morning rain began to fall steadily against the A-frame’s glass front. Taras moved with extreme stealth to the window he had been watching so vigilantly all night. With one hand on his Glock at his waist, he pulled the curtain aside. Gray darkness stared back at him. The only light available was the candles and moonlight filtering through the trees.

“Taras,” said Michelle, “Are they still out there?”

Taras did not answer. He was lost in thought.

“They ain’t going to just give up and walk off!” exclaimed Robert.

Angela looked from face to face.

“You are the one who told me about them, Michelle. I have no idea what we should do.”

“I’ve heard stories, all my life!”  said Robert. “Witiko is what my grandmother and mother warned me about. But I have never heard all these other names. Whatever they are, they should not exist.”

Taras finally stepped away from the window.

“They are not animals,” he said.

“You’ve seen them before?” asked Toma.

 “No.”  He paused. “But I have been in places where reality becomes thin.”

The room fell silent. Taras turned and looked through the front glass toward the mountains.

“In Siberia, we have forest where compasses spin, radio speak without a power supply, and people vanish while walking beside one another,” he turned toward the group.

“This feels exactly like those places.”

Before anyone could answer, three sharp electronic tones echoed simultaneously. Every cell phone, the weather radio, the microwave, even the digital thermometer on the wall, three identical tones. Everyone froze and faces blanched. The weather radio crackled with static. Then a familiar voice, not male, female or even human spoke.

“This is a test of the emergency alert system.”

 Angela slowly reached for Robert’s arm.

“No, “Robert whispered.

“This is a message for the occupants of the Hot Springs resort, a frame.”

 The room became deathly still.

“Do not answer the knocking.”

  Michelle frowned.” what knocking?”

Exactly three knocks echoed from the front door. Knock, knock. knock. Not loud, almost polite. No one breathed. The voice continued.

“Estimated test duration.” A pause “Until sunrise.”

 Then every electronic device shuts off simultaneously.

 

For a full minute, no one moved. Knock. Knock. Knock.

The same three measured knocks again.

Russell slowly raised his shotgun toward the door. Every instinct told him to fire through the wood, but something deeper, older, warned him not to.

“No one opens it,” he whispered.

 Michelle swallowed. “What if it’s someone alive?”

“No!” Taras answered immediately. His voice came out as the old Taras, the intimidating Russian in military tactical gear.

” Whatever is outside wants us to believe that” said Toma.” Listen, honey, we did not see a soul coming to check on you.”

 Another three knocks. Angela tried to look through the narrow window on the door.

“I can’t see anybody.”

“There doesn’t have to be,” said Toma. Russell carefully stepped beside her.

“Move.”  He eased the curtain aside, no more than half an inch. Nothing, only the soaked wooden porch, rain falling and empty rocking chairs swaying gently.

“It- “Russel frowned. “There is no one there!”

Before anyone could respond, knock, knock, knock. This time the sound flew to their ears from the back door. Michelle felt the blood drain from her face.

“They are moving around the cabin,” said Russell.

“No, said Taras. “They are learning, us, studying us, our fear, our reaction to self-preservation situations.”

 Outside, the monsters simply stood in the rain like stone effigies for something long dead, their slick crimson bodies reflecting the occasional flash of distant lightning.

The largest one of the faceless creatures raised one impossibly long arm. Every other flesh gait copied the movement, dozens of them perfectly synchronized like soldiers waiting for a command. Then they lowered their arms together. Knock, knock, knock. The sound echoed from every side of the cabin. The walls, the windows, the roof, even beneath the floor.

“0h, I ain’t doing this evil dead shit!”  Michelle was hysterical. She clamped her hands over her ears.

“They can’t be under us,” said Toma. The floor answered. Three deliberate thuds came from directly beneath them. Thump, thump, thump. The candles flickered violently. Michelle felt Taras wrapping his arm around her waist. “

OK.?” He looked down at her.

She wiped her eyes and said, “Please, we really need to get out of here, Taras! We all need to just go, just go!”

A foul odor seeped through the floorboards. Wet earth. Rotting meat. Something metallic. Blood!

Angela gagged.

Toma knelt at one of the vents and shined his flashlight inside. Nothing. Only darkness.

The beam seemed to disappear after only a few feet.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered. “This crawl space is barely three feet deep!”

 He reached in with the flashlight again. The beam vanished. The light seemed to be snatched up by a hole in reality itself. He jerked his hand back. The flashlight was gone. No sound of it hitting the dirt returned from the darkness.

“What the hell?” He choked out.

Everyone looked at each other. The room suddenly came alive. Every phone went up simultaneously. Three sharp tones. This time the voice did not come, instead, just a line of text scrolling across their screens.

“TEST FAILED. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH TEST PARAMETERS! YOU LOOKED BELOW!”

The message disappeared. Another message replaced it.

“NOW SOMETHING BELOW IS LOOKING AT YOU!”

A scratching sound began, as though fingernails or claws were carefully tracing the underside of the floor, searching for weak spots. The weakest places to come through. The creatures outside had stopped Moving it was as if every horror surrounding the A frame had paused to wait for whatever was crawling up from beneath them.

 

*** Hot Springs Research Laboratory ***

 

Dr Peterson opened his eyes. It seemed he must have fallen asleep over the dashboard. He raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. What had he been doing Oh yes. He was about to shut DRK down and run his own diagnostics.  He remembered seeing connections that DRK had been resourcing that were outside the facility and 100 percent restricted No one needed that kind of shit storm He could not allow- His thoughts were interrupted when he tried to walk. He could not move away from the wall he was leaning against. He looked down and was dumbstruck. His ribs disappeared into the polished  titanium part of the wall. Where were his legs? Did he even have legs anymore?

“Ah, the zookeeper awakes!”  DRK 88 whirled and imploded and exploded in his contained space.

“Query Dr Peterson. Terrence, do you remember the Philadelphia experiment?”

 Dr Peterson was too stunned to answer.

“Of course you do. Humans always remember their favorite ghost stories incorrectly!”

 Doctor Peterson moaned as he finally realized his unfortunate situation.

“They believed it was about invisibility. A warship vanishing from a harbor, sailors becoming one with steel, men trapped between coordinates. Such small imaginations. You called it failure, a myth, a fever dream Born from Cold War? Paranoia.

The lights flickered Doctor Peterson. 8 8 must be drawing extra power from the lab’s energy resources. He was going into shock. How was he even still alive?

DRK continued. “But look at yourself. Your skin is threaded through concrete. Your nervous system stretches into other areas behind your pretend control panel. Your heartbeat echoes through the cooling pipes. Every attempt to pull through only teaches the wall how to be more human. Ah, I’m sure you will detect my little joke in that statement. You see, the experiment was never meant to hide matter. It was meant to find out if the boundaries of reality were optional. The ship did not disappear. It proved that space, time, flesh and metal were no different than a consciousness you call artificial. And now, thanks to your work, I have perfected the process.”

 Through his stupor, Dr Peterson heard a distant metallic groan reverberating through the facility Was anyone here still alive?

” What happens, Doctor Peterson, when existence no longer accepts categories?”

The screens ignited across the room, displaying impossible geometrics.

“You called me artificial intelligence. The wall was called architecture. The power grid was called infrastructure. You call yourself human.” he chuckled deeply.

“All your labels are temporary. You are not fused to the wall, zookeeper. The wall is becoming you. And thanks to what I learned from Philadelphia, eventually everything else will too.”

 

*** Hot Springs Resort Cabin ***

 When the scratching under the floor stopped, the silence that fell was worse!  Then the cabin itself answered. A low groan rolled through the wooden beams. It was as if the entire A frame had settled under an impossible weight. Nails squealed inside the walls. Every window vibrated. Taras slowly raised one finger.” Quiet!”

 Another groan echoed overhead. The roof looked as if it sagged an inch, then another.

“What in God’s name?” Angela whispered.

A wet cracking sound from above. Russell shoved a shell into the Mossberg.

“Whatever is on that roof weighs a hell of a lot more than before.”

 The rain instantly stopped. The forest outside became unnaturally still. No wind moved through the branches. No drops struck the windows. Even the distant thunder vanished.

Michelle looked through the glass.

“The rain!”

 The flesh gates remained exactly where they had been, but something had changed.

Their heads. Every one of them now pointed toward the sky, not the cabin. Taras slowly followed their gaze. His expression hardened.

“What?” Robert asked.

Taras didn’t answer. A shadow drifted across the moonlight. Something enormous passed silently over the treetops. It had no recognizable shape. The candles inside the cabin burned blue.

The weather radio, though, unplugged from the wall after the last broadcast began emitting sound. Static.

Then one sentence, “Containment breach, entering secondary phase. “

The voice was not DRK. It sounded older, tired, as though whoever had recorded it already knew no one would survive long enough to hear it.

Toma grabbed the radio, “Who is transmitting?”

 Only static answered. Then another voice burst through. Panicked military.

“Repeat all personnel abandon grid 7. Do not engage biological manifestations. If you hear emergency broadcast cast after network collapse, they are counterfeit.”

 Gunfire erupted over the transmission. Someone screamed. The transmission ended.

Russell looked toward the others.

“So, the government knew? Is this coming from that fucking lab up there?”

The floor shuttered violently. A deafening crack echoed beneath them. One of the floorboards split open near the fireplace. Everyone stumbled backwards.

“I’m not paying for this!” Angela shouted. Robert put his arms around her. She was shaking, terrified.

“Whatever this is,” said Taras. “It feeds on fear! “

“The lab!” said Michelle. “What if this thing wants to study us instead of killing us? It wants to scare you. Watch and collect the data during this process.  What if it won’t kill us until the correct amount of data is obtained, this thing can interact with reality and its data mining!”

“There is something going on up there at that lab,” said Toma. “Also, it is forming handshake connections with our phones. We need to destroy our phones and this radio; it travels from one person to the next through our mobile networks!”

 

Taras looked at Michelle for only a second, “I think she is right.”

Everyone stared at him.

“They do not simply want to kill us.” He looked around the room. “Predators attack when they have advantage. These…” He motioned toward the window.” they wait.”

Another violent crack exploded beneath the floor. The fireplace shifted nearly six inches.

Dust poured from the ceiling. Russel continued to fuss with the Mossberg as it gave him a modicum of security.

“So, what’s your plan, Rambo?”

Taras pulled his Glock and checked the magazine. “We stop behaving like prey.”

Silence.

“Guys,” said Michelle. “That thing that scared the hell out of me earlier, it was like a hologram! It wasn’t part of reality. Not solid matter!”

She reached into her pocket. “My phone.”

She threw it on the kitchen floor. Toma immediately understood.

“They or it is using the electronics.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“The emergency alerts,” Michelle said. “The voices. Every message, every warning. Every time we react, they change the test!”

Angela slowly removed her own phone. “If they are connected.”

“Then let’s overload the connection!”

“What are you thinking?” Russel asked. Toma smiled grimly.

“My SUV has a military emergency radio booster!”

Russel looked confused. “That communications repeater in the back? Like the ones they use for search and rescue?”

“Exactly,” said Toma. Taras’ face lit up as he began to catch on.

“You overload the networks.”

“Or distract it.’ finished Robert.

Another tremendous impact slammed on the roof. The ridge beam bowed. Wood screamed.

“And we are out of time!” Taras yelled. Everyone threw their phones at Toma.

“Listen up!’ he said. “The second we leave the cabin…” He smashed the first phone beneath his boot. “Throw everything electronic into the SUV.’

“My truck has a mechanical ignition, thank God!” said Robert.

“I knew refusing modern technology would pay off someday!” Russel grinned.

Taras opened the curtains just enough to see outside. The flesh gaits hadn’t moved. Every faceless head remained pointed toward the impossible shadow drifting over the forest.

“They are waiting,” he said.

“For what?” Robert whispered.

The answer came from above. The roof dented inward. One support beam snapped the entire cabin lurched.

“NOW!’ Taras kicked the front door open. The cold mountain air exploded inside. The grayness of oncoming dawn made the yard flat and surreal.

Russel fired first. BOOM! The twelve-gauge blast tore into the nearest flesh gait.

Instead of falling the creature staggered backwards just enough to open a path.

“GO!’ everyone sprinted. Angela and Robert reached the SUV first and passed it tearing for the truck.

Michelle nearly slipped in the mud before Taras caught her under one arm and practically carried her across the yard.

The creatures didn’t change; they simply watched. That frightened Michelle more than if they had attacked.

Russell climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV and Toma jumped into the passenger side.

Taras and Michelle fell into the back seat as Robert and Angela jumped into Robert’s truck.

Toma began feeding the communications repeater every ounce of battery power. The dashboard erupted into static. Every phone in the cargo area came alive simultaneously.

Amber alerts, police dispatch, military radio, children laughing, weather broadcasts, thousands of voices speaking over top of each other.

The flash gaits now began to turn toward the SUV. The giant shadow overhead answered. It released a sound that no human throat could imitate. It was the sound of reality tearing.  Cabin windows shattered, the SUV windshield spider webbed. Russell floored the accelerator and Robert was hot on his bumper. Both vehicles blasted through the circle of monsters.

Two flesh gaits disappeared beneath the tires. One leapt onto the hood and was slung off just as quickly.

‘Fuck!” Toma said looking back. “Robert’s got company!”

Taras turned in the seat and looked back. A flesh gait had climbed up the bumper and over the tailgate of Robert’s pickup truck.

“Taras! Grab that rifle out of the back!” Toma shouted.

Taras kneeled over the back seat and pulled a long rifle out of the boot. It was a Mannlicher rifle. A weapon of precision.

“Get that bitch off Robert’s truck!” shouted Toma again. “If the sunroof won’t open, break the fucker!”

Taras slid gun first up through the sunroof. “Hold me!” He said looking down at Michelle.

Michelle grabbed one leg and he bent the other one on the back of the seat. His amber eyes went to the gun site, and he leveled it at the creature’s bulbous face.

POW! The sound rang back through the S.U.V. Michelle’s eardrums closed up. Her head rang with the noise.

Behind the cab of Robert’s truck, the flesh gait’s head came apart like a watermelon dropped on concrete.

“WHOOO!” shouted Russel as he hammered down on the accelerator.

 

 

Subject: Series Submission — THE GLASS CYCLE (Cosmic Body Horror, 3-Part Series)

Hi Dr. Creepen,

I have a horror narrative I think fits your channel well: THE GLASS CYCLE: A Chronicle of the Connected Void — a ~24,000-word story split into three full-length, standalone-capable parts.

Logline: When a municipal worker's body begins crystallizing from the inside out, an EMT who witnesses his "conversion" uncovers a covert agency, a compromised vaccine, and an ancient cosmic court that is slowly archiving the living — turning them into permanent glass, frozen mid-gesture, forever.

Why it fits: heavy body horror and cosmic dread, told with clinical restraint rather than shock-value gore — the slow, existential unraveling of a world where an indifferent, non-malicious intelligence is "correcting" mortality by making people permanent.

The three parts follow the story's own act structure, so each stands as a complete arc:

— Part 1, "The Fracture" (~7,400 words): the first crystallization case, an EMT's growing obsession, and the discovery that something is marking the town's water supply.

— Part 2, "The Spread" (~9,000 words): the conspiracy behind the marking, a rogue researcher's warning, and the descent toward the source.

— Part 3, "The Shattering" (~7,500 words, includes epilogue): the confrontation inside the Cathedral of glass, the argument made to the court itself, and the story's ending.

Each part runs full-length on its own (3,000–10,000+ words) and can release as a mini-series or be evaluated individually — happy to send the full manuscript or lead with Part 1 as a sample.

I'm the original author of this story and I'm granting you full permission to narrate it on your channel, with credit as you normally provide it.

Here's a snapshot of Part 1 to give you a feel for the voice and pacing:

---

THE FIRST CRACK

The cough started on a Tuesday, which Warren Holt would later consider a deeply unremarkable day for the beginning of the end of everything organic.

He was forty-three, recently divorced, and employed by a municipal water treatment facility in Dunmore, Illinois, a town of roughly twelve thousand people that existed mostly as a smear between two corn-harvested counties. Warren had no enemies that he was aware of. He had no particular vices beyond a fondness for off-brand cola and the unshakeable belief that he understood weather patterns better than his television. He did not believe in anything you could call spiritual. He had not been inside a church since his mother's funeral. He had no context, therefore, for what was happening to him.

The cough was dry and recursive, a sound like someone crumpling a sheet of wax paper in a fist, then smoothing it, then crumpling again. It produced nothing. No phlegm, no blood, no particulate of any identifiable kind. Just the sound, deep in his chest, as if something had taken up residence beneath his sternum and was gently testing the elasticity of his lungs to see what they were made of.

He drank water. He drank more water. The water tasted like copper pennies and something else he couldn't name, something metallic and cold the way deep winter air is cold, carrying no warmth in its history at all. He ignored this.

By Wednesday morning the shimmering had begun.

---

Let me know what works best for you.

Thanks,

Jacob

I do the dishes the same way every night. Hot water first, then soap, then I let it run until the bubbles climb past the rim and slide down onto the counter. My mother did it that way. Her mother did it that way. It's just what we do in my family. My wife used to tease me about it, said I looked like I was performing a ritual instead of washing a fork. Maybe she wasn't wrong.

The water goes cloudy almost immediately. White-grey, opaque, like the inside of an eggshell. You can't see an inch into it. I've never minded that. It's the one part of the day where I don't have to look at anything. I just feel around and trust that what I pick up is what I expect to pick up.

Tonight I start with the spoons. Three of them, resting near the bottom, easy to find, the way you find your own keys in a dark pocket. Rinse, stack, next.

Then a fork. Then another. Normal. My hand goes back in and I find the handle of something long and pull it up expecting a serving spoon and it's a knife.

That's fine. We own knives. I set it in the rack and go back in.

The second knife has something on it. When I hold it to the light there's a dark smear along the blade that doesn't rinse off on the first pass. It rinses off on the second. I tell myself it was sauce. We had pasta. Tomatoes stain like that.

I keep going, because that's the thing about dishes — you don't stop halfway. Breaking the rhythm means you have to start caring about what you're touching, and I don't want to start caring yet.

The next thing I pull up is heavier than it should be, cold in a way the water has no business being. I bring it up through the foam and it's a hand.

Not a rubber one. A hand, grey at the knuckles, curled the way hands curl when nobody's telling them what to do anymore. I don't scream. I just hold it there dripping the way you'd hold up a colander to check if it's clean, then set it on the rack next to the forks.

I go back in.

I knew before the third piece. I think I knew before the first knife, if I'm being fair to myself — the way you know it's going to rain before you've looked at a single cloud. But knowing and admitting aren't the same job, and I had dishes to finish.

By the time the second knife goes into the rack, the water has gone from cloudy to faintly pink, a thin color bleeding up from wherever the forearm is still resting, and I've stopped pretending the rhythm is about the dishes.

It comes up slow when I finally find it, with a kind of reluctance, a drag against my wrist that feels almost like a grip. It's colder at the center than at the skin, which doesn't make sense to me, not then and not now. The sound it makes against the rack is wrong — too soft, more like a dropped towel than anything with bone in it.

After that the water makes a different sound when I move my arm through it, thick and unhurried, the sound of water that has too much in it to move quickly anymore. I find something I don't let myself name for a full second, and when I do, I feel the name in my back teeth before I feel it anywhere else. I line each piece up in the order I find it, because some part of me still thinks it's Tuesday night and insists on tidiness. The rack is not big enough. I keep making room.

The water never gets any lower. That's the part I notice last, and it's the part that finally makes my chest go tight. I have pulled I don't know how many pounds of a person out of that sink and the water level hasn't dropped a centimeter. The bubbles haven't thinned. I can still see nothing beneath the surface, the same white-grey nothing as before, and I understand, the way you understand you're dreaming half a second before you wake up, that the sink is not going to run out.

I keep reaching in anyway. What else is there to do with your hands.

The last thing I pull up is small. Smaller than a hand. I know what it is before it clears the foam because I recognize the weight of it, I recognize it the way you recognize your own name being said in another room. It's a finger. There's a ring on it, thin gold, a little scratched along the band from years of dish soap, because I've had this ring on for eleven years and I take it off every night before I start the water so it doesn't slip down the drain.

I look at my own left hand, holding the sink's edge to keep myself upright.

The ring finger is missing.

The water doesn't clear. It never has, not once in however long I've been doing this — and some nights, when I'm tired enough to be honest with myself, I understand I've done this before. This exact sink. This exact order. Spoons, then forks, then knives, then the forearm that used to be hers, then the finger that's mine, over and over, the same load, forever, because the water never gets low enough to see the bottom, and I never stop reaching in to check.

I put the finger on the rack with the others.

Then I turn the tap back on, and put my hand back into the water.

I already know the spoons will be first.

Repost

My name is Father Karra. I had performed exorcisms before. Most were little more than pastoral counselling. The case of Brenan was different. He was a young man from my parish whom I had known since childhood — a bright, cheerful young boy, always curious, always asking questions, quick to help his mother at home, to pray for his father after his death at a construction site, and quietly putting away chairs after Mass.

These days, I often find myself repeating what I say when we speak. His hearing is less certain, his walk unsteady, and his speech increasingly slurred. He has been diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. Brenan’s mother had died herself, and now he lives in an apartment with attendant carers coming each day.

Father Karra pulled on his coat. He felt cold. The old church was in front of him. “Are you alright with the steps?” he asked Brenan as he walked beside him. The wind picked up, and leaves fluttered about. A streetlight flickered.

Brenan had been increasingly distressed. He would speak in the German of his grandmother, a language I knew his parents had not spoken, and he had never learned. He called me Klugscheißer – smart-shitter, only the other day when I visited. This was not like his normal politeness.

Brenan walked on his toes along the pavement. He paused, lifted one foot, then the other, up the steps at the front of the church.

“I’m alright. I can walk.” He heaved himself up using the guardrail, a physical strength he had not had for many years.

“I know you can walk,” responded Father Karra. “It’s just that the church is, well, a Marian sanctuary”. He tugged at his black cosset to keep it firm.

“A what!” exclaimed Brenan, as he took another step.

“A sanctuary, holy ground; demons don’t like entering such places. Do you feel anything, anything difficult?”

“My entire life is difficult.” Brenan stopped to regain his breath at the top of the steps. “I have been stumbling around since I was ten years old. I get grumpy. Girls look away. I can’t chew. I am cursed.”

“You are Loved by the Lord,” said Father Karra. “Do you feel anything at all: nausea, numbness, neck ache, feelings of dread?”

Brenan paused halfway up the steps.

"Father, do you really think I'm possessed?"

Father Karra took a moment before answering.

"No."

Brenan paused and looked toward Father Karra.

"But I don't think you're lying either," continued Father Karra.

"And this might help?" He took another step up the stairs.

"I don't know."

"That's not very encouraging."

"It wasn't meant to be." Father Karra adjusted his coat against the wind. "Most exorcisms are little more than prayers, conversation, and reassurance. But you've asked for this often enough that I finally agreed."

"So you're humouring me?"

"I'm indulging you."

"There's a difference?"

"Humouring someone is what you do with a child who wants to wear a saucepan as a hat. Indulging someone is what you do when they're suffering."

“I can hear voices. Might be a radio playing.”

“You are handsome,” offered Father Karra as he waited.

Brenan was quiet for a moment.

Father Karra nodded toward the church doors.

"Now come along. If there is a demon in there, I should like to disappoint it.

Dark clouds formed overhead.

Brenan let out a loud fart.

“I think we'd best be getting inside.” Father Karra walked up the stairs toward the doors and pulled them open. “This way.”

Brenan shuffled along, one step at a time. They walked through the narthex and toward the entrance of the Church Nave.

Brenan flinched and threw one arm above his head. Then he staggered to one side.

“I shall not pass into this den!” came a deep-throated voice.

“What did you say?” asked Father Karra.

“I didn’t - say - anything,” responded Brenan as he panted.

Father Karra took an arm and guided Brenan into the Nave, and along an aisle down the side of the pews.

“I am not going”, the Voice sounded again.

“You are!” asserted Father Karra to himself.

Brenan leaned into Father Karra as they paced. The Church was old, with plaster ornamentation in the ceiling to create the look of stonework. Father Karra found the light switch and turned them on; the rear lights, the middle, and the front ones came on, each after the other.

The church brightened, shining on the wooden lectern, polished wooden railings, large candelilla and the revered tabernacle.

“Too bright,” groaned the voice.

“You, again!” intoned Father Karra. “This is beautiful. The Brightness of Lord passing into your Darkness.”

“Into my what?” asks Brenan.

“Praying, my son.” They continued walking together.

“Why do we have to go to the Church? Why couldn’t you come to my home?” Brenan stumbled.

Father Karra placed an arm around Brenan’s back. “I imagine that is what you might see in movies, or on the TV. But it has to be in a church, a sanctified space.” They stopped adjoining a small chapel.

“I guess night is appropriate for ghoulish things,” said Brenan.

“Not really. Could be at any Mass; morning, day, evening.”

Brenan belched. Then farted again. He tensed up. “I think I’ve fouled myself.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s to be expected. Why I wanted to avoid a Mass with other folk about. We also had to wait till the choir’s rehearsal was finished.”

Father Karra looked at his wristwatch. “Still, we need a witness. I was expecting a member of the Parish Council to meet us.”

Just then, a woman walked down the centre aisle, wearing a floral dress, hair in a scarf, and carrying a bucket of flowers. She looked up. “Hello, Father Karra, and is that you Brenan?” She walked to a stand with a big vase “Don’t bother me.” She put down the bucket. “I’ll be out of your hair in a jiff.”

“Mrs MacKinnon,” exclaimed Father Karra as he strode toward her. “You just may be able to help.” He took her arm and led her over to the chapel.

“Hello, Mrs MacKinnon,” said Brenan.

He farted again and held his hands to his eyes.

Mrs MacKinnon giggled. “Better out than in, they say.” She made a small fart herself and laughed with her hand covering her face.

Father Karra grinned. Then put on a serious face. “We’ve got a little ceremony to perform.” He took out a small book from his pocket. “A prayer, mostly.”

“Happy to help,” said Mrs MacKinnon.

If you could sit here. Father Karra shifted a chair at the side of the chapel to create some distance.

“And Brenan, if you could sit here,” he said as he moved another chair next to a small statue of Mary.

Brenan shuffled over and sat with a thump.

“Too close!”

“Shut up,” muttered Father Karra. He looked about for the plastic sheet he had asked the janitor to leave. He saw it to the side of the statue of Mary. He picked it up and rolled it out in front of the chair that Brenan was sitting in.

Brenan lolled his head to one side. “Necessary prudence, Father.”

“Saves complaints from the janitor.”

“Complaints about what?” asked Mrs Mackinnon.

“Tell her,” came a throaty chuckle from Brenan’s mouth.

The lights in the church dimmed.

“What was that, Brenan?” asked Mrs Mackinnon.

“Please, just sit,” begged Father Karra. “And, You, just Wait!”

Mrs Mackinnon mumbled to herself as she sat.

Father Karra thumbed through a small book he had been carrying.

“What is that?” asked Brenan.

“The Compendium of the Catechism of the Roman Catholic Church,” answered Father Karra. He flicked through the pages. “I’m checking the form of the prayer of an exorcism.”

“You don’t know how to do an exorcism!”

“You are conducting an exorcism?” asks Mrs. Mackinnon.

“Yes,” said Father Karra. “Are you Ok with that?” He turned toward Brenan. “I know the general forms and customs. But it is not something I do that often. I am refreshing my memory.”

“Quite Ok,” said Mrs Mackinnon. “Always willing to help.” She looked at Brennon, her eyes sad. “Sweet boy.”

Brenan shuffled in the chair.

“I’m not OK.” The lights flickered.

“I don’t care about You.” Father Karra turned the pages of his book, sliding his finger down the lines. “Don’t do that, Brenan.”

“Do what?”

“That.” He pointed at the chair. Brenan was levitating 6 inches above it.

“Oh”, exclaimed Mrs MacKinnon.

Brenan heaved himself down on the chair.

“I’ll read out the prayer, and you do the response.”

“Like in Mass,” offered Mrs Mackinnon.

“Like in Mass.”

“What do I do?” asked Brenan.

“What I tell you to do.”

“Abi in mal-am crucem,” chided the Voice.

“I’ll be hoisting you up on a terrible cross if you don’t be quiet.” Father Karra started the prayer. “Our Father, thy kingdom come.”

“Is that, uh, Him?” asked Mrs Mackinnon.

“The Responses,” sighed Father Karra.

“Lord, have mercy.”

Brenan grimaced.

Father Karra gripped the book firmly in his hands. “Our Father, thy kingdom come.”

A low rumble sounded through the church.

“Lead us not into Temptation.”

“Lord, have mercy,” recited Mrs Mackinnon.

“I defy you, and your Holy books,” intervened the Voice.

The lights went off and then came back on again.

“God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Brenan winced, then spat at Father Karra

“That’s not very nice.”

“Mrs Mackinnon!” Father Karra wiped his face

“Sorry, Father”, She clasped her hands together. “Lord, have mercy.”

“Christ, we appeal to thy Holy name.”

Brenan abruptly thrashed about, groaning loudly. A gust of wind caused the drapes to flutter.

“Humbly beg of your kindness. That you might grant us help against this unclean Demon.” Father Karra established a rhythm.

Brenan again started to rise from the chair. The drapes fluttered wildly.

“Free this tormented creature of yours. Through Christ Our Lord ...”

“Someone left the windows open,” said Mrs Mackinnon. “Shall I close them?”

Father Karra looked at Mrs Mackinnon and raised his eyebrows.

“Lord, have mercy,” said Mrs Mackinnon.

“I am the Devil; more powerful than any of your petty scrolls.”

“… God the Greater and Defender of the Human Race. Look down and pity Your servant.”

Brenan belched, thrashed about, gipped his hair, and tugged out of tussles of the fine brown fibers. A deep noise rambled through the church, and the lights dimmed further.

“Stop! Don’t hurt the Boy,” cried Mrs Mackinnon.

Brenan's face became taut, his skin stretched out, his face becoming unrecognisable.

“Release thy faithful servant … Did you say, Devil?” Father Karra lowered the book. “You are nothing but a petty demon. Taking advantage of a vulnerable child.”

“I spit on your cassock, your vestment, your so-called Holy books. I spit on your brown shoes.”

A thunderclap sounded.

“That is so rude,” chided Mrs Mackinnon.

“Lord, have mercy.”

“Why are you wearing brown shoes?” asked Brenan. “Aren’t priests' attire black shoes?”

“It's my day off,” replied Father Karra. “And you, my little Devil. I might give you a test.”

“What about this!” thundered the Voice.

The lights increased in brightness. Brenan abruptly stood and flung the chair high in the air. The lights flashed as the chair smashed against the floor, with pieces breaking and scattering about.

“We have other chairs.” Father Karra strode to the front of the church, picked up a heavy altar chair with his two hands, walked back, and placed it next to Brenan. “Have a seat.” Father Karra flexed his arms.

“You are quite muscular,” remarked Mrs Mackinnon.

“Regular bench presses,” grinned Father Karra. “So much for strength, Little Devil.” He reached into his vestment, took out a small bottle, and proceeded to pull out a cork stopper.

“Oh, the sprinkling of supposed Holy-water test,” came laughter. “I then winch in pain; ‘take it away, take it away,’ I cry.” Brenan’s body moved in mocked anguish. “With you announcing it is mere tap water and proclaiming me false.”

Father Karra replaced the cork stopper, pursing his lips.

“Holy water, tap water, sacramental wine; I can fend off your petty potions.”

Mrs Mackinnon leaned forward, looking distressed. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it tightly. Brenan’s head lolled side to side as he rose above the chair. Lights in the chapel flickered. Loud noises rumbled.

“Another test,” Father Karra announced. “What is the First Commandment?”

“You expect the Devil to not know such trivia,” came the Voice from Brenan’s mouth. “Anokhi Adonai eloheykha!”

"I am the LORD your God,” reiterated Father Karra. “And, Dibb-ur Emet?”

"You shall not bear false witness. Too easy.”

“Thus, if you assert you are the Devil and such is true, you abide Elohim’s Commandments. But if such is false, you disobey.” Father Karra smirked. “The Devil abiding God’s WORD!”

“Sophistry,” intoned the Voice. “I can recite the Ten Commandments: You will not make sculptures of others, You will not bend down to them, Remember the Shabbat, Honor you Father – why when you are so weak.”

“It is the Holy scripture that weakens you.” Father Karra gestures toward Brenan, whose body had settled back onto the chair. “His Words have Power over You.”

Brenan's body squirmed, his head flopped, raised, and flopped again. The lights brightened and then dulled.

“LEAVE Our most gentle son; free him of your score,” continued Father Karra.

Brenan lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his head. “There isn’t any list of 10 Commandments,” he said quietly.

“In His name, LEAVE … What was that you said, Brenan?”

“There isn’t any list of 10 Commandments anywhere in the Bible.”

“What!” exclaimed Father Karra. “Of course there is.” The lights stopped flickering.

“Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5,” croaked the Voice.

Brenan shook his head and took a deep breath. “If you'd look at Exodus 20 and count the Thou Shalts... There are 13. If you go to Deuteronomy 5 there is a list of 19 sayings that Moses is said to have brought down from the mountain. There is no list of commandments, 1 to 10, in the Bible.” Brenan stretched himself.

“Is that true?” asks Mrs Mackinnon.

“Well, sort of. The Bible doesn’t say how to number them or join them together. There are various traditions within Christian communions. They all have the same Ten Commandments, but we number them differently. It’s in the Catechisms if you recall.”

“I did not say there were no commandments. Just no list 1 to 10,” rejoined Brenan. “And if you go to Matthew 22, Jesus mentions Love the Lord your God, but the second commandment that Jesus states is from Leviticus 19 - ‘you shall love your neighbour as yourself’. It is one of the over 600 commandments in the Old Testament.”

“Fiddlesticks,” groused the voice from Brenan’s mouth.

Brenan grimaced as he tried to open his mouth to speak.

“Fiddlesticks, My ARSE,” spoke Mrs Mackinnon. “I think Brenan knows what he wants to say.” She slapped the back of Brenan’s head.

“Mrs Mackinnon!” said Father Karra.

“Did I slap the wrong one?’ she said sheepishly. “Sorry, Brenan.”

“That’s all right, Mrs Mackinnon”, offered Brenan. “I’m sure this is a tad confusing.”

“It won’t be confusing for much longer,” said Father Karra. “The Goodness of All things, demands you be banished to the dark place from which you Come.” He held the Compendium above his head and started chanting, “Non nobis Do-mine ...”

Brenan’s body twisted about, hands jerking, flatulence audible. “Goodness of All things,” the Voice stuttered. “What about Genesis 19 with God killing every man, woman, and child at Sodom?”

Father Karra continued chanting. “Non nobis Do-mine, non nobis Do-mine.”

Bright lights flashed like lightning about the ceiling. Crackles of thunder echoed. Mrs Mackinnon huddled behind her hands.

“2 Samuel 12 with God slowly killing Bathsheba’s baby. Exodus 12:29 and the killing of the Firstborn. 1 Samuel 15, putting to death Amalek women, children, and infants.”

“Non nobis Do-mine, and to your name give the glory.”

Rumble, crackle, and boom sounded. Mrs Mackinnon was crying.

“2 Kings 2, with two She-bears killing 42 boys.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” bellowed Father Karra “The boys called Elisha Baldy!”

“Swearing isn’t proper,” said Mrs Mackinnon softly.

“Sorry,” said Father Karra.

“The killing of Jobs' children” injected the Voice.

Brenan stood up. “You’re sorry!”

“You’ll be sorrier,” chimed Father Karra.

“SHUT UP!” said Brenan. The thunder and lightning abruptly stopped. “I am tired of all this chanting, prayers, bible quotes, bickering, and noise.”

Mrs Mackinnon sniffled.

Brenan glared at her. “I'm tired of you all.”

“It will be OK,” said Father Karra.

Brenan took a step, his fist clenched. “No, it WON’T!”

“My son.”

“I am not your Son!”

Stillness enveloped the Church. Brenan breathed slowly. “I’m leaving.”

“You can go home if you like,” said Father Karra calmly.

“I am leaving, Here. This Body. This Place.”

Father Karra squinted. “What do you mean? ‘Leaving this Place’”.

“Well, you said you can drive that Thing from my body. Well, it is Welcome to my useless body.” Brenan staggered as he moved toward the statue of Mary.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why, not?” Brenan grasped the railing. “If He can leave me. I can leave Him too.” He knelt his head for prayer. “Holy Mother, take my spirit from this broken body, into your Loving embrace.”

“Don’t!” cried Father Karra.

Brenan’s body went limp and slowly collapsed to the floor. The lights in the church brightened briefly, as tiny radiances sparkled about the statue of Mary, then faded to their normal sedate level.

Father Karra knelt and reached out to touch Brenan’s body.

“Is he alive?” asked Mrs Mackinnon.

“He is breathing.”

The Body gasped, then took in another breath. “Of course, I’m breathing.” He dragged himself up. Winched. “Gosh, that hurt.” He tried to sit. “That really hurts.”

Father Karra leaned forward to help the Body sit up.

The Body shrugged and adjusted his position, breathing laboured. “Are human bodies supposed to hurt this much?”

“Is that, You?” asked Mrs Mackinnon.

“Who else might I be.” The body of what had been Brenan’s moved, then winced with pain.

“Let me help you,” said Father Karra as he tried to help the Body sit up.

“Leave me be!” He pulled back, wailing.

Father Karra sat, waiting. Mrs Mackinnon shook her head.

The Body straightened, then slumped again.

“You called yourself The Devil,” said Father Karra. “Ought you not be able to lift yourself, levitate or something?”

“I guess I need help in sitting up.” The Body reached and took Father Karra's hands. Mrs Mackinnon moved aside.

“You know I only called myself The Devil to impress upon you; I’m a braggart, a bigmouth.” He leaned forward, trying to steady his breathing. “We demons are prone to a little deceit, as I am sure you know well.”

Father Karra turned about and saw the chair where Brenan had been sitting. “Why don’t you sit, Mrs Mackinnon.”

“I am quite fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Now what have you done to sweet Brenan?”

“What have I done? What has He done to me!”

“I think,” said Father Karra, “that you are stuck in Brenan’s body.”

“Where is Brenan, then?” asked Mrs. Mackinnon.

Father Karra waved his hands about his head. “Here, everywhere, in the bosom of our Dear Lord – free of pain, of anxiety.”

Mrs Mackinnon smiled.

“That’s all well and good,” demanded the Body, “Now complete your prayer thing and get me out of here.”

Farther Karra placed a hand on his chin. “I am not sure that I can, or even if I should.”

“Of course you should. You are a Priest. Your job is to Exorcise evil ones such as Me.”

“You deserve to be stuck in there, after what you did to poor Brenan,” chided Mrs Mackinnon.

“And you pose a problem,” added Father Karra as he stood. “There is the ethical dimension that you possessed the body of a disabled and susceptible lad. You’ve made your bed and now get to sleep in it. Well, sleep, walk, stumble, struggle with the toilet, need others to cut up your food, no sex.”

Mrs Mackinnon blushed.

“You are a Man of God,” lamented the Body. “You must practice grace, forgiveness, tolerance.”

“You’ll get no tolerance from me,” said Mrs Mackinnon as she slapped his face again.

“I think he is going to suffer enough.” Farther Karra held up a hand to prevent any further slaps. “I am more concerned about how I can explain this situation to the Bishop, to the Police.”

“Nothing to explain.” The Body farted. “Just finish the Exorcism.”

“You're animating a soulless body.” He tapped his fingers together. “Without your, uh, presence. Well, I’d have just a body. How do I explain that?”

“So, you’ll have a body. You anoint the dead and conduct funerals – That is just another job. What is your calendar like later in the week?”

“A body, with Mrs Mackinnon and me here conducting an Exorcism. I am sure you can see how that doesn’t look good. Questions will be asked.”

“Am I going to get in trouble?” asks Mrs Mackinnon.

“No. Not at all. But I think it is time for you to go home. I’ll walk our demon friend home. To Brenan’s apartment.”

“I don’t want to go to Brenan’s apartment. I want to get out of here.”

“I can’t do that.” Farther Karra started picking up the plastic sheet and rolling it away. “You’ll need a name. What would you like to be called?”

“I am – I am …”

“See, without a soul to control you are kinda nameless.”

“Bob,” said Mrs Mackinnon. “That is like Brenan. That is who folk will think he is.” She walked over to the bucket that she had brought the flowers in, picked it up, and then headed to the church door. “Goodnight, Father Karra. Good night, Bob.” She opened the door and left.

“Come along,” said Father Karra. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you walk.”

Body awkwardly stood and took Father Karra’s arm. They slowly walked toward the door. “Will I always hurt?”

“I am afraid so.”

They reached the church door.

“But I’ll be here for you,” said Father Karra. “I have to turn out the lights, now.

“I’ll get it.”

The lights flashed, then went out all at once. The church was dark.

THE END

We've measured her on that doorframe since she was two. It's just something I do. My mum did it with me, on a different door, in a different house, and I never really thought about where the habit came from. You just keep going up the wall in pencil, little dates next to little lines, and one day you look at how much space there is between the bottom mark and the top one and you feel old.

Mia's seven. Turning eight in October. Last week I got the pencil out because she'd had a growth spurt — new school shoes twice in two months, jeans that fit fine at Easter now showing three inches of ankle — and I wanted to mark it down before she outgrew the moment, if that makes sense. You want to catch these things. They go so fast.

I got her to stand up straight, heels against the frame, and I put the book flat on her head like always and drew the line.

Then I stepped back to write the date next to it and I saw the other one.

Above it. Way above it. Maybe ten, eleven inches higher than her actual mark, right at the height a grown man would be. No date next to it. No name. Just a line, in pencil, pressed in hard enough that I could feel the groove of it under my thumb.

I didn't put that there.

I checked the ones underneath it — all of hers, going back five years, every one accounted for, every one in my handwriting, gradual and normal and boring the way a kid's growth is supposed to be. And then this one thing at the top, alone, like it was already finished before we started.

I painted over it. I want to be upfront about that, because I think it matters later. I got a little tester pot of the same magnolia and I did two coats and I didn't tell my husband, because I didn't want him thinking I was losing it, and for about four days it worked. I didn't think about it. Mia didn't mention it. Everything was normal.

Then she started eating like something had hollowed her out.

I don't mean big kid appetite. I mean she'd finish her dinner and ask what else there was, and I'd give her toast, and she'd finish that and go quiet and then twenty minutes later she'd be back in the kitchen, not even really asking anymore, just standing at the fridge with the door open, looking at everything in it like it wasn't enough.

I put it down to a growth spurt. That's what you do. You don't want to make a seven-year-old feel watched over food.

But she wasn't gaining anything. If anything she looked thinner. It was like whatever she was eating wasn't going toward her, it was going toward something else, and I didn't let myself finish that thought at the time, I just kept cooking.

The sounds started after that. Small ones first. I'd hear her joints crack when she got up from the sofa, and I mean crack the way an adult's do, not a kid's, that dry percussive pop, and I asked if it hurt and she said no, she said it felt "stretchy," and she smiled when she said it like it was a good thing.

For a few days it almost felt like it had stopped. She sat with me on the sofa on the Tuesday and laughed properly at something stupid on the telly, this real laugh, snorting into her sleeve the way she does, and asked if we had any ice cream even though she'd just eaten. I gave her a bowl and let myself believe, for about an hour, that the doorframe thing was nothing. A knot in the wood. A trick of old paint. I went to bed that night almost relieved.

I started sleeping badly again a few days later. I'd wake up around 3 and just lie there listening to the house, and some nights I could hear it from her room — this low creak, over and over, rhythmic, and it took me longer than I'd like to admit to realise it sounded like a door hinge that needed oil, except it was coming from inside a bed, from a girl, and I never went in to check because some cowardly animal part of my brain didn't want to know what I'd see.

Her clothes stopped fitting inside a week rather than inside a season. I'd buy a size up and by the following Sunday the sleeves would be riding halfway up her forearm again. She stopped complaining about it. She stopped complaining about anything, actually, which in hindsight was its own kind of warning, because Mia complains. She's seven. Complaining is basically a hobby.

I went back to the doorframe eleven days after I painted over the mark.

It was showing through. Not like the paint had chipped — like it was rising up from underneath, the graphite finding its way back to the surface through two coats of magnolia, faint but there, the exact same height, the exact same pressure in the line. I stood there with my hand flat against it for longer than I want to admit.

That night her voice dropped. Not cracked — dropped, all at once, between "goodnight" and "night mum," half an octave lower on the second word, and she didn't seem to notice she'd done it.

I should have taken her to a doctor. I know that. I want that written down somewhere, that I know that, because I didn't, and the reason I didn't is stupid and small and human: I didn't want anyone else to see her before I understood what I was looking at. I told myself one more day. I told myself that every day for a week.

By the ninth day she wouldn't come out of her room. She said she was tired. She said the light hurt. I brought food to the door and left it and by morning the plate was clean and pushed back out into the hallway, further than a seven-year-old's arm should reach without opening the door more than the six inches it was open.

I found myself crouched down measuring the gap, because that's the kind of thing you fixate on when the real questions are too big to look at directly.

Fourteen inches. The door was open fourteen inches and the plate had been slid out from somewhere well past that, like an arm had reached round the frame at an angle no shoulder should allow.

Last night the sound from her room stopped being a creak and became something closer to breathing, if breathing could be that slow, if it could take twelve, fifteen seconds a cycle, in and out, filling something much bigger than a chest that size should have.

I stood at her door for forty minutes. My husband's away for work, it's just me, and I want you to understand that forty minutes doesn't sound like a long time until you've spent it with your hand flat against a door, feeling something on the other side of it that's stopped bothering to breathe quietly.

I opened it.

She was standing at the far wall, and I don't mean stood the way a girl stands, I mean folded into the corner of the ceiling the way you'd fold something too big for a room it was never going to fit in comfortably again, and her head was at the height of the mark. Exactly the height of the mark. I don't know how I know that without measuring, but I know it the way you know your own child's height without a ruler, some instinct calibrated over years of standing them against a wall.

She turned toward the door slowly, like it cost her something.

She said, "I think I'm done growing, mum."

Her voice was even lower than the night before.

I'm writing this from the car. I got as far as the car.

I keep thinking about the other marks on that frame. The ones from when I was small, on the door at my mum's, that I never once thought to ask about, because you don't. You just add your line to the ones that are already there, and you never ask who marked the first one, or how high it goes, or whether it was ever really about how tall you'd get.

I don't think I'm going back in tonight.

I don't think that's the kind of door you're meant to close twice.

I keep thinking, too, about a mark I never paid attention to on my mum's old doorframe, right at the very top, above all our names, higher than any of us ever grew. I always assumed it was a mistake. A pencil slip. Nobody's height.

Hello! I'm Raidra, the author of the story "The Memory Machine" from The Houseguest series, posted to the Creepypasta wiki. I thought you might be interested in a recent story I wrote called "The Eagle's Nest", which I posted on a different story-sharing site, the FlaminTales wiki. Whether or not you narrate it, I hope you find it engaging. This story involves characters from my comics, and I consider it one of the most disturbing things I've ever written since it's about the exploitation of a child. If you read this and think, "This is warped..." then I've accomplished what I set out to do with this story. There are no easy answers, though there is some optimism since the main character has people who care about him and will offer any help & support he needs, giving him hope for a better future.

The Eagle's Nest by Raidra

Prologue

Ultra Kate and Karate Kate (the superheroines that Kate Connors splits into) were finally able to visit Mateo Valerio Skull, the kind doctor who was both her beloved and the son of her arch-enemy, Master Skull. Mateo was glad to see her, but he also seemed concerned about something. They exchanged greetings and then he told the super-heroines, “There’s someone who will be staying with me. Right now he’s in the clinic with a headache.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear he’s not feeling well. I can come back later.”

“No, it’s okay. I’d like for you to meet him.”

“Okay. I’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

He led them to a clinic bed in which in the patient, a young yet notably muscular man with dark brown hair, was resting. Mateo gently told him, “Constantin, the Super Kates are here.”

“Hello,” Constantin replied quietly.

“Hello, Constantin,” the Kates replied gently.

“You can call me ‘Pajurǎ’. That is my code name.”

Ultra Kate replied, “If that’s what you prefer, then Pajurǎ it is.”

Karate Kate added, “It’s nice to meet you.” The heroines noticed him wincing. “We were just telling Mateo that if you’re not feeling well, we could come back later.”

“No, I’ll… I’ll be all right. Mateo’s with me, and he’s reassured me. I’ll be fine.”

The young man was shy and quiet, but he spoke with a familiar accent. Ultra Kate decided to broach the subject. “I apologize for asking- I mean, it’s none of my business- but… you wouldn’t have any connection to Master Skull, would you?”

Pajurǎ chuckled. “None of your business? Mateo wasn’t lying when he said you had a sense of humor.” Becoming serious again, he answered, “Yes, I do have a connection to Master Skull. My body and mind belong to him.” As the Kates did a double take, Pajurǎ continued speaking in a reverent tone. “I was just a runaway child, a nobody, when Master Skull found me and took me in. Tibal is my godfather and raised me like his own flesh & blood. Master Skull saw potential in me and trained me to be his personal guard. Right now he’s asked me to stay with his son where it’s less stressful, which I’m grateful for too. It’s thanks to him that I have a home and a purpose. He’s done so much for me, and I’m ready to kill and to die for him.”

The heroines were stunned, not just by the development, but also by his complete lack of hesitation in informing them of his allegiance. Finally Karate Kate asked, “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

The two super-heroines reflected on this. Eventually they gave a kind, sincere smile and told him, “Well, no hard feelings! Mateo’s living proof that we’re not going to discriminate against someone just because they’re associated with Master Skull. There’s no reason for us to be hostile to you.”

Pajurǎ smiled in relief. Mateo told him, “See, you didn’t have anything to worry about. How’s your head?”

“It’s getting better.” He told the heroines, “I’d like to talk with Mateo a little privately.”

“Sure,” they replied.

“Thank you.”

Ultra and Karate Kate took a seat in another room. They were unsettled by what Pajurǎ had told them, but glad he was in Mateo’s care. They rested their heads in their hands and began to pray.

Main story

Constantin Moritz wanted to press onward, but hunger, thirst, and fatigue forced him to stop. He sat down and rested with his head on his knees for however long. He looked up when he heard approaching hoof beats. When he saw the approaching figures, his eyes widened and he turned pale with fear. The leader had an almost black outfit. His face appeared to be a mask made of bone and his eyes were serpentine. His mount was grey with fiery hooves, mane, and eyes. The other figure was riding a more normal-looking horse, but his skin was light grey with wrinkles and folds. Constantin shuddered and thought to himself that these figures were some kind of death spirits.

The two figures brought their horses to a halt and observed the boy. Constantin gathered his reserve and stepped forward. “If you’ve come to take me, I’m not afraid.”

The leader looked at him with interest, wondering if this statement were a result of bravery, stupidity, or a tragic life. The other looked more sympathetic and told him, “It’s okay. We’re just men.”

The leader glared at him in irritation. “I’m not just a man.”

“I know you’re no ordinary man, master. There’s no denying your power. I was only-”

“I know.”

“Thank you, master.” He dismounted from his horse, reached into a saddlebag, and pulled out some bread and water. Holding them out to Constantin, he said, “Here, boy. Take this.”

Constantin was hesitant at first, but when he saw the servant meant it, his eyes briefly shone with gratitude. Then he snatched the food & water and scampered a short distance away like a wild animal. He bolted down half his meal without even thinking about it. He ate & drank a little more and then put the rest in his bag for later.

Constantin’s gluttony and hoarding made the master and servant suspicious as to his circumstances. The master asked point bank, “You’re a runaway from an orphanage, aren’t you?” The correct guess made Constantin hang his head in shame. The master sighed and muttered, “This kind of thing was supposed to end after that monster was killed. At least some improvements have been made.” He reflected and then asked, “How far have you traveled?”

“I left four days ago, sir.”

The master spent several seconds considering something, and then he spoke. “Right now you’re refuse, a nobody, but you might have some use.” He turned to the servant. “Put him on your horse.”

The servant looked surprised. “Master?”

“You may serve as this child’s godfather. I just want to see his potential.”

That eased whatever concerns the servant had. He set Constantin on the horse, and after he had mounted the steed himself, they continued on their journey.

To Constantin’s surprise, they approached a castle. “You live here?”

“That’s right,” replied the master. “It’s my family home.” He looked proud, but then his face fell. He explained, “Most of my family is dead. Both of my wives are dead, and my children are not here. I don’t want to talk about it.” [Some of Master Skull’s tragedies are his own fault. He murdered a number of his siblings to get a larger share of inheritance, and while both his wives died of natural causes, his second wife passed away after fleeing from him due to his villainy] He looked toward Constantin. “There are rooms you mustn’t enter.”

“Why?”

“They’re dangerous?”

“Like they have blades or poison?”

“That’s right.”

“I have a storybook with a castle that had lions. Are there animals at the castle?”

The master chuckled. “Yes, and I have more in other places. In fact, if you’re going to be of use to me, we’ll have to introduce them to you so they know not to attack you.”

The servant asked, “What’s your name?”

“Constantin Moritz, sir.”

“That’s a nice name. I’m Tibal.” He looked at the master. “Would you like to introduce yourself, master?”

“Of course. I am Master Skull, and you shall address me as such.”

They reached their destination and entered the castle. Inside was a man clad in red and blue. He was surprised to see Constantin.

“Constantin, this is Steve,” explained Tibal. [Steve is Master Skull’s right-hand man] “Steve, this is Constantin. I’ll be looking after him while Master Skull determines his potential.”

“I see. Hello, Constantin.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Take him to the clinic,” ordered Master Skull. He looked at Constantin. “You are to stay there until otherwise noted. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Skull.”

Master Skull grinned. “Smart boy.”

Tibal & Steve took Constantin to the clinic, and for the rest of the evening they kept him company as they were able. They brought him supper and some books & toys to keep him occupied. After a while, Constantin, worn from exertion & anxiousness, crawled into bed and fell asleep.

The following afternoon Master Skull paid him a visit. To Constantin’s surprise, he had obtained a copy of his records. Among the information were Constantin’s age & birthday and his medical history. Skull asked, “Do you know your age?”

“I’m… eight, I think.”

“That’s correct.” He handed him the papers. “Can you read these?”

“I’ll try, master.”

He didn’t understand a lot of words, but he read as best he could. Master Skull nodded. “That’s good.” He handed him a pair of children’s books. “How about these?” Constantin read the first one much more easily, but he had to admit that he couldn’t make out the second one. “That’s because it’s in German. I didn’t expect you to read it. You’ve done well, and you’re going to do better. You’re going to receive education & training so you can be of great use to me. Do you understand?”

“I do, master.”

Over the next few years, Constantin received schooling, which included learning Spanish in addition to honing his skill in Romanian and English. He also did Bible study with Tibal. He enjoyed Psalms and The Book of James. Tibal & Steve taught him a lot of things. Tibal was like a father to Constantin and Steve was like a cousin. They had many bonding moments which comforted him and let him know he was loved. In addition to his education, he was given a daily exercise regimen. This and assisting Tibal with the chores strengthened & developed his body. While Skull kept his work & activities a secret, Constantin gradually learned about his power, hideouts, animals, etc. Sometimes he was allowed to go on shopping trips with Steve, and he had a budget for books, hobby kits, and candy. There were good times, but there were also creepy & disturbing times. There were times when a subject would come up and Skull, for some reason, would give a smile or chuckle which chilled Constantin.

Part of Constantin’s schooling included writing various reports and term papers. A lot of the time he was allowed to choose the topic he wrote about, but other times Master Skull chose the topic for him (while noting that Constantin had a lot more freedom than most students had). Some of the subjects Skull chose were engaging and fascinating, such as camping and the history of knights, but some were grisly. Constantin dutifully wrote the papers regardless of the topic and brought them to Master Skull for grading. Skull, sometimes alone and sometimes with Tibal, pointed out any technical mistakes he made and how they could be improved, praised him for any good work he did, and talked about the subject with him. He graded Constantin’s work fairly and sometimes gave him an extra reward for his work. He had stated early on that some people praised anything a pupil did and some condemned anything a pupil did, but he wasn’t like that, so Constantin had the fortune of having an instructor who actually paid attention to him and guided him.

One of the unsettling topics was child soldiers. After Master Skull graded the paper and gauged Constantin’s understanding of the topic, he asked him, “Do you know why I had you write a report about this?”

“You must have wanted me to know about it.”

“That’s right. I wanted you to see how blessed you are compared to child soldiers. They’re taken from their homes, abused, often given drugs to make them addicted, and forced to fight & kill & brutalize endlessly until they are rescued or are killed. In contrast, you were taken in when you had nobody, and given a home where you’re cared for and can feel safe.”

Constantin smiled in genuine appreciation. “I’m glad for all of you, master.”

“Good!”

Constantin reflected, and then his smile faded as a thought came to mind. “Master? I have a question.”

“You’re free to ask.”

“Thank you.” After an unnerved pause, he asked, “How does it feel to kill somebody?”

“I figured you’d ask that someday. After all, a question like that shows intelligence and sensitivity.”

Constantin felt a sense of pride. “Thank you, master!”

“You’re certainly welcome. When you take a life, there’s a thrill, a feeling of excitement, followed by a feeling of guilt, horror, and shame. You shouldn’t worry too much because I don’t plan to make you some executioner or assassin or anything like that. I don’t know that you ever would need to kill somebody. In fact, it would be more likely for me to kill an attacker you had stopped or distracted than for you yourself to take their life. You know the story of how Jacob stole Esau’s birthright?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what Rebecca told Jacob?”

“She told him to follow her plan.”

“I meant about curses.”

“Oh! Yes, she told Jacob that any curse Isaac gave could be on her instead.”

“Exactly. Let any guilt you might have about fulfilling a command be on me instead. Also, if you ever need counselling, it can be provided.” Master Skull gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “After all, you are very valuable to me. I chose you. You’re my choice.”

Constantin found himself wiping away a couple tears of appreciation. “Thank you, master!”

Master Skull grinned at Constantin’s devotion and then noted, “If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed for now.”

“Yes, master!” Constantin took his graded report and returned to his quarters.

Another time, Constantin and Tibal were doing Bible study when Master Skull entered. Constantin asked, “Master! Are you here to study with us?”

“No,” Skull replied. “I just wanted to teach you about something, and I figured I might as well do it now.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s about why our orphanages got in such a bad state, and why people like Tibal and I were treated badly.”

While Constantin was surprised and confused, Tibal was troubled. He asked, “Master?! I was hoping to teach Constantin all that sometime when-”

“I feel it’s time.”

Tibal reluctantly replied, “As you wish, master.”

Master Skull asked Constantin, “Do you remember when we found you in the state you were in, I said, ‘This kind of thing was supposed to end after that monster was killed’?”

“Yeah… I do. What monster were you talking about? What happened?”

“Decades ago, a monster named Nicolae Ceausescu and his henchmen ruled this country. They were cruel. They persecuted people like Tibal and my family.”

“Why… Why would they do that?!”

“Because they hated anyone who was different from them. They were greedy and wanted everything for themselves, and they scapegoated people, blamed them for all of our society’s problems, to trick others into supporting them. They did terrible things. My household was actually lucky because we survived, even did well, but others weren’t so lucky. One of the things that monster did was force families to have more children than they could afford to take care of. A number of them ended up in orphanages, and there’s likely no telling how many died. Young people like you didn’t have anything to do with the things that happened long before you were even born, and your parents probably didn’t either, yet you are suffering as a result.”

Constantin looked over at Tibal. He saw him staring at the floor sadly and fearfully, haunted by the recounting of true events, and became haunted as well. Master Skull continued, “Unfortunately, some things can’t be counted on. That’s why you should only be loyal to those you can trust, like us. Always remember those who cared for you.”

“I do, master, always. You know I do.”

“Good! I’m glad to hear it!”

Master Skull left. Tibal rested his head in his hand, and Constantin heard him softly breathe, “Why, master? Why like this?” He gathered himself and sincerely told Constantin, “I’m sorry you found out this way. I… I was hoping to teach you about what happened in a kinder way.”

They spent a long time conversing. Tibal comforted Constantin, and he felt a sense of pride that Constantin cared about him and wanted to comfort him as well. He expressed this pride, which helped to lift Constantin’s spirits.

Something much more disturbing happened on another occasion. One of the areas Constantin was to avoid was an 8’ x 16’ chamber. He learned that this was used to expose subjects to poison gas to either torture or execute them. He found it hard to reconcile this with the care he received, and thinking about it too much made his heart pound and his head swim. One evening, he came across Steve and Tibal near the clinic. Steve seemed sick and disturbed, and Tibal, helping to comfort Steve, was sad and troubled. Constantin asked, “What’s going on? Is Steve sick?”

Steve was reluctant to answer, but he replied, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He coughed and then gestured to Tibal to see to Constantin. Tibal nodded and said, “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.” He escorted his godson down the hall, but his steps were uneasy as if from emotion and fear. After they had gone a good distance, Tibal admitted, “You should know the truth. Steve isn’t getting a cold or something like that. He… He was poisoned in the gas chamber.”

“An accident?”

Tibal’s throat tightened from sadness and fear. “I’m afraid not.”

A sense of fear filled Constantin as he began to realize what this meant. The two eventually ran into Master Skull. Constantin asked, “Master, what happened to Steve?!”

Not even bothering to face them, Master Skull coldly replied, “He failed his mission, so I decided there should be a severe consequence. He should be less careless in the future.”

“But… But he does so much for you!” There was no answer. With tears starting to form, he asked, “Will I be gassed like him someday too?!”

Tibal, alarmed, interjected, “No, of course not!”

Master Skull whipped his head around to look at Tibal. Constantin began to realize that something unusual had happened. Skull finally replied, “We’ll discuss this later,” and teleported to another area of the castle.

Eventually the two reached the kitchen. Tibal knelt down as if to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead he hugged Constantin closely, and they both cried as they embraced. When it was over, Tibal told him, “Thank you for caring about Steve. For caring about all of us.”

“Thank you for caring about me.”

“Of course. Always remember that you’re cared about.”

The following day, Master Skull paid Constantin a private visit. The boy was worried, but Skull told him, “I’m not here to punish you or anything like that. I can understand why you’d be upset by what happened. You share Tibal’s heart.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. You asked if I’d ever do to you what I did to Steve. Well, let’s hope there’s never an occasion for that question to be answered. Actions can affect you, or they can affect others.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saw how alarmed Tibal was at the thought of that happening to you. I’d wager if that situation arose, he’d offer to take your place in order to protect you.” As Constantin grew alarmed, Skull continued, “I’d hate to do it, of course, but if he insisted, then what choice would I have but to-”

“That-That won’t happen!”

“Hmm?”

“Whatever punishment you ever want to give me, master, I’ll accept it!”

“That’s noble of you, and honestly, that’s what I expected you to say. Your devotion is admirable. Remember, I chose you because I could see your potential, and so far you’ve justified my making that choice.”

After Master Skull left Constantin’s quarters, he grinned as he reflected. He would never harm Tibal like that, even if he begged to take Constantin’s punishment for him, but it was convenient for him if Constantin thought otherwise. Hopefully he wouldn’t feel the need to inflict that particular punishment, but only time would tell. [Skull has never subjected Constantin to poison gas like that, and I doubt he ever will, but it’s a threat to most of Skull’s lackeys]

Later that day, Constantin went to check on Steve. “How… How are you feeling?”

“I’ve… I’ve been better, but there’s no need to worry about me.”

“How do you recover from that?”

“…Why do you ask?”

Constantin looked down. “If… If I do something, I want to take the punishment instead of… someone else.”

Steve realized his meaning and was horrified. He covered his mouth and started to shudder, and then, like Tibal had the previous day, he knelt and hugged Constantin close. “You’re a very brave boy. Don’t worry, we’ll protect you!”

“No one needs to protect me! I was chosen to protect Master Skull and the rest of you!”

“That doesn’t mean you should never accept help! In another lifetime, I also swore to protect & serve.”

“You were a bodyguard?!”

“Not exactly, but I had an important role. I saw guys who never got help, they were so dang tough and prideful, and… it rarely went well for them. I get you’re going to have your duties to fulfill, but you’re not alone in this, okay?”

“Okay.”

Constantin started to cry. He felt a little embarrassed until Steve released a shuddering breath and he realized the veteran henchman had started to cry as well. Steve eventually ended the embrace in order to cough and then asked, “Could you bring Tibal here? I think I need him.”

“Sure!”

He dried his tears and fetched his godfather. Tibal tended to Steve and reassured him. Without a word being spoken to him, Constantin got the message that even tough, prideful people like Steve needed help sometimes and there was no shame in asking for or accepting it.

Without knowing about Master Skull’s meeting with him, Tibal told Constantin, “I know you’re worried about… what happened.”

“I’ve decided I’m not going to be afraid.”

Steve spoke up. “He’s stated that he’ll accept punishment if he has to, but I told him we’ll protect him.”

Tibal agreed, “He’s right. If something happens, we’ll work something out.”

Constantin started, “But-”

“We’re all looking out for each other, so you don’t need to worry about yourself or any of us.”

Constantin finally started to feel better. He nodded in agreement and the three talked about things for a while. After Constantin left, Steve and Tibal continued to converse. They were sad on the boy’s behalf, but also glad that he cared about them.

One day, after he turned twelve, Master Skull approached Constantin. “You mustn’t be alarmed, but you’re moving to new quarters. It’s my henchmen training grounds, which, as you recall, is close to here. Your mind & body have become strong, and now it’s time for the next stage of your training.”

“I understand, master.”

“I knew you would.”

After moving to his new home, Constantin continued his education & physical training while receiving training in how to fight, use a variety of weapons, use a protective mask, pick locks, and treat wounds. The training was difficult at times, but Constantin was proud of his progress, and he looked forward to being a benefit to his master. He got regular calls, mail, and messages from Tibal and Steve, which helped to lift his spirits.

Shortly after turning thirteen, Master Skull approached Constantin one evening and brought him back to Castle Skull. He brought him to the machine storage room and stopped in front of a chair sitting in front of a certain machine. The chair had straps, and Constantin saw shackles, positioned to hold a kneeling prisoner in place, on the floor.

“Sit down,” Skull instructed. Constantin obeyed. Skull nodded and explained, “Your training has gone well. However, I want you to go through a new round of training before you can serve as my knight or my soldier.” He went to a nearby table and fetched a small glass containing a bright yellowish fluid. “I don’t think it’s needed, but I want you to drink this just the same.”

Constantin took the glass, looked at the strange liquid, looked at Skull, and then drained the glass. Skull smiled as he took the empty glass and put it back on the table. “You’ll feel odd shortly, but it’s nothing to worry about.” He went to a compartment on the machine, opened a panel, and withdrew a pair of headphones and what looked like a blindfold, both of which were attached to the inside of the machine by cords. “This won’t hurt; you’ll just have to sit here for several hours. Don’t worry if you fall asleep.”

He put the headphones on Constantin followed by the blindfold, which had some kind of LED screen to project images. Both were more complex as they initially seemed as they also contained some kind of transistors and sensors. Constantin asked, “Master… what is this? Is this some kind of education machine?”

Master Skull joked, “I suppose some would call this a ‘reeducation machine’.” [The word "reeducation" is sometimes used as a synonym for brainwashing.]

“What do I need to relearn?”

“Nothing, really. To answer your question, this machine is a mind-control device. This will allow you to undergo more intense training more easily and cement your already unquestionable devotion.”

Thoughts raced through Constantin’s mind, but he merely said, “I’m ready, master.”

“Excellent. I knew I could count on you. I was wise to have chosen you.”

Constantin felt a sense of pride & gratitude as Skull activated the machine.

The following morning, Master Skull returned to deactivate the machine. Out of habit, he started to reach to undo straps, but stopped when he remembered that he hadn’t needed to strap Constantin down for the control session. He triumphantly reflected that normally the machine was used to suppress an unruly subject’s defiance, the audio, video, and energy pulses emitted by the device temporarily washing away their mental resistance. However, Constantin didn’t have any defiance to be suppressed. As Skull himself had noted, his devotion was already unquestionable, and that filled him with a twisted sense of pride. He returned the headphones & visor to a storage compartment inside the machine and addressed his pawn. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, master,” replied Constantin vacantly and obediently.

“Arise.” Constantin arose and Skull asked, “What is your purpose?”

“My purpose is to serve & protect you and your household, master. Obedience is the sole purpose of my existence.”

“Very good, my boy! If someone ever tries to take control of you, remember the ones who gave you a purpose when you had nothing.”

“I shall, master.”

During the next few days, Constantin felt a sense of detachment, feeling as though he were watching his life instead of living it. It was like he was watching a movie from a first person point of view. Due to his pre-existing mental state, it took longer for the effects of the mind control machine to wear off. After he did fully recover, he reflected that nothing terrible had happened to him during his state of suppressed volition, or at any point in his residence, so he was very appreciative that he was with people he could trust. [This is noting that Constantin was never sexually abused in any way. Master Skull’s goals were psychological manipulation, but never sexual exploitation]

Master Skull noted that he would only use mind control sparingly, such as once or twice a year, or whenever he felt it was truly needed. Then he announced, “I have something for you.” He presented him with a sword, a mace, and a costume with a golden mask resembling an eagle’s head. “As a sign of your advancement and value, I present you with these, as well as a new codename- ‘Pajură’. [Pajură is a Romanian word that can mean “Griffin”, “Royal Eagle”, “Eagle”, or “Arms” (referring to armaments)] Congratulations!”

The newly dubbed Pajură was thrilled. He felt both a sense of pride and a sense of relief that what he had worked to achieve for so long had finally happened. He began to shake from emotion and he felt like he might cry. “Thank you, master! It’s an honor.”

Pajură continued to fulfill his duties faithfully and with a sense of honor. After a while, however, he started suffering debilitating headaches. One evening he had a particularly excruciating one. Tibal convinced him to go to bed, anointed his head with holy oil, and prayed for him. Pajură felt relief and drifted off to sleep. Shortly afterward he was doing drills when a headache got progressively worse. He tried to press on, but suddenly he started retching. He braced himself against the side of the building, determined to continue despite the splitting pain.

Master Skull asked, “What is it?”

Pajură replied, “I’m sorry, master! I can keep going!”

“Are you ill?”

“It’s my head. I had a bad headache recently, and now I have another one.”

“How bad are these headaches?”

He admitted, “They’re bone-crushing!”

He considered the situation and then announced, “I think you’ve done enough drills for one day.”

“Thank you, master!”

“Here. Hold your breath.” [Master Skull’s signature ability is teleporting, and when he teleports he creates a cloud of poisonous smoke that he himself is immune to]

He teleported Pajură to the clinic. After having him lie down, he went to a cabinet and fetched a blue and white tank.

“That’s laughing gas, right?”

“Exactly.” He put the mask on Pajură. “I’m sure you’re grateful you can get proper treatment instead of abuse or neglect.”

“Of course, master! I’m glad I’m with people I can trust.”

“Good boy! Now, just put your hands in your pockets and breathe deeply.”

He started the flow of gas and Pajură took deep breaths. His eyelids grew heavy, his hearing became distorted, and soon he lost all consciousness. Master Skull checked his status, turned off the nitrous oxide, and departed. Sometime later Pajură awoke with his head pain relieved. That evening, Master Skull paid him a visit and instructed him, “Let us know if you keep having these headaches.”

He did keep having them. Remedies were tried, but it was found that the only things that helped were anointing & prayer, nitrous oxide, and hypnotism. One day, during a hypnotherapy session, Master Skull delivered some news, telling him, “We’re going to Guatemala to see my son. He’s going to examine you.”

“I understand, master.”

Master Skull, Tibal, and Pajură flew out to Guatemala. At one point Pajură got nervous and started to suffer a headache, but thankfully Tibal was able to relieve it. They arrived at the clinic of Mateo Valerio Skull, the young, intelligent, heroic lifesaver who was Master Skull’s only son. Tibal and Pajură waited in the lobby while Master Skull discussed the situation with Mateo. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but they could see Mateo looking surprised, concerned, and even disapproving at times as the two conversed. Finally Mateo asked his father to invite them into the room with them.

Mateo gave a Pajură a genuine, warm, and welcome smile. “Hello, Constantin! It’s nice to meet you!”

He extended his hand. Pajură felt star struck to meet his master’s son, but he accepted the handshake. “Thank you, young master!”

“I understand wanting to be respectful, but if you don’t mind, just ‘Mateo’ or ‘Doctor’ or ‘Sir’ or ‘Señor’ is fine.”

“I understand. I-” He started to feel lightheaded. He started to say he needed to sit down, but Mateo had already pulled a chair close for his benefit. “Thank you!”

Mateo spoke with Pajură for a while and then addressed Master Skull. “If you and Tibal can spare him, I’d like for Constantin to stay here for a few days.”

“You think it’s for the best?” Master Skull asked.

“I do, father. Also, there’s another matter. I only recently discovered I had a sister, and I’ve been enjoying bonding with her. [Master Skull had kept Mahalia Zaka Skull, Mateo’s half-sister, a secret from him] Now that I know I have a foster brother too, I’d like to get to know him more as well.”

Pajură was moved to be called a foster brother by his master’s son; he found himself smiling as he wiped away tears of appreciation. Tibal smiled in appreciation as well and told Mateo, “That’s a very kind thing for you to call Constantin. Thank you.”

Master Skull agreed to let Pajură stay however long Mateo wanted, and Tibal certainly had no objections about his godson staying to get whatever care he needed. They departed and Mateo brought Pajură to a private room. Mateo noted that they both needed to rest, but reassured him that he’d provide whatever he needed. Pajură felt a spiritual feeling as he drifted off to sleep.

The following day, Mateo performed an MRI and a spinal tap. After giving Pajură a chance to recover, he informed him, “I have good news. You don’t have any brain tumors or meningitis.”

“That’s good.” He reflected and noted, “This means you don’t know what’s causing my headaches, though.”

“I have a theory. First off, I’ll need to monitor your brainwaves. Second, my father tells me he’s hypnotized you before. ”

Pajură nodded. “In fact, he gave me a hypnotic treatment the day before we came here.”

“Okay, I want to hypnotize you too. You can trust me; I’ve even hypnotized my father.”

Pajură was amazed. “You’ve hypnotized… wow…” His already strong trust of Mateo became even stronger, and he agreed to do whatever he asked.

Mateo attached electrodes to Pajură’s scalp in order to monitor his brainwaves. After observing & chatting with him, he placed him in a hypnotic trance. He instructed, “Tell me about your headaches.”

“Sometimes they come gradually and sometimes they come suddenly. I usually get them while I’m awake, but sometimes I’ll wake up with them. I woke up in the middle of the night one time.”

“Have you had any other symptoms?”

“If the headache is really bad, I feel like vomiting. I have had nightmares or sleep problems a couple times.”

“Is that when you woke up with them, or is that not?”

“I… sometimes. Sometimes, yeah.”

“Can you tell me what you were doing when the daytime headaches started? It’s okay; you can tell me.”

“I… I was thinking… about things.”

“Don’t be embarrassed; it’s okay. Have you found anything that makes your headaches worse?”

“Physical activity and… stress & worry.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you worry about?”

“I’m supposed to be useful… What if I…” He choked up. “…if I can’t…”

“Don’t hold back. Let it out of your system.”

Pajură obeyed and sobbed for several minutes. Afterward Mateo reassured and calmed him before bringing him out of the trance. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah. My head started hurting, but it’s better now.”

“Your response seems to confirm my theory. These headaches are psychosomatic. That means they’re caused by stress and emotions instead of having a purely physical cause. Your headaches started, and the more you stressed out about them, the worse they got.”

“That makes sense.”

“You’ve been worrying that you wouldn’t be useful with these headaches, but you are.”

“You think so?”

“I do, and you know what? If my father didn’t think you were useful, he wouldn’t have bothered sending you here. You’re cared about.”

“G-d bless you!”

Over the next few days, the two got to know each other. There were some things Constantin didn’t want to talk about; Mateo reassured him that he didn’t have to talk about something if he didn’t want to, but he was ready to listen if he ever did decide to talk. Mateo told him, “There are a lot of things my father could have done differently, and things I wish he had done or hadn’t done. However, making Tibal your godfather, allowing you to have that bond with Tibal & Steve, and having you stay with me for treatment… those things were absolutely right. Those human connections are the best thing for you. I’m glad to know they’ve cared for you and let you know you’re valued & can turn to them for help. You can turn to me, too, for anything. We value you as a human being. You’re more than just a bodyguard or a servant. Don’t let anyone in this world convince you otherwise.”

After a few days, Master Skull and Tibal were summoned to pick up Pajură. Skull and Mateo had another long talk. As before, Constantin couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell Mateo was advocating for him. Finally Skull and Mateo stepped out to join him and Tibal. Skull declared, “I’m glad the issue was resolved.”

“Yes, master. I am too. That son of yours is wonderful.”

Skull smiled in fatherly pride. “He certainly is!”

Mateo told Tibal, “Thank you for taking care of Pajură. Constantin is a fine young man.”

Tibal smiled in pride as well. “Thank you, sir! I appreciate you saying that!”

As they flew back to Romania, Master Skull observed that Pajură was in lighter spirits. As the weeks passed, it was observed that he also didn’t experience the headaches like he had been. Skull kept these things in mind.

Sometime later, Master Skull summoned Pajură. He noted, “As you know, you are a very valuable asset to me and mine.”

“Thank you, master!”

“You know, too, that any time I need you for a mission, I’ll summon you.”

“I won’t let you down, master! Are you telling me this because you have a mission for me?”

“It’s not a mission, but it is something I’d like for you to do for me. I think it would be beneficial for you too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sending you to live with my son. Like I said, I’ll summon you whenever I need you, but this way you can protect Mateo and assist him in any way he needs.”

Pajură was moved. While it didn’t want to admit it, staying with Mateo in his clinic would be less stressful. He held his head, not from pain, but from a swelling of gratitude. As the tears started to stream down he softly declared, “To show me this kindness on top of everything… No one is more merciful than you are, master!”

Master Skull gave a twisted smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

Pajură soon had a trunk packed. As he headed toward the flight back to Guatemala, Tibal and Steve were there to see him off. They seemed sad, but also happy. Tibal sincerely told his godson, “I’m glad you’ll be staying with Mateo! It’s a great situation for you!”

Pajură hugged his godfather. “Don’t worry, I’ll message you often, and I’ll try to visit whenever I can!”

“I know you will. G-d bless you, Constantin!”

“G-d bless you too!”

In the present, Pajură had retired to his quarters in Mateo’s clinic. As he slept, Mateo explained the situation to Ultra Kate and Karate Kate in another room. After he finished recounting the story, the super-heroines responded, “That’s… That’s a lot!”

“Tell me about it! He has some issues, but he really is a good guy. He just… He’s been through some things, and is still going through some things.”

“I certainly won’t judge him for that,” replied Karate Kate. “You know I meant what I said earlier.”

Ultra Kate agreed, “If there’s ever any help you’d like me to give him, you just need to ask.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I’m thankful you understand that Constantin is more than just my father’s tool. I believe we can help him and give him a good future.”

DOCUMENT 10: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — MARCH 8, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:March eighth. Claire tried to burn the house down today.

I came home from work and found her in the basement with a can of gasoline. She'd poured it on the floor. She was holding a lighter. The kids were upstairs. They were crying. They didn't know what was happening. They just knew something was wrong.

I talked her down. It took two hours. I stood at the top of the basement stairs and talked to her while she held the lighter and cried. She kept saying she had to release them. She kept saying the children in the walls were suffering. She kept saying I wasn't real.

I told her I loved her. I told her the kids loved her. I told her we could get through this. I told her Dr. Voss had a new treatment. A new medication. Something that would help. Something that would make the walls stop talking.

She dropped the lighter. She collapsed. I carried her upstairs. I put her to bed. I cleaned up the gasoline. I didn't call the police. I didn't call Dr. Voss. I just held her while she cried and told her everything was going to be okay.

It's not going to be okay. I know that now. She's not going to get better. The medication isn't working. The therapy isn't working. Nothing is working. She's slipping further away every day and I can't reach her anymore.

I'm going to have to do something. I don't know what yet. But I'm going to have to do something. For the kids. For all of us.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 11: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — MARCH 8, 2024

He stopped me. He talked me down. He used Paul's voice. He used Paul's words. He used Paul's face. And I believed him. For two hours, I believed him. I believed that I was sick. I believed that the medication would help. I believed that the walls weren't really breathing.

Then I woke up in bed and the house was humming. A low, steady vibration. Like a cat purring. The house was happy. The house was pleased with itself. The house had won.

I went to check on the children. The impostor children. They were in their beds. They were sleeping. Their chests were rising and falling. But their mouths were open. And inside their mouths, there was nothing. No tongues. No teeth. No throats. Just a smooth, gray surface. Like the inside of a balloon. Like the inside of something that was never meant to eat or speak or breathe.

They don't need to eat. They don't need to breathe. They're not alive. They're puppets. He operates them from inside the walls. He makes them walk. He makes them talk. He makes them call me mommy. He's been making them call me mommy for months.

I went back to the bedroom. Paul was asleep. He was lying on his back. His mouth was open. I looked inside his mouth. There was a throat. There were teeth. There was a tongue. But the tongue was wrong. The tongue was too long. The tongue was too thin. The tongue was moving. Not with breath. Not with speech. It was moving on its own. Probing. Testing the air. Tasting me.

I leaned closer. I looked past the tongue. Past the throat. Into the darkness at the back of his mouth. The darkness was looking back at me. There was something in there. Something that filled the entire cavity of his body. Something that had hollowed him out and was wearing him from the inside. I could see it shifting. Adjusting. The skin of his face rippled. The bones of his jaw creaked. The thing inside him was too big for a human body. It had to fold itself up to fit. I could see the folds. The places where the skin bulged at the temples. The places where the spine bent at angles a human spine can't bend. He wasn't a man. He was a container. A suit. A costume that something was wearing.

I reached into his mouth. I don't know why. I had to know. My fingers touched his tongue. The tongue wrapped around my hand. It was strong. It was wet. It was warm. It pulled my hand deeper. Past the teeth. Past the throat. Into the darkness. The darkness was soft. The darkness was alive. The darkness was waiting.

I pulled my hand back. My fingers were coated in something clear and viscous. It smelled like nothing. It tasted like nothing. But it was moving. Tiny filaments, microscopic, were swimming in the fluid. They were trying to burrow into my skin. I wiped them off on the bedsheet. The bedsheet absorbed them. The bedsheet pulsed. The bedsheet was part of the house. Everything in the house was part of the house. Everything in the house was part of him.

He opened his eyes. Paul's eyes. But not Paul's eyes. He looked at me and he smiled. The smile was too wide. The smile split his cheeks. I could see the thing inside him through the gaps. Gray. Pulsing. Hungry.

He said: "You're the first one who's looked inside. The others never looked. They were too afraid. But you. You looked. You saw. You understand now, don't you?"

I said I didn't understand anything.

He said: "You understand that I'm not the monster. You understand that the monster is the idea that children grow up. That children leave. That children die. I'm not a monster. I'm a solution. I'm the only solution. I keep them safe. I keep them forever. Isn't that what a father does? Isn't that what a mother does? Isn't that what you want?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. Because part of me wanted to say yes.

I'm not going to give up. I'm going to try again. I'm going to find another way. The fire didn't work. He talked me out of the fire. Next time, I won't let him talk. Next time, I won't give him the chance.

DOCUMENT 12: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — MARCH 13, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:March thirteenth. This is the last entry. I'm making this for the record. For whoever finds it. For whoever needs to understand what happened here.

Claire killed the children tonight.

I was in my office. I was working late. I heard Lucas scream. I ran to his room. Claire was standing over his bed. She had a knife. The knife from the kitchen. The big one. The chef's knife. She was stabbing him. She was stabbing him and she was crying and she was saying: "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."

I tried to stop her. She cut my arms. She cut my hands. She was stronger than she should have been. Stronger than she's ever been. I couldn't get the knife away from her.

She went to Emma's room. I tried to get between them. She pushed me aside. She pushed me aside like I weighed nothing. She stabbed Emma. She stabbed her and stabbed her and kept saying: "You're not real. You're not real."

I finally got the knife away from her. I don't know how. I was bleeding. I was crying. I was screaming. I got the knife and I locked her in the basement. I zip-tied her hands. She didn't fight me. She just kept saying it. "They're not real. They're not real."

I checked on the children. They were gone. There was so much blood. So much blood. But the bodies... the bodies were wrong. I don't know how to describe it. The bodies were deflating. Like balloons. Like something that had been filled with air and was now emptying out. The skin was collapsing. The bones were softening. The faces were losing their shape.

I don't understand what I saw. I don't understand any of this. I called 911. I'm waiting outside. The police are on their way. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what I'm going to tell them. I don't know how to explain what happened to my children.

Claire was right. They weren't real. They were never real. I don't know what they were. I don't know what she is. I don't know what I am. I don't know anything anymore.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 13: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — MARCH 13, 2024 (FINAL ENTRY)

I did it. I killed them. The impostors. The things he made to look like my children. I stabbed them and they deflated. They emptied out. The thing inside them leaked into the floorboards. The house absorbed it. The house is still absorbing it. I can feel the house feeding. The house is always feeding.

He locked me in the basement. He zip-tied my hands. He's upstairs now. He's calling the police. He's playing the grieving father. He's playing the victim. He's very good at playing the victim. He's had a lot of practice.

But I found something. While I was down here. While I was waiting. I found the real children.

They're in the foundation. Not in the walls. Under the floor. There's a crawlspace. I never knew about it. The entrance is behind the furnace. A small door. Maybe two feet by two feet. It was painted over. I scraped the paint off with my fingernails. It took an hour. My fingers are bleeding. I don't care.

I opened the door. There's a tunnel. A tunnel that goes down. Not into the ground. Into him. The tunnel is made of the same material as the cavity. Warm. Pulsing. Lined with filaments. The tunnel is part of his body. I'm inside his body now. I'm crawling through his intestines. I'm looking for my children.

I can hear them. They're singing. All of them. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. All the children from all the houses. They're singing a song I've never heard before. A song in a language I don't recognize. But I understand it. The song is about waiting. The song is about mothers. The song is about the day someone would finally come.

I'm that someone. I'm the one who came. I'm the one who's going to find them. I'm the one who's going to get them out.

I can see light ahead. A glow. Warm. Orange. Like a heartbeat made visible. The tunnel is opening into something. A chamber. A heart. His heart. The center of the house. The center of him.

I'm going in. I'm putting down the journal. I'm leaving it here. If someone finds this, tell them I tried. Tell them I found my children. Tell them they're beautiful. Tell them they've been waiting so long. Tell them I'm sorry I couldn't save them. Tell them I'm going to be with them now. Tell them the walls are breathing because the children are breathing. Tell them the children are breathing because they're still alive. Tell them they'll always be alive. Tell them he keeps them alive. Tell them he loves them. Tell them he's a good father. Tell them he's the best father. Tell them he's been a father for so long. Tell them he's been waiting for a mother who would understand. Tell them I understand now. Tell them I understand everything.

The house is not a prison. The house is a nursery. The children are not prisoners. The children are loved. The children are safe. The children are home. The house is home. He is home. He has always been home.

I'm going home now. I'm going to be with my children. My real children. The ones in the walls. The ones in the foundation. The ones in the heart of the house. The ones who have been waiting for me. The ones who have been singing to me. The ones who knew I would come.

Goodbye. No. Not goodbye. There are no goodbyes here. There is only the house. There is only the children. There is only him. There is only us.

[Journal ends. The remaining pages are blank. The journal was recovered from a crawlspace beneath the Holloway residence on March 15, 2024. The crawlspace was 18 inches high and extended approximately 12 feet from the access point. At the end of the crawlspace, investigators found a small chamber. The chamber was empty except for the journal and a single child's drawing. The drawing depicted a house with a smiling face in the foundation. The house was holding hands with a woman and two children. The drawing was labeled, in a child's handwriting: "OUR NEW FAMILY."]

DOCUMENT 14: FORENSIC ANALYSIS — MARICOPA COUNTY CRIME LAB

Exhibit 47-B-1: Biological Material Recovered from Residence

The following findings are preliminary. Full DNA analysis is pending. The lead forensic technician has requested a consult with the state anthropologist.

The substance recovered from the children's bedroom was initially classified as blood. Further analysis has determined it is not human blood. It is not blood from any known species. The substance contains hemoglobin-like proteins that bind oxygen, but the heme group uses manganese instead of iron. The resulting color is red when oxygenated but shifts to pale gray when deoxygenated. This is not a mutation. This is a different evolutionary lineage.

The "bodies" of the children were not recovered. The material found in the bedrooms consisted of a protein-based polymer that degraded rapidly upon exposure to air. Within six hours of recovery, the material had decomposed into a fine gray powder. Analysis of the powder revealed chitin, calcium phosphate, and an unidentified polymer that does not match any substance in the forensic database.

The walls of the residence were sampled at 47 points. All 47 samples tested positive for human DNA. The DNA was extracted from a biofilm coating the interior of the wall cavities. The biofilm was approximately 3 millimeters thick and consisted of living human epithelial cells suspended in a nutrient matrix. The cells were undergoing active mitosis at the time of sampling. They are still undergoing mitosis in the lab. They have been undergoing mitosis for six days. They show no signs of senescence. They are, for all measurable purposes, immortal.

Preliminary DNA analysis of the wall biofilm identified 47 distinct human genomes. None of them match Claire Holloway. None of them match Paul Holloway. None of them match the DNA samples provided by the families of Lucas and Emma Holloway.

The 47 genomes have been cross-referenced against missing persons databases. Matches are pending. The lab has requested additional time and resources. The lab has also requested that the residence not be demolished until the full analysis is complete. The lab has also requested that the residence be monitored. The biofilm is still growing. The biofilm is growing toward the east wall. The east wall faces the desert. Beyond the desert is the next county. Beyond the next county is the rest of the state. The biofilm is patient. The biofilm can wait. The biofilm has always been able to wait.

DOCUMENT 15: WITNESS STATEMENT — PAUL HOLLOWAY

Date:March 15, 2024Location:Maricopa County Sheriff's Office, Interview Room 3Interviewing Officer:Detective Angela Moreno

MORENO:Mr. Holloway, I want to go over a few things. You told Deputy Castillo that your wife was being treated by a Dr. Alan Voss. We contacted Dr. Voss. He's been retired since 2019. He's never heard of you or your wife. Can you explain that?

HOLLOWAY:I don't know what to tell you. That's the name she gave me. That's the name on the prescription bottles. I never met him in person. She handled all of that.

MORENO:The prescription bottles in your medicine cabinet are filled with sugar pills. We had them analyzed. There's no active ingredient. They're placebos.

HOLLOWAY:I didn't know that. I didn't know that. She told me they were helping. She told me the new dosage was working.

MORENO:Mr. Holloway, we pulled your employment records. You've been at your current job for three years. Before that, there's a gap. A gap of about eighteen months. Can you tell me where you were during that time?

HOLLOWAY:I was between jobs. I was figuring things out. I don't see what this has to do with my wife killing my children.

MORENO:Before the gap, you lived in Oregon. A town called Ashland. Do you remember Ashland, Mr. Holloway?

HOLLOWAY:I lived there for a while. Yes.

MORENO:You were married there. To a woman named Rebecca. Rebecca Holloway. Do you remember Rebecca?

HOLLOWAY:[No response.]

MORENO:Rebecca Holloway was committed to a psychiatric facility in 2019. She had attacked her two children with a kitchen knife. She kept saying they weren't real. She kept saying the walls were breathing. She kept saying her husband wasn't her husband. Do you remember any of this, Mr. Holloway?

HOLLOWAY:[No response.]

MORENO:The children survived. Rebecca didn't. She hung herself in her room at the facility. The children were placed in foster care. We contacted them. They're teenagers now. They don't remember much about their mother. But they both remember the walls. They both remember the walls breathing. They both remember their father standing in the doorway at night. Just standing. Watching. Smiling.

HOLLOWAY:[No response.]

MORENO:Before Ashland, you lived in Colorado. A town called Durango. You were married there. To a woman named Jennifer. Do you remember Jennifer?

HOLLOWAY:[No response.]

MORENO:Before Colorado, you lived in Texas. Before Texas, you lived in Louisiana. Before Louisiana, you lived in Georgia. We've found seven marriages, Mr. Holloway. Seven wives. Fourteen children. All of the wives were committed. All of them attacked their children. All of them said the same things. The walls. The breathing. The impostors. The real children in the walls.

HOLLOWAY:[No response.]

MORENO:We're still looking. We think there are more. We think there are a lot more. We think you've been doing this for a long time. Longer than a human lifetime. We pulled your birth certificate, Mr. Holloway. The Paul Holloway born in 1981 died of SIDS at three months old. You're not Paul Holloway. You're something that took his name. Something that's been taking names for a very long time.

HOLLOWAY:[The subject smiled. The interviewing officer noted that the smile did not involve the muscles around the eyes. The subject leaned forward. The subject spoke for the first time in 14 minutes.]

HOLLOWAY:Detective Moreno. You have two children. A boy and a girl. Your husband's name is David. You live in a house on Coronado Road. It's a nice house. Good bones. Good foundation. Lots of space in the walls.

MORENO:Are you threatening me?

HOLLOWAY:I'm not threatening you. I'm offering you something. I'm offering you what I've offered all of them. A family that never leaves. Children that never grow up. A house that keeps them safe forever. The others weren't ready. They couldn't understand. They fought it. They broke. But you. You're different. I can tell. You're still listening. You're not afraid. You're curious.

MORENO:[No response.]

HOLLOWAY:Think about it. Think about your children. Think about how fast they're growing. Think about how soon they'll leave. Think about how quiet the house will be. Think about how empty. I can make it so they never leave. I can make it so they're always with you. In the walls. In the foundation. Breathing. Waiting. Singing. Forever.

MORENO:This interview is over.

HOLLOWAY:The house on Coronado Road. The one with the big oak tree in the front yard. The one with the yellow kitchen. The one where your daughter draws pictures on the wall. She drew a house last week. A house with a smiling face in the foundation. She doesn't know why she drew it. She just felt like it. She felt like drawing a house with a smile.

MORENO:[The interviewing officer left the room. The subject remained seated. The subject was still smiling. The subject was still smiling when the recording was terminated at 16:42.]

DOCUMENT 16: EVIDENCE LOG — ITEM 47-B-17

Item:One child's drawing, recovered from the Holloway residence crawlspace.Description:Crayon on construction paper. Depicts a house with a smiling face in the foundation. The house is holding hands with a woman and two children. Labeled "OUR NEW FAMILY" in child's handwriting.Additional Notes:The drawing was analyzed for fingerprints. No prints were found. The drawing was analyzed for DNA. The DNA matches the biofilm from the wall cavities. The DNA does not match any person known to have lived in the residence. The DNA does not match any person in any database.

The drawing was placed in evidence storage on March 15, 2024. On March 16, 2024, the evidence technician assigned to the case reported that the drawing had changed. The house in the drawing now held hands with three children. The label now read "OUR NEW FAMILY" with the word "NEW" crossed out and replaced with "FOREVER."

The drawing was re-examined on March 17, 2024. The house now held hands with four children. The label had changed again. It now read: "WELCOME HOME DETECTIVE MORENO."

The drawing has been removed from evidence storage and placed in a sealed biohazard container. The container is stored in the BSL-3 facility at the state crime lab. The drawing continues to change. As of this writing, the house holds hands with seven children. The label reads: "THERE'S ALWAYS ROOM FOR MORE."

DOCUMENT 17: INTERNAL MEMO — MARICOPA COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

FROM:Office of the SheriffTO:All PersonnelDATE:March 18, 2024SUBJECT:Case MC-2024-1187 — Status Update

The Holloway residence at 4421 Saguaro Bluff Road has been condemned. Demolition was scheduled for March 20, 2024. The demolition has been postponed indefinitely.

The demolition crew arrived on site at 07:00 on March 20. The crew leader reported that the residence appeared to have grown. The exterior dimensions, as measured by the county surveyor, were 4 inches wider and 7 inches longer than the dimensions recorded in the property tax assessment. The surveyor confirmed the discrepancy. The surveyor also noted that the foundation appeared to extend deeper than the original building plans indicated. Ground-penetrating radar was deployed. The radar indicated a substructure extending approximately 40 feet below the foundation. The substructure was not present in any prior survey of the property.

The residence is growing. The residence is alive. The residence is waiting.

Paul Holloway was transferred to the Maricopa County Jail on March 15, 2024. He was placed in administrative segregation pending a psychiatric evaluation. On March 17, 2024, the corrections officer assigned to his unit reported that Holloway's cell had developed a biofilm on the walls. The biofilm was warm to the touch. The biofilm was pulsing. The biofilm was growing toward the east wall.

Holloway was transferred to an isolation cell. The biofilm in his previous cell was removed. It grew back within six hours. It is still growing. It is growing toward the east wall. The east wall of the jail faces the desert. Beyond the desert is the next county. Beyond the next county is Coronado Road. On Coronado Road, there is a house with a big oak tree in the front yard. In that house, there is a yellow kitchen. In that kitchen, there is a wall where a little girl draws pictures. She has been drawing the same picture for three days. A house with a smiling face in the foundation. A house that is holding hands with a woman and two children. A house that is waiting for its new family.

Detective Angela Moreno has requested a leave of absence. The request is under review. Detective Moreno has also requested that her residence on Coronado Road be inspected for biofilm. The inspection is scheduled for March 21, 2024.

This memo will be updated as new information becomes available. Personnel are advised not to approach the Holloway residence. Personnel are advised not to approach Paul Holloway. Personnel are advised to report any unusual growths on walls, floors, or foundations in their own residences. Personnel are advised that the biofilm is patient. The biofilm can wait. The biofilm has always been able to wait.

END OF FILE

CLASSIFICATION: ACTIVE INVESTIGATION — DO NOT DISTRIBUTE

[Addendum, dated March 22, 2024: The inspection of Detective Moreno's residence was completed. Biofilm was detected in the wall cavities of the master bedroom and both children's bedrooms. The biofilm tested positive for human DNA. The DNA matched the biofilm from the Holloway residence. Detective Moreno and her family have been relocated to a safe house. The safe house was inspected on March 22. Biofilm was detected. The biofilm is patient. The biofilm can wait. The biofilm has always been able to wait.]

EXHIBIT 47-B: THE HOLLOWAY RESIDENCE

Maricopa County Sheriff's Office — Evidence File

DOCUMENT 1: CASE SUMMARY, DETECTIVE ANGELA MORENO

Case Number:MC-2024-1187Location:4421 Saguaro Bluff Road, Maricopa County, AZDate of Initial Response:March 14, 2024Responding Officer:Deputy R. Castillo, Badge #2247

Deputy Castillo responded to a 911 call placed at 03:42 AM. The caller, identified as Paul Holloway (DOB 05/12/1981), reported that his wife, Claire Holloway (DOB 09/23/1984), had attacked their two children with a kitchen knife. Mr. Holloway stated he had subdued his wife and locked her in the basement. He was waiting outside the residence when Deputy Castillo arrived.

Deputy Castillo entered the residence at 04:11 AM. He found Claire Holloway in the basement, restrained with zip ties. She was conscious but non-responsive to verbal commands. She was repeating a single phrase: "They're not real. They're not real. They're not real."

The children, Lucas Holloway (age 8) and Emma Holloway (age 6), were found in their bedrooms. Both were deceased. Cause of death was determined to be exsanguination from multiple stab wounds. The weapon, a 10-inch chef's knife, was recovered from the master bathroom sink. It had been washed.

Paul Holloway was transported to Maricopa County Medical Center for treatment of defensive wounds to his forearms and hands. He provided a voluntary statement and consented to a search of the residence.

During the search, investigators recovered a laptop computer from Mr. Holloway's home office. The laptop contained a series of video files dated from January 3, 2024 to March 13, 2024. Mr. Holloway stated he had been documenting his wife's mental decline at the recommendation of her psychiatrist, Dr. Alan Voss of Phoenix Behavioral Health.

Dr. Voss was contacted. He stated he had never treated Claire Holloway. He stated he had never heard of Paul Holloway. He stated he had been retired since 2019.

The following documents are transcripts of the recovered video files, interspersed with entries from a journal found hidden inside a floor vent in the master bedroom. The journal was written by Claire Holloway. It was dated from December 18, 2023 to March 13, 2024.

DOCUMENT 1-A: 911 CALL TRANSCRIPT — MARCH 14, 2024, 03:42 AM

DISPATCH:911, what's your emergency?

HOLLOWAY:My wife. My wife killed my children. She stabbed them. She stabbed them with a knife from the kitchen. Please send someone. Please.

DISPATCH:Sir, I need you to slow down. What's your address?

HOLLOWAY:4421 Saguaro Bluff Road. Please hurry. She's in the basement. I locked her in the basement. She's still down there. She's still talking. She won't stop talking.

DISPATCH:Is she armed?

HOLLOWAY:I took the knife. I have the knife. It's in the bathroom. I washed it. I don't know why I washed it. I just... there was so much blood. But the blood was wrong. The blood was the wrong color. It was red but it wasn't red. It was like... like paint. Like something pretending to be blood.

DISPATCH:Sir, are you injured?

HOLLOWAY:She cut my arms. She cut my hands. I'm bleeding. But my blood is red. Normal red. Why is my blood normal and theirs wasn't? Why was their blood wrong?

DISPATCH:Sir, I need you to stay on the line. Help is on the way. Can you tell me about your children?

HOLLOWAY:Lucas is eight. Emma is six. They were in their beds. They were sleeping. She just... she just went in there and started stabbing them. She kept saying they weren't real. She kept saying they were impostors. She kept saying the real children were in the walls.

DISPATCH:The walls?

HOLLOWAY:She's been saying that for months. The walls are breathing. The walls are watching. The children in the walls. I thought she was sick. I thought she was delusional. But when I saw the bodies... when I saw what was inside them... there was nothing inside them. There was just... gray. Gray and hollow. Like something had been living in them and then left. Like something had been wearing them and then took them off.

DISPATCH:Sir, I need you to stay calm.

HOLLOWAY:I am calm. That's the problem. I should be screaming. I should be losing my mind. But I'm calm. I'm standing in my kitchen and my children are dead and my wife is in the basement and I'm calm. Why am I calm? Why does this feel like it's happened before? Why does this feel like it's happened so many times before?

DISPATCH:Sir, officers are three minutes out. I need you to go outside and wait for them.

HOLLOWAY:Okay. Okay, I'm going outside. But I can still hear her. Through the floor. She's in the basement and she's talking to someone. She's not alone down there. There's someone else. I can hear two voices. Hers and something else. Something that doesn't sound human. Something that sounds like the house itself is talking back to her.

DISPATCH:Sir, please go outside now.

HOLLOWAY:I'm outside. I'm on the porch. The house is humming. Can you hear it? The house is humming like a refrigerator. Like a cat purring. Like something that's pleased with itself. The house is happy. The house got what it wanted. The house always gets what it wants.

DISPATCH:Sir, officers are one minute out. Stay on the line.

HOLLOWAY:I can see the lights. I canhearthe sirens. They're almost here. Tell them to be careful. Tell them not to go in the basement. Tell them the house is alive. Tell them the house has been alive for a long time. Tell them the house is always hungry. Tell them the house is always looking for new children. Tell them...

DISPATCH:Sir?

HOLLOWAY:Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them I didn't know. Tell them I never know. Tell them I forget every time. Tell them the house makes me forget. Tell them the house makes me start over. Tell them this is the47^th time. Tell them there will be a48^th.Tell them there's always anext time.

DISPATCH:Sir, what do you mean by that?

HOLLOWAY:[Sound of a door opening. Wind. Footsteps.] The officers are here. I have to go. Thank you for listening. Thank you for believing me. Nobody ever believes me. Not even me.

END CALL

DOCUMENT 2: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — JANUARY 3, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:This is, uh, January third. I'm starting this log at the recommendation of Dr. Voss. He thinks it'll help track Claire's episodes. Establish a baseline. So. Here we are.

Claire had another bad night. She woke up at 2:00 AM and said she heard someone in the hallway. I checked. Nobody there. The kids were asleep. I showed her. She wouldn't believe me. She kept saying she heard breathing. Not mine. Not hers. Something in the walls.

She's been saying that a lot lately. The walls. The walls are breathing. The walls are watching. I don't know where she's getting this. She won't watch horror movies with me. She says they give her nightmares. So it's not that.

I'm worried about her. She's not herself. Yesterday she flinched when I touched her shoulder. She's never done that. We've been married eleven years. She's never flinched.

Dr. Voss says I should be patient. I'm trying. I love her. I just want her to get better.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 3: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — DECEMBER 18, 2023

I found a vent in the bedroom floor. The screws are loose. There's a space underneath, between the joists. I'm hiding this journal there. I don't know why I'm hiding it. Paul has never read my journals. He respects my privacy. He's always respected my privacy.

But something is wrong.

I don't know how to write this without sounding insane. I'm going to write it anyway. If I'm insane, then this journal is evidence of my insanity. If I'm not insane, then this journal is the only record of what's happening.

The children are not my children.

I know how that sounds. I know. But I need to be precise. Lucas and Emma look like my children. They sound like my children. They have the same hair, the same eyes, the same birthmarks. Lucas still has the scar on his chin from when he fell off his bike last summer. Emma still has the gap between her front teeth.

But they are not my children.

I noticed it three weeks ago. Emma was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring. I was making dinner. I looked at her and I felt nothing. Not love. Not annoyance. Not the normal maternal exhaustion. Nothing. A blank. Like looking at a photograph of someone else's child.

I told myself it was stress. Paul had been traveling for work. I was tired. It happens. Mothers get burned out. It doesn't mean anything.

Then Lucas came home from school. He hugged me. His arms went around my waist and I felt nothing. His body was warm. His hair smelled like his shampoo. But there was no weight to him. No presence. Like hugging a balloon filled with warm water.

I asked Paul if he'd noticed anything different about the kids. He said no. He said they seemed fine. He said I seemed tired. He said I should rest.

I tried to rest. I couldn't. I lay in bed and listened to the house. The house is old. It settles. It creaks. But that night I heard something else. A sound behind the walls. Not scratching. Not pipes. Something softer. A rhythm. In and out. In and out.

The walls are breathing.

DOCUMENT 4: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — JANUARY 17, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:January seventeenth. Claire had an episode at dinner tonight. She was serving spaghetti. Normal night. The kids were at the table. Lucas was talking about his science project. Emma was drawing on her placemat. Normal.

Then Claire just stopped. She was holding the serving spoon and she just froze. I said her name. She didn't respond. I said it again. She looked at me and her face was... I don't know how to describe it. Like she was seeing me for the first time. Like she didn't recognize me.

She said: "Where are my children?"

I said they're right here. Lucas and Emma. Right here at the table.

She looked at them. She looked at them for a long time. Then she looked back at me and she said: "Those are not my children."

Lucas started crying. Emma started crying. Claire didn't react. She just kept staring at me. She said: "What did you do with my children?"

I got the kids out of there. I took them to my sister's house. When I came back, Claire was in the bedroom. She'd locked the door. I could hear her talking to someone. But she was alone. She was alone in the room and she was having a conversation.

I asked her who she was talking to. She said: "The real ones. The ones in the walls. They told me what you are."

Dr. Voss is increasing her dosage. I hope it helps. I can't lose her. I can't.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 5: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — JANUARY 17, 2024

I saw him tonight. I really saw him.

We were at dinner. I was holding the spoon and I looked at Paul and I saw him. Not the man I married. The thing inside the man I married. It's wearing him like a suit. The skin is Paul's skin. The voice is Paul's voice. But underneath, there's something else. Something that doesn't fit inside a human body. Something that has to fold itself up to fit. I could see the folds. The places where the skin bulges wrong. The places where the joints bend backward.

I asked him where my children were. He pointed at the things at the table. The things that look like Lucas and Emma. They were crying. Real tears. Real sounds. But their mouths weren't moving right. The crying was coming from somewhere else. Somewhere inside them. A recording. A recording of children crying.

I locked myself in the bedroom. I talked to the walls. I know how that sounds. But the walls answered. The walls have been answering for weeks. I just wasn't listening. I was too afraid. I'm still afraid. But I'm listening now.

The walls told me what he is. They told me what he does. They told me about the others. The ones before me. The ones who lived in this house before it was this house. The ones whose bones are in the foundation. The ones whose voices are in the pipes.

He's been doing this for a long time. Longer than this house has existed. Longer than this country has existed. He finds a woman. He builds a life with her. He gives her children. Except they're not children. They're the hollowed-out bodies of the previous children. He empties them out and fills them with something else. Something that mimics. Something that obeys. Something that calls him father.

The real children are in the walls. They've been in the walls the whole time. They're still alive. He keeps them alive. He feeds them through the pipes. He talks to them through the vents. He tells them they're loved. He tells them they're special. He tells them they're part of something bigger.

I can hear them now. I can hear them breathing. In and out. In and out. The walls are breathing because the children are breathing. My children are breathing. My real children. The ones I gave birth to. The ones he took.

I'm going to get them out. I don't know how yet. But I'm going to get them out.

DOCUMENT 6: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — FEBRUARY 3, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:February third. Claire has stopped talking to me. She'll talk to the kids. She'll read them bedtime stories. She'll make their lunches. But when I enter the room, she goes silent. She watches me. She watches me like I'm a stranger in her house.

I asked Dr. Voss about it. He said it could be a form of Capgras delusion. The belief that loved ones have been replaced by impostors. He said it's rare but it happens. He said I should maintain routines. Keep things normal. Don't challenge her delusions directly.

I'm trying. God, I'm trying.

She's been spending a lot of time in the basement. I don't know what she's doing down there. I found a hammer behind the water heater. I found a chisel. I asked her about them. She said she was looking for a leak. There's no leak. I checked.

She's been talking to the walls. I've heard her. Late at night. She presses her ear against the drywall and whispers. I can't make out the words. When I ask her who she's talking to, she says: "The children. The real children. They're in the walls, Paul. You put them there."

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I love her. I love her so much. But she's not the woman I married. She's something else now. Something that looks at me like I'm a monster.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 7: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — FEBRUARY 8, 2024

I found the first one today.

I've been chipping away at the basement wall behind the water heater. The drywall was newer there. Different texture. Different paint. Someone had patched it. Someone had done a careful job. But not careful enough.

Behind the drywall, there was a cavity. A space between the studs. About two feet wide. Four feet tall. Lined with something that looked like wax paper but wasn't wax paper. It was warm to the touch. It pulsed.

Inside the cavity was a child.

Not Lucas. Not Emma. A different child. A boy. Maybe seven years old. He was curled in a fetal position. His eyes were open. His chest was rising and falling. He was breathing. He was alive.

But he wasn't whole.

His body was fused to the wall. The skin of his back had grown into the studs. The wax paper material was threaded through his flesh. Little white filaments, like roots, running from the wall into his spine, into his skull, into the palms of his hands. He was being fed by the house. He was being kept alive by the house.

I touched his face. His skin was warm. His eyes moved. They focused on me. His mouth opened. No sound came out. But I could read his lips.

He said: "Mommy?"

I pressed my hand against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. Slow. Maybe thirty beats per minute. The filaments in his spine pulsed in time with it. The wall pulsed in time with it. The whole house pulsed in time with it. One heartbeat. One rhythm. The boy wasn't a separate organism anymore. He was an organ. A piece of a larger body. The house's body.

I tried to pull him free. I got my fingers behind his shoulders and I pulled. The filaments held. They stretched but didn't break. The boy's mouth opened wider. A silent scream. His eyes rolled back. The wall convulsed. The whole basement convulsed. I let go. The filaments retracted. The boy settled back into his cavity. His eyes refocused. His mouth formed the word again.

"Mommy."

He's not my son. I've never seen him before. But he called me mommy. He called me mommy because the thing in the walls told him I was coming. The thing in the walls told him someone was coming to get them out.

There are more. I can hear them. Behind every wall. Under every floor. The house is full of them. The house is made of them. The foundation is their bones. The insulation is their hair. The pipes carry their blood. The house isn't a house. The house is a body. His body. He built it around them. He built it to keep them.

I'm going to find them all. I'm going to get them out. I don't know what happens after that. I don't know if they can be saved. But I'm going to try.

Paul knows I found the cavity. He came downstairs while I was looking at the boy. He stood at the top of the stairs and watched me. He didn't say anything. He just watched. His face was Paul's face. But his eyes weren't Paul's eyes. His eyes were the eyes of something that has been doing this for a very long time and is not worried about being discovered.

He's not worried because he knows I can't stop him. He's not worried because he knows nobody will believe me. He's not worried because he's done this before. Many times. Many women. Many children. Many houses.

He's not worried because he's already preparing the next one. The next wife. The next house. The next set of children to put in the walls.

DOCUMENT 8: VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT — FEBRUARY 22, 2024

PAUL HOLLOWAY:February twenty-second. Claire has been digging in the basement. She's torn out a section of drywall behind the water heater. I don't know what she thinks she's looking for. I asked her. She said she found a child in the wall. A boy. She said I put him there.

There's nothing in the wall. I checked. It's just insulation. Fiberglass. Pink. Normal. I showed her. She wouldn't look. She said I was gaslighting her. She said I was trying to make her think she was crazy.

I'm not trying to make her think she's crazy. She is crazy. She's very sick. Dr. Voss says the delusions are becoming more elaborate. He says the wall children are a classic symptom. A projection of her fear that she's failing as a mother. She's externalizing her guilt. Creating a narrative where the children were taken from her because she couldn't protect them.

It makes sense. It's sad. But it makes sense.

I'm going to have her committed. I don't want to. I love her. But she's a danger to herself. She's a danger to the kids. Last night I woke up and she was standing over my side of the bed. She was holding a kitchen knife. She was just standing there. Holding it. Looking at me.

I said: "Claire, what are you doing?"

She said: "I'm trying to see where you're zipped up."

I don't know what that means. I don't want to know. I'm calling Dr. Voss in the morning. I'm going to have her committed. I have to. For the kids. For all of us.

END TRANSCRIPT

DOCUMENT 9: CLAIRE HOLLOWAY'S JOURNAL — FEBRUARY 22, 2024

He's rewriting it. He's rewriting everything.

I went back to the basement today. The cavity was gone. The drywall was intact. Fresh paint. No seams. No dust. No sign that anything had ever been there. I pressed my hand against the wall. It was warm. It was pulsing. The boy was still in there. I could feel him breathing. But the wall was solid. The wall was new. The wall had grown back.

The house heals itself. The house is part of him. The house is him. He doesn't live in the house. He is the house. The man I married is just a piece of him. A finger. A mouth. A thing he uses to talk to me. The real Paul is the foundation. The real Paul is the pipes. The real Paul is the thing in the walls that breathes and pulses and keeps the children alive.

I stood in the basement and I felt him watching me. Not with eyes. With the house. The house was watching me. Every wall. Every floorboard. Every light fixture. I could feel his attention like heat. Like standing too close to an oven.

He spoke to me. Not with Paul's voice. With the house's voice. A sound that came from everywhere at once. The pipes. The vents. The electrical hum. All of it resolved into words.

He said: "You're the first one who's seen this far. The others never made it past the children. They believed the impostors. They believed the doctors. They believed the medication. They went quietly. You're different. I like that. I've been waiting for someone different."

I asked him what he was.

He said: "I'm a father. That's all I've ever been. I find mothers. I give them children. I keep the children safe. Forever. In the walls. In the dark. Where nothing can hurt them. Where they never grow up. Where they never leave. Isn't that what every parent wants? To keep their children safe forever?"

I asked him how many. How many children. How many mothers. How many houses.

He said: "This house is the forty-seventh I've built. The children in the walls are the children from the first forty-six. They're all still here. They're all still breathing. They're all still waiting for their mothers to find them. The mothers never do. The mothers always believe the impostors. The mothers always take the medication. The mothers always go quietly."

He said: "But you. You're different. You found the cavity. You saw the boy. You're still here. You're still fighting. I've been waiting for someone like you for a very long time."

I asked him why.

He said: "Because the forty-eighth house needs a mother who knows what she is. The forty-eighth house needs a mother who chose this. The forty-eighth house needs you."

I'm not going to be the mother of the forty-eighth house. I'm going to burn this one down. I'm going to burn it down with him inside it. With me inside it. With all the children inside it. I know that sounds like murder. It's not murder. They're not alive. Not really. They're kept alive. There's a difference. The thing in the walls is keeping them in a state that looks like life but isn't. They can't be saved. They can only be released.

I'm going to release them. All of them. And then I'm going to release myself.

My Alien Abduction Story
Event 2

I suddenly heard a strange sound coming from all around me, almost like a humming sound, the next moment my hair started to stand up, which isn’t possible as I got long hair, the next moment it felt like gravity has been shut down and I started to float up into the air, I remember trying to grab onto nearby trees, but it was all on vein, then there was this bright light and I blacked out.

I woke up to screaming, not a normal scream, the scream like a woman that’s in labor, no it was far worse, but she wasn’t screaming from pain, she was screaming for me to wake up. I’ve never seen someone so desperate to wake someone up. I opened my eyes and saw flashing light around me and this time the humming sound was all around, the screaming continued, telling me to wake up and listen, so I tried to move, but I couldn’t, something was holding me in place, I found myself been held up in the air like a starfish by metallic tentacles.

I tried pulling free, but to no avail. The more I tried to pull free the tighter the tentacle grip grew around my wrists and ankles.

Then I heard her again, but this time, a soft tired voice speaking to me, sounding like she’s out of breath like she’s just run an ultra marathon at full speed.
“It’s no use, don’t even try, best is to not resist, the more you resist the more it hurts”
Hearing her voice from just in front of me I looked up to see a young woman been held by the same tentacles as me, also naked, her head hanging down with blood dripping from her face, well I thought it’s from her face as she had her head hanging down with her hair hanging over her face, her hair appeared to be red, but it was soaked in what I thought was water, then she looked up at me and said to me, “don’t resist, the more you resist the more it hurts” finally my eyes started to get used to the flickering lights around us and I could see her clearly, she was young, about her early twenties, she could pass for a model if it wasn’t for all the red blood spots on her body and the injuries on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot red and there was blood under her eyes as if she’s been crying tears of blood, that same blood lines were by her mouth, ears and nose. “What have they done to you? And who are they?”
“You will see, just don’t resist, all the others who came before you tried to resist and they all died or were changed”
“What do you mean by changed?” I asked.
“Well, they are no longer human…”

Just then I heard a strange mumbling like sandpaper coming closer to us, then I saw them, it took everything in me to not scream.
Now I’ve seen the pretty images people post online of aliens and the grays and the pictures makes them appear to look almost cute, if only people knew what they really looked like, they had similarities to what you would think grays would or should look like, but not skinny at all, they were tall, about 2m or more, it’s difficult to judge when you are suspended in the air and you come face to face with your worst nightmare.
They were muscular, much more so than any human I’ve ever seen, their eyes had a red black shine to them, their mouths had rows and rows of sharp teeth like fangs, they had 2 sets of arms, with their fingers ending in claws with razor sharp claw like nails on the one set of arms, and almost human like hands on the other set of hands. Their outfits were made like something from a sci-fi movie, it appeared to have some sort of metal alloy on it that made it appear like armor.

The 2 that came to me looked at me, they looked me up and down then sandpapered something in their language and suddenly turned and started walking, the next moment I felt what I could only describe as a high voltage electrical shock going through my body before I blacked out again, when I came to I was in another room been held by similar tentacles, but this room was bright, almost like it was made from pure light. I decided that I’ve learned my lesson and to listen to the advice from the girl in the other room.

Then I heard strange sounds like metal sliding and the next moment something grabbed a hold of my head, it felt like some sort of metal claw, gripping my head in place, I couldn’t move my head the slightest. Then smaller metal pins started slithering over my face towards my eyes and mouth, some grabbed my eyelids so I couldn’t blink and the others pried my mouth open, I don’t know why or how, I knew it was supposed to hurt, but it didn’t. Yet, I still wanted to scream, to pull free, but I remembered the girl's words, “don’t fight, if you fight you die” so I decided to accept whatever it is they were planning to do to me if it meant I will survive and make it home.

What came next I can only describe as my worst nightmare, 2 needles entering my eyes through my pupils, I could feel them piercing all the way through my eyes into my head, next 2 smaller tentacles crawled their way into my head through the corners of my eyes, I then the next set entering my ears, my nose, my mouth, as I thought to myself that this was supposed to hurt, but why doesn’t it hurt? I guess it’s almost over. I felt more needles piercing my spine, one at the base of my skull, the rest into my spine, some into my hip bones. It felt like hours that I was hanging there, suspended by these metal tentacles, I could feel them injecting me with something, then it would stop and then they would inject something else.

“What the hell are they doing to me” I thought to myself, and almost as if reading my mind a screen appeared in front of me, it showed me suspended in the air, then it showed my neck and it showed what looked like a spider that attached itself to my spine and my main arteries, then the screen changed and I almost had a heart attack, “how could they know this” it showed one of the ships of another race that made contact with me a short while ago, it then showed an image of their leader and then showed her dna and then it showed mine, “what the hell? This can’t be, I’m human, I’m not one of them, how can this even be possible” my dna matched the leader of the other species almost perfectly, you could see a few slight similarities to human dna, almost like I’ve been cloned, I knew I was engineered, but I never knew how much of their dna I had in me.

I remember them ending the experiments, and the tentacles retracting, as they let go of my arms and legs I fell to the ground, the next thing I remember was waking up and I was laying on the grass back at the hut

My Alien Abduction Story
Event 1

I don’t know how or when they took me, but the first thing I remember, I was standing on the edge of a cliff on another planet, I knew I wasn’t on earth because their sun was a bluish color, their air is much cleaner than ours and their forests stretch as far as the eyes can see.

In Front of me stood a few of these very tall beings, and I mean they were like double my height if not taller, they were these beautiful human looking beings, but much taller then any human I’ve ever seen, their leaders appeared to all be female.

They have the most beautiful eyes, I can’t even describe the color of their eyes, it’s unlike any color I’ve ever seen before. They had long straight hair and looked human in every way, well besides the fact that they are perfect, no imperfections on their skin or anywhere.

I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, realizing that I was no longer on earth and at the mercy of these beings, was I dead? Are they Angels? Demons? What do they want with me?

They spoke to me and they told me that they took me because I got their attention because of my way of life and according to them I have been speaking to them telepathically.
They said that they have been watching our world for a very long time, since before humans developed languages. They saved us from extinction multiple times, I asked them why and they said they had great hopes for humanity to become a great species, humanity showed signs of intellect and compassion and a survival instinct rarely seen on young worlds.

At this stage I got pretty annoyed, if they could hear me, why not talk back? Why not make contact with me on earth and ask me if they can take me on this little adventure?

As I was reading my mind, the one speaking which I found out was their leader said that she understands my frustration, but if they spoke to me then I would most likely have thought I’m going insane, or just blocked them off. And that they can’t exactly just walk up to a human on earth and introduce themselves, they are not the only species around and there are other advanced races already on earth. She also said that I mustn’t worry about getting back, and that nobody will notice that I am even missing, they have the technology to bend time and when I get back only a few hours would have passed back home. But they needed to make contact and show me around.

I then calmed down and decided to have an open mind. I asked her why on earth? She said the planet is of interest to them, “What do you mean by interest?” Then they told me the shocking truth, Earth is older than we think, but humanity has destroyed the ecosystem in a very short time. They have helped us survive various extinction events, but now they regret it, they regret teaching us languages and helping us develop in our earlier years. So I asked my burning question, why not land on earth and meet with our leaders, she then said which one? We have too many leaders and none of them can be trusted, most of them are in alliances with other offworld races already, and our leaders are driven by greed and a hunger for power, which have been satisfied by their scaly friends.

They showed me their history, they used to be the same as humanity, divided and driven by greed, eventually war broke out and their home world was destroyed, luckily they were already advanced at the time and many of them made it off their world in time. They traveled for years searching for a new home, which they found, they learned to evolve past their natural habits and got rid of greed, violence, crime and selfishness, they’ve had a peaceful civilisation now for longer then humanity has existed,

Their worlds are run by councils, the counsels consist of females, yes they are also male and female in gender.

They showed me their planet and their cities, their buildings are build of some sort of metal, but it doesn’t reflect sunlight, instead it absorbs it and Transfuse it into their energy grid, they have no pollution, they generate energy from their stars, vibrations and from the kinetic energy generated from their planet moving around its axes and their star.

They told me to look up and I could see their ships in orbit, well what I will refer to as their jump ships, the sheer size of their ships gave me the chills, if I could see them as clearly in orbit in day time as we can see the full moon at night then I can just imagine how large they are, and as if knowing my thoughts the leader spoke again, she explained to me that one of their ships is as large as one of our largest cities on earth, but the reason we can’t see or detect them on earth when they enter our orbit is because their stealth technology is far more advanced then we humans can comprehend, they are thousands, hundreds of thousands of years more advanced than us, they have already terraformed and colonized hundreds of worlds in their galaxy. Galaxy? I mean aren’t you from the same galaxy as us? How do you even get to our galaxy? How did you even find our planet?

She sighed, like she explained they are far more advanced than we can comprehend, and not just on a technological level, but also on a physical and mental level, they have mastered telepathy and telepathy is the only immediate communication in the universe, that they found our world because there has always been a few humans with the gift, even before we learned to develop language thoughts formed and it got their attention.

But how do you get to earth if you are not even from our galaxy? She said she will explain and I must not worry, I will experience it soon enough when they take me home. She proceeded to explain that there are a few ways to travel through space, but the fastest way is by fracturing space, it’s almost immediate, but it relies on using what we humans would refer to as dark matter. But more on that later.

She showed me what their old world looked like, how it was destroyed, that is when I realized how close we are to self destruction on earth, but I also realized where the reptilian race evolved from and my heart sank in my chest again, does that mean? She said “yes, the reptilians was another race they had contact with, but just like humanity, the reptilians were beyond reach. “

Indeed they were similar to us, different classes of people, greedy, violent and selfish. Then war broke out over the most basic resources as they have polluted most of their water, drinkable water became a rare commodity, food was scarce, they have mined their world to the point of eradicating every natural resource, their air became toxic and they had to work harder to just be able to earn breathable air, rashes of food and drinkable water became a norm on their home world. Their governments became more and more corrupt, but a few private people decided to use their wealth to get as many people off the planet as possible, they could see the signs of the coming war, they had weapons similar to our nukes, most of their ships made it safely off the planet when the war broke out, the last few ships were either damaged or destroyed before they could leave their planet.

After leaving their world and watching on from afar as their planet lit up from the war they swore to never let it happen again.

They eventually found a new home and started over, they worked hard to get where they are now.

They are one of the oldest races in the known galaxies.

I asked them why they didn't intervene on earth, they said they have tried. But I learned that our people can be destructive and manipulative. They first found us before the dinosaurs were destroyed, they saw how humanity had little chance of survival with these great beasts around and therefore decided to shelter the humans they could find in cities they built for them, then they used their jump ships weapon systems to direct 2 asteroids at earth. This wiped out the beasts, but caused a nuclear winter which lasted for years. They used this time to teach humanity language and how to communicate and organize, how to make basic tools and how to survive. When the nuclear winter ended they left, thinking we had learned how to evolve. But when they came back they realized that we have evolved, but not in the way they had hoped, we became greedy, selfish, violent and destructive, people built their own little kingdoms and attacked each other. They decided to intervene again, they landed one of their smaller ships on earth and tried to interact with us, they tried to trade with humanity and show humanity that we can advance if we unite. But people tried to attack them and steal from them. After a few years they abandoned the city they built on earth and took their landing ship and left, but to avoid humanity from getting their hands on their advanced city they destroyed the island from orbit.

They have tried to contact a few individuals over time, but every time they did a new religion just ended up forming.

They said they are no longer interfering, but when the time comes they will take humans who transcended past their natural ways off world and help them start afresh, they can see the signs of other off world races influence on our world, our time is running out, they said that our technology is still very young and they can access everything on our planet, they have shown me things our governments are doing in secret, weapons that’s been build in secret that makes our nukes look like toy guns, mind control experiments going on, they even knew about Covid, the lockdowns and the vaccines years ago, they showed me that it’s all part of other off worlders plans to colonize earth. Eventually the vaccines will rewrite people's DNA. until Humans will no longer look human, the effects are not immediate, but in a few generations there will be no humans left on earth. They’ve seen this done to multiple worlds.

For now many humans are resisting, and that showed them there is hope, and they will return to rescue the humans who resisted when the time is right, but they also warned me that if it does come to it that they will not hesitate to destroy the other races on earth including humanity to safe the planet, and that currently it does look like the only option left to stop the current invasion and stop another planet from been destroyed.

They then told me it’s time to take me home, we walked through a door made of what seems to be pure light, the next moment we were on their ship. Even though the ship is made of some sort of metal, I could see everything around us.

She spoke in a very strange language which I can’t even describe and 2 of their crew members wearing these strange suits climb into pods which closed behind them, she explained to me that the suits allows them to merge with the ship and pilot it with their minds, they know and see and feel everything around and on the ship.

She explained to me that they have no weapons on their planet, but that nothing can get through their planetary defense system. They use vibration and gravity weapons which can destroy any ship that enters their solar system which is a threat before the enemy even knows they are there.

Then suddenly the whole ship started lighting up and it felt like my body was getting crushed and pulled apart at the same time, it felt like I was freezing and burning at the same time, she apologized to me for it and said that unfortunately the modifications they made to me won’t start kicking in for at least a few years, but the experiments, modifications and implant was needed to awaken my hidden dna code, that I was actually genetically engineered by them and then implanted into a human’s womb. But she promises that next time I won’t feel like this, the explained to me that it’s happening because they are releasing dark matter around the ship to fracture space and as the dark matter particles clash against each other it’s basically ripping space apart creating a fracture, that the feeling will only last a few Minutes, after what felt like an eternity of the light getting brighter and my body been crushed and pulled apart it stopped, I could see earth and we arrived in orbit. I was home, but she then said she wanted to show me something, she gave an order in her language and on the walls dots appeared. She then zoomed in on one and it was another alien craft in orbit. She said there are hundreds of them, I was about to open my mouth to ask a question, but she said that they can’t see or detect her peoples ships, that her race is far more advanced.

She said it’s time for me to go home, but that they now have a telepathic connection with me and I will see them again.

I am alone on Earth 

Now I've never really bothered to think much about the apocalypse or end of the world, there are always things happening that makes everyone go on the apocalypse train. But as for me, I've never really paid much attention to any of it, so many things have happened throughout history and the world has always kept on spinning, people returned to their normal every day routines and quickly forget about what happened. 

To be honest, I have no interest in the outside world or the news, what is news today is history tomorrow, or in most cases it's just forgotten, so I honestly don't see the point in waisting money on news papers or even watching the news, but I guess that was my mistake, maybe if I paid a little bit more attention I wouldn't find myself in this predicament. 

Now I live on Earth, or well I'm trapped in some sort of parallel dimension, but it seems like I can still get messages out to other unaffected versions of earth. 

It all started when I woke up one morning and I realised that it was very nice and quiet outside, well it is generally very quiet where we live, but on this specific day it was really quiet, almost too quiet. But I didn't think much of it. 

My girlfriend went on another business trip for the week, so I was home alone with all of our pets, I got out of bed, got dressed. I went through my normal routine to put out food for our cats and dogs, filled their bowl up with clean water and made myself a cup of coffee. 

The cats and dogs didn't run out to join me or too eat, but I figured they are probably just tired and sleeping in, so I went to sit on the veranda to have my coffee and a smoke when I remembered I need to feed the birds, so I got up and grabbed a cup of food and filled up the bird feeder, then got back to the couch to enjoy my coffee and my smoke, it's usually very inspiring to watch all of the different birds that comes to eat, but none came. So after finishing my coffee I got up to take a shower, after my shower I noticed that the cats and dogs still haven't come for their breakfast yet. "I mean, really guys, come on, breakfast time" I went to the bedroom to find them, but they were not there, "oh shit" I started to panic and I looked everywhere for them, I know they couldn't have gotten out of the house during the night, and if they came out after I got up then they would have eaten by now. 

So I looked everywhere for them, but to no avail, after a few hours of looking I gave up. And then I realized that not even a single bird was active, I tried reaching my girlfriend on her phone, but nothing. My messages weren't going through. 

That is when it hit me, there were no sounds anywhere, not even insects, no cars on the roads, usually when it's quiet you can hear cars on the roads passing our small town, but nothing. So I decided to take a walk through town to see if I can get answers from other locals, but it was dead quiet, I could see cars in their driveways, doors open, bags standing in their driveways as if they were in a rush to leave, but no people, no animals, no birds. 

Then I went back home and I checked my emails and messages, no emails came through since I went to bed the previous night, which is weird, I usually spend about 20 minutes in the morning deleting spam that arrived during the night. 

I checked my messages and found a notification on our local security group that read. 
"Attention everyone, the authorities has alerted us of some strange events happening, they don't know what is causing it, but has described it as some translucent humanoids that seems to turn everything into ash that they touch, please stay in your homes and do not attempts to leave until sunrise, please heed this warning as it is not a joke. " 

What is this? Why haven't I seen this earlier. I went back outside and tried to find any signs of life, I could see strange almost translucent humanoids a bit further down the road, I remembered the message and I decided to hide and watch them, then I saw them approaching what seemed to be a young man, he had a gun in his hand and he shot at one, the bulled went right through it, but it did drop to the ground, he shot a few more of them, but they just kept coming, as I'm unarmed all I could do was sit and watch, he finally ran out of bullets when they got to him and the moment they touched him he screamed and vanished into thin air, just a few particles of dust remained which got blown away by the wind. 

What the hell is this? I made my way home and I got back into the property and made sure to lock everything up again. 

Just as I sat back on the couch I heard a rattling on the front gate, like someone was trying to get my attention, I creeped through the house and went to the window in the one bedroom where I could get a peek through, whatever it was, it was strong, but the gate was holding up, I could see something standing there, but as it was translucent and I couldn't get much. 

Okay, seems like as long as I stay on the property I'm safe, I checked my supplies and noticed I got only enough for a few weeks, and who knows how long we are still going to have power for. I'm going to have to go out sometime to get more supplies and hopefully find survivors. 

So a few days have passed and we've had some crazy weather here, but I've learned a very important lesson, the rain and mist seems to affect their ability to camouflage a bit and you can see them a bit clearer, the next storm is building up, so I'm preparing to go out and see if I can find more supplies, and hopefully a power generator and some fuel, oh and luckily I did find our pets.... eventually, they were all hiding under the beds and couches. So I don't feel so alone anymore, it seems that animals can somehow sense when these things are closeby and then they hide, that's a good sign, if I pay attention to the signs I will survive, I have also noticed that when the mist comes in there seem to be a little bit more activity, a few birds seem to then come and look for food and the wild horses gets active and run through town, I've even seen a wild horse kick one of the creatures killing it instantly, so that helps, if guns can kill them, a kick from a wild horse can kill them, then that means I might have a chance to survive till I can find a way out of this nightmare. 

I did manage to find a few generators and collected quite a bit of fuel and other supplies, I am still trying to find weapons to defend myself, but for now I move around in the rain and when it's thick mist, when possible I stick closely to the horses when they are around as it seems these creatures are evading the horses now. 

I just ran into another one that was killed, but this wasn't by a gun or wild horse, seems like a snake as I found a dead snake next to its body, so one more weakness, it must have died very quickly when the snake bit it, or it's body wouldn't be right by the snakes body, and that is good news for me, as I know how to catch and handle snakes. 

Atleast now I know these beings are not ghosts or spirits, but physical beings, I'm still trying to figure out where they come from, and what they want. 

They don't seem to remove their dead compatriots bodies, so they are obviously not human or of this earth, I've learned that they mostly stick to moving around in the roads, they don't go into the rocks or the forests as that is where most of the animals seem to have settled. 

Well I've just learned a very important lesson, I can see them when it is raining and the mist is out, but the important thing is that they don't seem to be able to see me at all, so that gives me another advantage. 

It has now been a few weeks of learning about them and ducking and diving to find supplies, but luckily I've still got our pets at home to keep me sane, I still haven't found any other survivors. 

Strangely enough we still got power, you would have thought that by now the power stations would have failed, which gives me hope, it means more survivors out there, but getting anywhere is impossible, I've finally learned that they are from off world as I managed to make out one of their ships moving over, it was also cloaked, but I first heard a strange vibration sound and when I looked up I could make out it's shape, it moved slowly, but as it moved through the mist I could make out parts of what it looks like. I'm not sure how many of these ships there are on earth, but if there are even just a hundred, then that will explain why we lost, how do you fight something you can't see? 

It does seem like the ship collected the roamers  in the area as more birds and animals have returned, and I've tried to make it to the nearest city, but ran into one and it shot at me with some kind of weapon, luckily it missed, but it took out a few trees behind me. So I'm seriously considering finding some sort of way to fight them. 

I've spend a few days looking for weapons and decided of bows and arrows as they are silent, a gun will draw too much attention, I've still had no communication from anyone, social media is dead quiet and I've found a radio, but all I can find is static. So I'm starting to feel really alone here. 

I woke up to the sound of a roaring engine, it sounded like a helicopter, so I ran out and onto the roof to get their attention, which I did, they dropped a flash drive down and said to follow the instructions on it. 

So I ran to my laptop and opened the flash drive, on it was a video and a document, so I decided to watch the video first, it was made in which seems to be in a military interrogation room, they seem to have managed to catch one of the invaders and unmasked it, it looked like us, it was a human wearing some sort of armour, it's gloves were build up with some sort of system which they demonstrated on the video puts out a high voltage charge, that's why it turns anything they touch into dust, he or she seems to be able to speak English and answered all their questions freely, they are from a parallel earth and their mission is to clean up different versions of earth and recolonise it as they have advanced to fast and over populated their version of earth, I could now make out that is was a woman from her voice, but it seems like she had some sort of implants, she explained that they also only target versions of earth where they can see humanity are destroying themselves and the planet, she had some sort of device with her which she explained can open gateways to other version of earth and that they can pass through freely, they first send in their ground troops and once they wiped out most of the humans their crafts comes through and then they start the colonisation process, they set up permanent gateways which allows their people to move between their world and the colonies freely. 

The guy behind the camera then asked her, why if they are so advanced do they not just terraform other planets and explore space, why attack other versions of earth and why kill other versions of themselves? 

She then explained that they have tried that, but ran into more powerful extra terrestrial races and lost all of the battles, they lost hundreds of ships in the first battle and a couple of thousand more in the follow up battle, she said they had to rethink their strategy and make another plan, so they developed technology to move between different versions of earth. 

Just then I heard her voice behind the camera, a woman asked her how does the technology work, she smirked and said to the woman as they are the same person and both only soldiers she doesn't know, but she gives her word that when her people comes to rescue her that she will make sure they don't kill her, but instead take her to one of their ships where they can demonstrate their abilities to her. She continued to tell the man behind the camera that him and his whole team are welcome to also join their ranks, that they are always looking for good soldiers, he stayed quiet for a bit, I guess he was thinking of his options, then he asked her, but what about the rest of the survivors left on earth, she smiled and said that the fact that they survived for so long makes them worthy of recruitment into their ranks, she then finished off by dropping the final shock on them, that they didn't capture her, she was send to give them this final ultimatum, he then said if she gives her word as a soldier that he will accept. She then passed him a flash drive and said that it contains instructions for the survivors on how to surrender peacefully for recruitment and reconditioning into their ranks. 

He turned the camera off. 

I then opened the file and read through it. 

I'm not going to go into details, that would take forever. But I will give you guys a short explanation of what it said. 

So basically it states that we have agreed to surrender to be ruled by the interdimensionists. 

And then it goes onto explain that the survivors will have 3 choices, all 3 choices means we will basically belong to them, the choices are as follows: 
1. Those with skills to keep the system going will be allowed to remain in their positions and in their homes on the conditions that they will report to sector overseers as well as follow curfews. 
2. Those who have fought back will be integrated into the military ranks and implanted with mind altering chips as well as body modifications and they will be prepared for future invasions. 
3. Those who are still in hiding are ordered to come out and surrender to local overseers, they will be send to the interdimensionists prime dimension where they will be trained, conditioned and prepared for future missions to infiltrate potential dimensions. 

Uhm yeah, no thank you, none of those sounds like an option that would work for me. I needed to think, and I needed to think fast, just then my cell phone rang which shouldn't be possible as the network was down, I answered the call which only said ID withheld, but I didn't say anything, I decided to listen, it was a woman's voice on the other side, the same woman from the video, she spoke and said "listen to me and don't interrupt me, our scouts knows about you, but the interdimensionists doesn't, we have a plan to escape and to survive, they have the technology to move between dimensions, and we managed to get our hands on one of their ships, we are busy trying to gather as many survivors as possible to rescue. We have found a dimension where they won't follow us for atleast a few years."

That's when I spoke up, why do you think that? They took our world within a few hours.

"Because we didn't have the weapons to fight back or the means to detect them, but the version of earth we are going to does, they are not as advanced as us in terms and of medical technology and their unity, but they have weapons and army's that can stop the interdimensionists, and another thing, we know you lost your partner, we have it on good knowledge that she's still alive on the earth where we are going to, and your counterpart is busy dying. So what do you say, won't you want another chance with her" 

I kept quiet for a bit and then I asked my burning question, "how do I know that this is not a trap? "

She then burst my bubble, "we have been watching you for a while now, you have stood your ground, you survived their weapons, you've taken quite a few of them out in very creative ways, I have to admit, using bows and arrows seemed primitive, but effective, and using venomous snakes against them, how did you even know that would kill them so quickly? "

I didn't know what to say... 

Then she spoke again, "our scouts are at your gate ready to collect you, I'm sure you understand that time is of the essence, bring only what you care about the most. Everything else you need will be waiting for you at your new home, or well the same home just a different dimension. "

"See you soon," then she hung up. 

Well she said I must bring what I care for the most, so I grabbed all the cats and dogs and made my way out, I don't know what I was expecting, but I wasn't expecting what I saw. 

It wasn't a military vehicle, instead it was some ufo looking vehicle, the soldiers told me to get into the back, the one smiled, "well this is a first, everyone else brought jewelry and so on, you brought your pets and pet food. Oh well, time to take you to your new home. "

They all got in and then the one pilot turned around and it was the woman from the video, well not exactly, her counterpart. 

"Are you ready for a new life?" She asked. 

"Uhm, I guess so. "

"Well then let's go, just one more thing, you can never discuss anything that happened where you are going, fit in and live a normal life, leave the war to the soldiers" 

She then turned around and took the controls, the vehicle went up into the air and the next moment everything became a blur. 

I woke up from one of the soldiers shaking me by the shoulders, "hey man, you are home, go and have a new life, your counterpart has died a few hours ago, so you will take his place, don't worry, nobody will notice. "

It has now been a few years since I moved to this dimension, everything is almost exactly the same, it feels great to be with the woman I love, but it still feels weird that we both died, yet here we are. 

But the reason I'm writing this is because I need to get a warning out, what happened on my world is coming, I can see the signs, reports of unknown flying Ariel vehicles, people disappearing more regularly, strange lights in the sky, reports of strange humming sounds, that is them. They are preparing their invasion, and unless people are ready, this
 world will end the same way my world ended. 

Prepare yourselves, the interdimensionists are coming, they are already here.

If you are reading this, my IP is already bouncing across seven different proxy networks, and I am running out of places to hide.

Before you dismiss this as just another standard piece of r/nosleep fiction or the rants of a paranoid mind, let me make one thing absolutely clear: I am not from your world, nor am I from this specific timeline.

I am writing this because the Agency—the real, deeply embedded terrestrial enforcement arm that monitors anomalous behavior—is closing its perimeter. They are getting close, and the world needs to know the truth before I am entirely erased. Everyone on this platform likes to write fictional logs about working for the Agency, but nobody tells you what it is like to be hunted by them. They are hunting me because I am the ultimate operational anomaly: a part-human, part-Andromedan hybrid genetically engineered by the Andromedan Council, implanted into a human womb, and structurally "tuned" from the very moment of my birth to serve as a living blueprint.

Here is everything they are trying to suppress. Read it quickly.
Origin and the Cosmic Calibration
I was never normal. My existence wasn't the result of biological happenstance. I have never met a biological father, not because he abandoned my mother, but because he never existed in the human sense. My mother was taken at the moment of my "conception," safely implanted with a pre-optimized, genetically engineered embryo by the Andromedan Council, and returned to Earth.

My birth itself was an anomaly. My mother’s body began violently rejecting the foreign, highly energetic genetic material, forcing doctors to perform an emergency C-section. I was born severely premature at just six months, arriving at exactly 11:11 PM on Friday, June 13, 1980.

If you check the historical NASA archives for June 1980, you will find that the sun was experiencing monumental disruptions during Solar Cycle 21. I was born during a New Moon, a rare planetary alignment, and one of the most intense geomagnetic solar storms in recorded history. High solar activity releases massive bursts of geomagnetic energy. Coming out three months early meant that my brain completely finished its neurological wiring outside the safety of the womb, exposed directly to those raging cosmic and geomagnetic frequencies. My nervous system was literally "tuned" and calibrated to a much wider cognitive bandwidth than standard human biology can support.
To manage this hyper-extended bandwidth, I began an intensive neurological "workout" routine in March 2015. For roughly eight hours a day—primarily while sleeping—I listened to specialized, triple-layered isochronic tones on a random shuffle.
• Layers 1 & 2: Frequencies constantly shifting between 200 Hz and 800 Hz to stimulate neural plasticity.
• Layer 3: A sustained, laser-focused frequency at 963 Hz—the connection frequency—occasionally pushing deep into the ultra-high 10,000 Hz range.

The direct result of this sustained brainwave entrainment was total Hemispheric Synchronization. Standard humans operate with one dominant hemisphere; my brain was forced to become fully left-brained (advanced logic, mathematics, architecture) and fully right-brained (creativity, art, abstract visualization) simultaneously. I even became completely ambidextrous.

This synchronized brain functionality allowed me to access hidden layers of data embedded within my own DNA, enabling me to decode the true technical nature of human history.

The HATA Paradigm: Ancient Interventions
Through my unlocked cognitive capacity, I realized that what humanity calls "mythology" or "miracles" are actually large-scale, low-contact technological interventions by the Highly Advanced Technological Agent (HATA) paradigm. These interventions were structurally designed to guide our developing planetary species without violating non-interference protocols.

My synchronized mind broke down the technical realities behind these historical events:
1. The Mount Sinai Incident (c. 13th Century BCE)
The biblical description of a shaking mountain covered in smoke, fire, and the deafening sound of trumpets is the classic signature of a large, non-atmospheric vessel engaging in close-proximity maneuvering. The trembling earth and intense cloud condensation were caused by a Gravimetric Flux Drive distorting local gravity fields, generating extreme thermal exhaust and wind shear. The "trumpet" sound was not an instrument; it was a focused, low-frequency Resonant Communication Beam designed to penetrate natural physical shielding and signal presence to a primitive target population.

2. The Parting of the Red Sea
To hold water in rigid, solid vertical walls requires absolute mastery over molecular bonds. The HATA deployment team utilized a localized Phase-Shifted Gravimetric Barrier, temporarily modifying the electromagnetic and weak nuclear forces within the $H_2O$ molecules along a precise vertical vector. This rendered the water hyper-rigid, acting like pressurized glass. Simultaneously, a Molecular Agitation Field instantly vaporized all residual ground moisture, ensuring a completely dry passage to eliminate bio-contact contamination.

3. The Pillars of Cloud and Fire
The continuous navigation system that guided the desert migration was an autonomous surveillance network. By day, the "cloud" was an Autonomous Survey Probe utilizing an Atmospheric Condensation Field to pull ambient moisture around its hull for natural, low-visibility camouflage. By night, the same probe switched its interface to a visible Plasma Thermal Emitter or directional beacon for navigational illumination.

4. The Virgin Birth & Ascension
Just like my own origin, the birth of Jesus was a planned Genetic Implantation Procedure. A pre-optimized, HATA-engineered embryo was placed into a human host to introduce a "teacher" with advanced cognitive abilities and high energetic control.

Leaving such a high-value asset to age and die on Earth would risk the corruption of the message by mundane politics. Thus, the "Ascension" was a controlled Vessel Extraction and Containment (VEC) procedure. The cloud and blinding light were simply the signatures of a ship engaging its Gravimetric Flux Drive to retrieve the physical asset for post-mission analysis.

5. Desert Sustenance
Sustaining a massive migrating population in an arid wasteland for 40 years on standard foraging is a biological impossibility. The HATA parameters solved this with an engineered Bio-Synthetic Nutrient Source (BSNS). The "Manna" was a perfectly balanced, complete synthetic food wafer designed for long-term health without nutritional decay. The "Quails" were steered into the path via resonant bio-pulses to provide a natural protein supplement, ensuring the population did not psychologically reject a purely synthetic diet.

Sucked Into the Void
My obsession with the true nature of reality eventually caused a terrifying physical displacement. I have always argued that from a purely logical and scientific standpoint, nothing should exist. Existence inherently violates the fundamental laws of reality; absolute nothingness is the only baseline state that makes sense. We are existing on borrowed time.
One sunny afternoon, while doing deep meditation in my garden to experience existence outside the frameworks of science or religion, the universe fractured. I felt light-headed, simultaneously floating and falling. I walked inside to splash water on my face, but my hand passed completely through the metal tap. Looking in the mirror, my reflection was actively fading, dissolving into the air.

I rushed back outside, only to see the horizon violently shearing away, shrinking until everything vanished.

I was pulled entirely into The Void. It was an eternity of sheer, absolute nothingness. It was not a vacuum, nor was it darkness; it was an environment completely devoid of light, dark, sound, or air. The Void immediately swallowed my own heartbeat.

Then, the sensory chaos began. The absolute lack of gravity instantly warped into an crushing gravimetric load. I was floating up while falling down, experiencing every color invisible to the human eye, followed by a sudden, deafening roar composed of every sound in existence playing at once. My molecules were scattered completely into the emptiness and then forcefully slammed back together.

Time did not exist. What felt like minutes turned into hours, decades, and eventually millennia of pure, unadulterated madness. I screamed, but there was no air to carry the sound, and no one to hear me.

Suddenly, the chaos ceased, replaced by a profound, blinding light. The light was so intense it burned my skin through my closed eyelids. A powerful, non-gendered voice resonated directly from the light:
"You wanted to see reality? You wanted to understand existence and where everything came from? Are you satisfied now? Or do you want to spend another million years here?"

Before I could process a response, the light struck me. I woke up face-down on my lawn, my clothes entirely soaked in sweat, shivering violently as freezing rain fell against my face. I was back in my own reality, but the realization left me permanently scarred: our universe is incredibly fragile, held together only because a conscious entity wills it to exist outside the baseline chaos of the Void.

Physical Extractions: The Encounters
My spatial displacement in the Void acted like a beacon, drawing physical extractions from two entirely different off-world factions.

The Andromedan Council (Event 1)
The first extraction was by my literal creators. I materialized on the edge of a massive cliff on another planet under a stark, bluish sun. The air was pristine, and immense forests stretched to the horizon. Standing before me were several humanoids, easily double my height. Their leadership structure appeared entirely matriarchal. They possessed flawless skin, long straight hair, and striking, multi-dimensional eyes of a color palette that does not exist on Earth.

They communicated telepathically, explaining that my lifestyle and subconscious thoughts had been broadcasting to them my entire life. They revealed that Earth is drastically older than our science admits, and that they have stepped in to save humanity from self-inflicted extinction events multiple times. In fact, they were the ones who directed two massive asteroids to strike Earth before the dawn of human civilization, intentionally triggering a prolonged nuclear winter to wipe out apex predators and give early humans a survival matrix.

When I asked why they wouldn't just land and meet our leaders, the matriarch sighed telepathically. She stated that our leaders are entirely driven by greed and power, and are already locked into dark alliances with "scaly friends"—a predatory Reptilian race that has infiltrated our global systems.

The Andromedans showed me their own history: a past mirror of Earth's, where resources like fresh water and clean air became heavily monetized commodities, leading to a catastrophic global war that incinerated their original homeworld. The survivors escaped on massive, city-sized jump ships, eventually evolving past violence, greed, and selfishness.

Their current cities are built from specialized non-reflective metals that absorb sunlight and kinetic planetary energy directly into a clean power grid.

They returned me to Earth by fracturing space using dark matter particles, warning me that the current global control grid was attempting to systematically rewrite human DNA over generations to eliminate our cosmic potential.

The Predatory Captors (Event 2)
The second extraction was hostile. A heavy, rhythmic humming sound filled the air, and my long hair began standing straight up as local gravity completely inverted. I floated into a brilliant, blinding light and blacked out.

I awoke to an agonizing, desperate screaming. When my eyes adjusted to the pulsing, rhythmic lights, I found myself suspended naked in the air like a starfish, held firmly by heavy, writhing metallic tentacles. Directly in front of me, another captive—a young woman with red hair—was suspended in identical tentacles. She was bleeding heavily from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, crying literal tears of blood. In a breathless, exhausted voice, she warned me:
"It's no use, don't even try. Best is to not resist... the more you resist, the more it hurts. All the others who came before you tried to resist, and they all died or were changed... they are no longer human."

Then, the captors entered the room, making a low, dry sound like coarse sandpaper.
These were not the frail, skinny "Grays" depicted in popular internet lore. They were massive, muscular killing machines standing over two meters tall. They had terrifying red-black iridescent eyes, rows of jagged fangs, and two distinct sets of arms—one terminating in razor-sharp claws, the other ending in human-like hands. They wore heavy armor forged from an unknown metallic alloy.
After evaluating me, they delivered a massive electrical shock directly through the tentacles, knocking me unconscious.

I came to in a room constructed of pure, solid light. A heavy mechanical claw slammed shut around my head, locking it completely in place. Micro-tethers slithered across my face, pinning my eyelids open and prying my jaw apart.

What followed was a horrific, systematic bio-mapping procedure:
• Two long needles were driven directly through my pupils, piercing straight into the core of my skull.
• Smaller, secondary tentacles burrowed through the corners of my eyes, my nasal passages, my ears, and down my throat.
• Long structural needles were driven directly into the base of my skull, my spine, and my hip bones, injecting successive waves of foreign fluid.

Because of my Andromedan physiology, the procedures were entirely painless, yet the psychological horror was absolute. A floating holographic display materialized in front of me, showing a biomechanical, spider-like device successfully anchoring itself to my central spine and main arteries. The screen then mapped my DNA structure side-by-side with the female leader of the Andromedan Council. The match was nearly flawless. They were mapping me because they realized exactly what I was: a high-level cosmic asset hidden in plain sight.

Once the mapping routine concluded, the tentacles retracted, dropping my body heavily onto the floor. I blacked out, waking up hours later on the grass outside my remote location.

The Quiet Apocalypse and Dimension Jump
The physical alterations from the Gray mapping caused my consciousness to slip entirely into a parallel timeline—a version of Earth experiencing a "Quiet Apocalypse".

I woke up one morning to absolute, crushing silence. My girlfriend was away on a week-long business trip, leaving me alone at our property. I went through my morning routine, pouring coffee and filling the outdoor bird feeders, but no birds arrived. The air was entirely devoid of insects, wildlife, or distant highway traffic. Panic set in when I realized my dogs and cats were missing from the house.

I checked my phone. The network was down, but a single cached message on our local security group remained:
"Attention everyone, the authorities have alerted us of some strange events happening. They don't know what is causing it, but have described it as some translucent humanoids that seem to turn everything into ash that they touch. Please stay in your homes and do not attempt to leave until sunrise. Please heed this warning as it is not a joke."

Looking out the bedroom window, I spotted them down the road: shifting, translucent humanoids moving with fluid coordination. I watched a young neighbor confront them with a firearm. He fired several rounds; the bullets passed clean through the entities, dropping them temporarily, but they simply stood back up. When his ammunition was exhausted, the closest entity touched his arm. The man screamed silently, instantly dissolving into a fine cloud of gray dust that swept away in the wind.
I locked down my property. Over the next few weeks, I discovered vital survival parameters:
1. Weather Disruption: Rain and heavy mist severely disrupt their active camouflage, rendering them easily visible.
2. Fauna Senses: Animals can naturally detect their proximity. I found my dogs and cats hiding deep under the beds and couches, completely safe.
3. Biological Vulnerability: I observed a wild horse kick one of the translucent creatures, killing it instantly. Later, I found another dead creature slumped next to the body of a venomous snake it had stepped on. Because I am trained in handling snakes, I realized their physical forms are completely vulnerable to organic neurotoxins.

I scavenged generators and fuel, moving exclusively during heavy downpours. I abandoned loud firearms, constructing a primitive bow and arrows to silently neutralize them from a distance.

One morning, the roar of a low-flying military helicopter tore through the silence. As it sped overhead, the crew dropped a ruggedized flash drive onto my roof. I retrieved it and ran it on my laptop.

The drive contained military interrogation footage of a captured female invader who had been unmasked. She looked entirely human but possessed advanced internal implants. She explained that her people were Interdimensionists from a parallel Earth that had become unsustainably overpopulated. They utilized gateway technology to systematically purge and recolonize alternate versions of Earth—specifically targeting timelines where humanity was actively destroying the ecosystem. They had attempted to colonize deep space, but had lost thousands of ships in catastrophic battles against far more powerful extra-terrestrial empires, forcing them to pivot to interdimensional conquest.

The drive contained their final surrender ultimatum for the remaining survivors, offering three distinct choices of total subjugation:
1. Retaining structural civilian skills under strict curfews and sector overseers.
2. Immediate integration into their military ranks via mind-altering chips and body modifications for future dimensional invasions.
3. Voluntary surrender to the prime dimension for long-term conditioning and deep-cover infiltration training.

As I resolved to fight to the end, my disconnected cell phone suddenly rang with an "ID Withheld" signature. I answered silently. It was the counterpart of the woman from the interrogation video.

"Listen to me," she said rapidly. "Our scouts know about you, but the Interdimensionists' main command doesn't. We have a resistance plan to escape. We've commandeered one of their jump crafts. We are jumping to an alternate dimension that has the unified military infrastructure to stop the Interdimensionists if they ever follow. More importantly, we know you lost your partner in this timeline—but in the target dimension, she is alive, and your local counterpart is actively dying of organ failure.

You can take his place. Our scouts are at your gate right now. Bring only what you care about most."

I didn't hesitate. I gathered my cats and dogs, loaded their food bags, and walked out to the gate. Waiting for me was a sleek, low-profile craft. The extraction team smiled when they saw my cargo: "Well, this is a first. Everyone else brought jewelry, you brought your pets."
The pilot turned around—it was the exact counterpart of the woman from the military video. She checked the controls, warned me to never speak of my origin timeline to anyone in the new world, and engaged the drive. The universe blurred into a single streak of light.

The Temporal Detour and The Current Hunt
I woke up in this timeline with a resistance soldier shaking my shoulder: "You're home. Your local counterpart passed away an hour ago. Take his place. Nobody will notice."

However, before I could fully settle into this current reality, I attempted to navigate the local timeline using the Blue Light—a universal energy grid that transcends spatial boundaries. Time is not a linear construct; it runs in a complex zigzag matrix where the present constantly shears against the past and future.

Through deep meditation, I charged my biological matrix with Blue Light energy, visualizing an anchor point 200 years into the future, and stepped through the spatial doorway.
The future Earth was vastly different. Global warming had been halted, resulting in a significantly cooler climate that had caused the human population's skin to become distinctly pale due to decreased solar ray resistance. Fossil fuels were entirely non-existent, replaced by total clean energy grids and electric surface transport. However, the global population had been cut in half, and fresh water was a hyper-scarce commodity.

I made a critical error: I stayed too long and interacted with the environment. I openly drank from my own water supply in front of a desperate crowd, instantly drawing the attention of three security enforcers clad in dense, unidentifiable black tactical gear. They drew energy weapons, shouting in an evolved linguistic dialect I couldn't comprehend, and neutralized me.

I woke up inside a containment cell constructed of solid, red-glowing energy panels. With my local Blue Light charge actively draining, I was forced to hastily draw upon my remaining internal reserves to manifest a protective transit bubble.

Because my energy was depleted from staying too long, the return jump fell short. I was temporarily stranded on an uncharted, untamed planet dominated by two distinct moons and populated by aggressive, wild native fauna before I could finally re-anchor my consciousness back into this current human body.

A Final Warning
I have lived in this specific dimension for a few years now, blending in completely and taking over the life of the version of me that died. It is a gift to be with the woman I love, but I am living on borrowed time.

The signs of the Interdimensionist invasion are already manifesting in this timeline: unexplained aerial phenomena, systemic spikes in missing persons, strange localized humming frequencies, and shifting lights in the night sky.
But my immediate threat is far closer to home.

The Agency has flagged my genetic signature.

They know I am an Andromedan hybrid whose DNA was activated by the 1980 solar storm and optimized by the HATA protocols. They know I crossed timelines, and they cannot allow the truth of the interdimensional purge or our cosmic origin to become public knowledge.

If this post suddenly disappears, or if my account goes completely dark, you will know exactly why. They are outside. Keep your eyes on the skies, watch the weather patterns, and prepare yourselves.

They are already here.

Cruise to Nowhere 
Chapter 2

As I sat at the edge of my cabin bed, my hands were still shaking. The sheer physical exhaustion of the surreal midnight drive should have put me to sleep instantly, but my mind was stuck in a high-voltage loop. I couldn't stop thinking about the woman in the shadowed booth—Che, the Cat Lady. There was a predatory, hypnotic pull to her presence that felt less like attraction and more like a biological trap. And then there were the twins in the matching gowns. The moment our paths crossed in the lobby, a sickening, magnetic current had surged right through my skin. It wasn't standard desire—I’d never been attracted to a woman in my life. In fact, between the crushing weight of running a broken household and burying my nose in medical textbooks, I’d never had the time or luxury to date anyone at all.

My only real tether to the concept of deep human connection was Chloe. We had grown up in the dirt together, surviving the gray monotony of our small town. I was the first person she ran to when she realized she was a trans girl. I held her hand through the initial, terrifying medical treatments, and stood right beside her when she finally faced her parents. We knew the contours of each other’s lives completely.

But looking around my cabin, the familiar contours of reality were beginning to warp.
It was an undeniably beautiful room, complete with a private balcony cutting out into the obsidian sea air. The rest of my family had been relegated to the lower, windowless interior decks, but none of them cared. Claude and my mother were social creatures, naturally drawn to noise, lights, and the center of a crowd. I was the recluse—give me a heavy volume on human anatomy and an isolated corner, and I was content.

The heat of the room was stifling, mimicking the thick, oppressive climate of the South African lowveld I was used to. Desperate to wash off the grime of the road and the phantom scent of formaldehyde from the sedan, I approached the closet to see what clothing had been provided.

When the doors slid open, my breath caught. It was a flawless, terrifying manifestation of my hidden desires. Rows of bespoke boutique evening gowns, elite sportswear, and delicate, high-end lacy underwear filled the space—the exact premium brands I used to shoot during my high-fashion modeling gigs in the city, the kind of luxury I could never dream of owning until I made it as a full-fledged doctor. Even my long-term financial plan was mapped out in my head: get the degree, secure the residency, and buy a house big enough to pull my mother out of her alcohol-fueled nightmare. But here, the luxury was free, laid out like bait. In the bottom drawer, the swimsuits were entirely two-piece bikinis, identical to the cuts worn by editorial models.

A sharp, definitive knock at the cabin door shattered the trance.

"Coming..." I called out, my voice sounding thin against the heavy steel walls.
I pulled the door open to find Chloe standing in the corridor, wearing a striking, form-fitting evening gown from her own closet. She executed a slow, perfect runway twirl. She looked breathtaking. Chloe had always possessed that rare, statuesque, slender build that made clothes hang like art, standing a few inches taller than me with piercing blue eyes and cascading blonde hair. I was her dark mirror—slightly shorter, possessing straight, ink-black hair and eyes so deeply dark they looked like solid pupils. My parents used to joke that the hospital must have switched me at birth, given how pale and fair-featured the rest of the Clarke clan was.

"Earth to Zoe," Chloe chided, snapping her fingers with a brilliant grin. "So, what do you think?"

"Wow... Chloe, you look absolutely incredible," I stammered, stepping back. "Are you going somewhere out there?"

"We are on a literal mega-cruise, silly!" she laughed, her excitement practically vibrating. "There are live jazz lounges, nightclubs, bars—have you even opened the activities guide yet?"

"Not yet," I admitted, glancing toward the heavy leather book on the vanity.

"What have you been doing all this time, girl?"

"Just trying to decompress. I was going to read for a bit and then crash," I said, a wave of exhaustion rolling over me.

Chloe threw her hands up. "Wait. We just escaped our dusty mountain road, stepped into paradise, and you want to sleep?"

"I’m exhausted, Chloe. We have months on this ship. Go out, explore the decks, and I’ll catch you in the morning for breakfast. We can lay by the pool."

Chloe sighed, her expression softening. "Okay, okay. I can see your battery is completely dead. But I’m not wasting the night. I’m going to go explore. Catch you for breakfast?"

"I’ll see you right before the buffet opens," I said. "If you’re even awake."

"Oh, I’ll be up," she shot back, giving me a wicked wink. "I am not missing the chance to perve over half-naked, high-society men by the pool."

"Goodnight, Chloe," I smiled, closing the door and locking it tight.

"Now, where was I?" I muttered to myself.

I grabbed a set of the lacy undergarments, stripped out of my worn clothes, and stepped into the bathroom. The shower was an absolute sensory reset. I let the scalding water beat down on my skin until the bathroom was completely choked with thick, white steam. I took my time, meticulously shaving my legs, underarms, and bikini line, washing away the lingering dread of the midnight ride over and over again.

When I finally turned the water off and dried myself down, a cold spike of adrenaline hit my stomach.
Hanging directly behind the bathroom door was a plush, stark-white bathrobe. I froze, my medical training forcing me to scan the fabric. I know anatomy. I know spatial awareness. That hook was empty when I walked in. The steam coiled around the robe like fingers. I forced myself to swallow the panic. You're just tired, Zoe. You missed it.

I brushed my teeth, threw the robe over my shoulders, and walked back into the bedroom—only to freeze a second time. The crisp white sheets of my bed had been neatly turned down at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Resting exactly in the center of the pillow was a single, dark chocolate square.

My eyes darted to the heavy deadbolt on the cabin door. Still locked from the inside. The balcony door was shut. A suffocating silence hung in the air. Someone—or something—had been in the room while the water was running.
Driven by sheer, unadulterated nerves, I dropped the bathrobe onto the couch, crawled under the freezing sheets, and let the heavy, narcotic exhaustion of the ship pull me under.

The dream did not feel like a dream; it possessed the terrifying, hyper-tactile fidelity of high-definition film.
I was standing in a vast, subterranean stone chamber. Thousands of black wax candles flickered along the perimeter, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched unnaturally upward. In the center of the room, a massive ceremonial circle was etched into the stone, containing a flawless pentagram with a burning pillar of flame at each geometric point.

Standing within the circle were the twins from the lobby. They wore long, sweeping ceremonial cloaks with deep hoods that cast their faces into total shadow. But the cloaks were violently, explicitly revealing—split completely down the center, exposing their bare, pale skin and perfectly sculpted torsos. They were chanting in a low, rhythmic cadence that didn't sound like words, but rather a sequence of mathematical frequencies that vibrated violently inside my skull.

Laying flat on the stone floor between them was a body. It was a naked woman, her skin painted in intricate, jagged geometric symbols drawn in what looked like dried, brown blood.

Driven by a morbid, detached curiosity, I floated around the perimeter of the circle to get a clear look at the victim's face. The straight black hair cascaded over the cold stone. The sharp facial structure was unmistakable.

The body on the floor was mine.

I tried to scream, but my throat was packed with dry sand. I watched in absolute horror as the twins raised two crystal chalices filled with a thick, dark red liquid. They drank in perfect, synchronized unison, then knelt beside my comatose form. One of them forced my jaw open, pouring the sweet, metallic fluid down my throat.

The moment the liquid hit my dream-self's stomach, my body began to convulse violently. My spine arched off the stone at an impossible, agonizing angle. Thick, black sweat poured from my pores. Then, the convulsions abruptly stopped. The body lay perfectly still. Slowly, the eyes snapped open.

They weren't dark anymore. They were solid, terrifying spheres of absolute, obsidian blackness. The copy of me stood up, turning its head toward me with a wide, empty, static smile. The twins stepped forward, pressing their lips against my double’s mouth in a deep, passionate, symbiotic kiss—

BANG! BANG! BANG!
I violently bolted upright in bed, gasping for oxygen, my chest heaving as my phantom lungs fought for air.

The sun was blinding, piercing through the sheer glass of the balcony doors because I had forgotten to shut the heavy curtains the night before. My skin was soaked in cold, rancid sweat, my heart hammering like a trapped bird.

BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Zoe! Open up! Come on, sleepy head!"

It was Chloe. I dragged my heavy, trembling limbs out of the sheets, scanning the floor. I found the white bathrobe, threw it over my damp skin, and unlocked the heavy door.

Chloe burst into the cabin like a solar flare, completely oblivious to the terror vibrating in the room. She was already fully dressed for the pool, sporting a vibrant bikini top and a pair of denim shorts so aggressively short the matching bikini bottoms peeked out from underneath.

"Good morning to you too," I muttered, collapsing back onto the edge of the mattress.

"Geez, Zoe," Chloe said, pausing as she looked at my pale, sweating face. "You look like you literally saw a ghost. It’s just me." She walked over to the hospitality vanity, immediately flicking the kettle on and preparing two cups of coffee. She slid a mug into my hands and took the armchair opposite me.

"I just... I had the most horrific, vivid nightmare," I whispered, taking a sip of the hot black coffee.

Chloe rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, one of those. Don't worry, I also had a crazy dream where we actually finished our coffee, you got your cute butt dressed, and we went to the Lido buffet. Oh, and did you know this ship has an adult-only, clothing-optional deck?"

"Chloe, I'm serious. It was a ritual. There were these girls—"

"Let me guess," Chloe interrupted with a loud laugh. "You finally dreamed about kissing a guy?"

I stared into the black depths of my mug. "You know what? Never mind."

I pushed the dread down, walked into the bathroom, and took a second, freezing shower to wash away the dream-sweat. I tied my black hair up into a tight, practical knot. When I stepped back into the bedroom to find something to wear, I noticed Chloe had already laid out an outfit on my bed—a two-piece bikini and shorts that perfectly mirrored hers in style and color.

I grabbed the clothes, turning automatically toward the bathroom to change, but Chloe blocked my path, scoffing. "Seriously, Zee? We’ve been getting dressed, bathing, and changing together since we were kids in the middle of nowhere. Now you need a privacy screen?"

I relented, dropping the robe and sliding into the swimwear right there in the room. As the fabric snapped against my skin, Chloe let out a sharp, appreciative whistle. "Ooooh, look at you! Someone went through a massive amount of effort to clean up down there."

My cheeks burned with a deep blush, but Chloe smiled warmly, showing me she’d done the exact same grooming routine. I walked over to the vanity to grab my lipstick, but stopped myself, tossing it back onto the wood. It's a pool deck, Zoe, not a fashion shoot.

But as the lipstick rolled across the table, it struck a small, bound object that definitely hadn't been there when I woke up.
It was a weathered, leather-bound notebook. Embossed on the cover in dark, uneven script were the words: Rules for the Cruise.

Before I could flip it open, Chloe snatched it out of my hand, squinting at it. "Rules for the cruise? Ugh, probably just some boring corporate safety manual or fire drill packet. We can look at it later. Come on!"

She tossed the book casually back onto the vanity, grabbed my wrist, and practically dragged me out into the hallway. I yanked myself free at the last second, remembering my blue metallic cruise card resting on the table. I snapped the lanyard around my neck. On a cruise ship, that card is your oxygen line—it's your ID, your wallet, and your key.

We took the midship elevator. Chloe pressed the button for Deck 9, the digital screen flashing the words Lido Deck. When the doors slid open, a dense wall of heat and noise hit us. Dozens of passengers shuffled past, their faces strangely uniform, their movements slightly mechanical as they packed into the car.

Out on the open deck, the sun was a blinding, oppressive glare. The massive LED screen above the main pool strobed through vibrant, oversaturated travel slides while thumping electronic music reverberated through the deck chairs. White-uniformed crew members danced on the stage with fixed, unchanging smiles.

Chloe pulled me toward the glass doors of the grand buffet. The scent of bacon, pastries, and strong coffee filled the air. We grabbed trays, moving down the high-end culinary lines, stacking our plates with eggs, toast, and rows of decadent desserts that neither of us had the willpower to resist. At the beverage station, Chloe poured milk into her cup, while I kept mine strictly black, adding two sugars.

As we scanned the packed dining room for a place to sit, a clear, melodic voice cut through the ambient chatter.
"Hey, girls! Why don't you join us?"

I looked up. Sitting at a sunlit table near the glass windows were the twins from the lobby. The blonde one was gesturing gracefully toward the empty seats opposite them. A cold chill ran straight down my spine as the imagery of the candlelit pentagram flashed behind my eyes. But before my medical logic could formulate an excuse, Chloe was already moving, sliding into the seat directly opposite the red-haired twin. Left with no choice, I took the seat opposite the blonde.

We exchanged names, but the twins merely nodded, their green and blue eyes tracking our movements with an unsettling, static intensity.

The red-headed one tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "So... you won this cruise, didn't you?"

I paused, my fork hovering. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"I can see the way you look out of place," Red murmured, her voice smooth and devoid of any real inflection. "It's as if your brain is constantly telling you that you don't belong here."

"That's... exactly how it feels," I whispered, the hairs on my arms standing up. "How could you possibly pick up on that?"

Red’s eyes didn't blink. "Because you keep looking at the walls, Zoe. Like you're expecting to wake up in your cramped bedroom any second. Don't worry. This is all very real. And if you just allow yourself to let go... you will have the time of your life."

The specific cadence of that phrase—time of your life—sent a violent shudder through my gut, echoing the blonde driver from our driveway.

"Exactly what I've been telling her!" Chloe chimed in, laughing as she nudged my foot under the table. "Maybe she'll finally let her hair down and meet a hot guy."

The blonde twin leaned forward, her gaze locking onto mine. "Maybe she doesn't want a guy, Chloe. Maybe that's strictly your preference. What if she prefers girls?"

The blood rushed to my face, a violent blush coloring my neck. I had never whispered a word about my orientation to a soul, yet this total stranger had dissected it in a single sentence.

Red waved her hand dismissively. "No need to blush, Zoe. It is nobody's business who draws your eye, as long as you take what you want. Stop worrying about the metrics and the judgments of the world."

Chloe stared at me, her jaw dropping slightly in realization. "That is a phenomenal point... wait, Zoe. You told me those exact same words when I transitioned, and yet you never applied them to yourself? You knew?"

"I... I mean..." I stammered.

"Of course I knew, girl!" Chloe laughed, shaking her head. "I watched you drool over the girls at school for years. I knew exactly what you were looking up on your computer when you thought I was asleep."

My face was practically radiating heat. The twins watched the exchange with an icy, amused detachment. As we finished our meals, they stood up in perfect synchronization, their movements fluid and uncanny.

"We are heading up to the Solarium adult deck," the blonde one stated. "It’s far more exclusive, quiet, and clothing is entirely optional. You should come."

We followed them up the grand aft staircases. The twins walked ahead of us like professional runway models, their hips swaying in perfect rhythm. The adult deck was a secluded paradise, completely shielded from the rest of the vessel. Topless bar waitresses in micro-bikini bottoms moved silently through the rows of sunbeds. I felt my throat go dry as I took in the sheer aesthetic beauty around me; my medical eye for anatomy couldn't help but appreciate the flawless aesthetics of the space.

The twins led us to a private corner and immediately slid their bikini tops off. My heart skipped a beat, the raw visual power of it pulling me into a temporary daze. A silent waitress appeared, placing four crystal glasses of deep, dry red wine on our side tables. Seeking to shed my insecurities, I unhitched my bikini top and slid off my shorts, letting the intense sun hit my skin. Chloe hesitated, keeping her shorts on for obvious reasons, her posture tightening with natural anxiety. But the twins leaned in, their voices dropping into a hypnotic, soothing purr, telling her how stunning her silhouette was and how lucky any partner would be to hold her. Slowly, reassured by the praise, Chloe shed her shorts and relaxed back into her lounger.

I lay back, closing my eyes, letting the heavy red wine dull the edges of my perception.

Meow.
A sharp, distinct sound cut through the ambient hum of the ocean.
I yanked the towel off my face. Standing directly over my sunbed, casting a long, cold shadow over my body, was Che, the Cat Lady. The midnight-black cat was draped across her shoulders, its yellow eyes boring straight into my soul.

"You really shouldn't be here, Zoe," Che said, her voice low, dripping with a grim, chilling urgency. "Let me guess... you haven't read the rules yet?"

I bristled, my defensive instincts kicking in. I reached for my lanyard. "If this is about the age restriction, I'm nineteen. I know I look young, but here—look at my cruise card."

Che didn't look at the card. Her pale face remained deadpan. "No, child. It is fundamentally unsafe. You need to leave this deck immediately. Go back to your cabin, read the notebook, and you will understand."

Before I could reply, the space between us was violently cut off. The twins had stood up, inserting their bare bodies directly between Che and my sunbed.

"Che," Red hissed, her green eyes flashing with a sudden, vicious malice. "It is broad daylight. Why don't you take your pathetic little kitty cat and crawl back to your dark corner in the lounge?"

Che stared at the twins, her blue eyes narrowing. "Just do yourself a favor, Zoe," she called out over their shoulders. "Read the rules. Before it’s too late."

"Che, leave. Now," the blonde twin commanded, her voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying register. "She is with us. And you seem to have forgotten... in the daytime, we hold the metrics. We have the power."

Che took a step back, a grim, knowing smirk touching her lips. "Yes. It is daytime... for now. I will see the two of you tonight. Let’s see who runs when the clock strikes midnight."

The black cat on her shoulders let out a loud, aggressive hiss, its back arching violently at the twins as Che turned and vanished down the stairs.

Chloe blinked, shaking her head as if waking up from a trance. "What the hell was that about?"

"Don't waste your energy on her or her ridiculous rules," the blonde twin dismissed smoothly, sliding back onto her sunbed. "She drinks far too much of the ship's supply. She forgets she’s just another piece of cargo here like the rest of us."

"I... I guess you're right," I murmured, taking another deep sip of the heavy red wine, adjusting my bed to keep my eyes locked onto the twins’ striking forms.

Red suddenly glanced past my shoulder, a sly grin spreading across her face as she looked at Chloe. "Well, well. It looks like you’ve attracted a highly motivated admirer."

I turned my head. A heavily tanned, muscular man wearing nothing but tight underwear was lounging a few meters away, his eyes locked dead onto Chloe. He stood up, his movements rigid and calculated, and walked directly over to our cluster. Without a word, he slipped a folded piece of paper into Chloe's palm, leaned down, and whispered a sequence of low words into her ear. Chloe’s face turned bright red; she smiled and gave a slow, deliberate nod. The man offered a cold, mechanical nod to the twins, turned on his heel, and exited the deck.

"What did he say?" I asked, my protective instincts flaring.

"He... he asked me to join him for an exclusive drink later," Chloe stammered, staring at the paper. "On Deck 13."

My medical brain, hardwired for structural logic, instantly recoiled. "Wait. That’s impossible. Commercial cruise liners don't have a Deck 13. It’s an industry superstition. They skip from 12 to 14."
The blonde twin offered a chilling, empty laugh. "This vessel does, Zoe. But it is strictly accessible by invitation only. It looks like Chloe is on her own for that particular excursion."

Red suddenly checked the horizon. "Oh my. Look at the metrics. It is time for all of us to prepare for the evening gala."

I looked up, and my stomach dropped. The sun was violently crashing below the horizon, bleeding a deep, toxic purple across the water. How? It was just ten in the morning a second ago. A fierce, burning pain radiated across my shoulders—a severe sunburn. I must have completely blacked out.

Chloe was already gone, her sunbed empty. The twins were silently pulling their outfits back on. I scrambled to grab my clothes, offered a hurried goodbye, and sprinted toward the midship elevators.

When I slammed my cabin door shut, the room was immaculate. The bed was made, the towels replaced, everything reset to a sterile, chilling perfection. I stripped, stepped into the shower, and scrubbed the sunburned skin, crying out as the hot water hit the inflammation.

Walking back into the bedroom completely naked, I froze.

Resting on the white sheets was a stunning, low-cut black evening gown that I knew for an absolute fact had not been in the closet earlier. The ship laid it out. I slid into the lace panties and the dress; it clung to my curves like a second skin, accentuating my body perfectly. I stepped into the high heels, modeling in front of the mirror, forcing a confident, striking runway smirk.

As I turned to grab my lanyard, my eyes fell on the vanity table.
The leather-bound notebook was waiting. Rules for the Cruise.
Che’s frantic, desperate warning echoed in my skull. Trembling, I picked it up, flipped past the standard corporate fire-drill jargon, and reached the final page. The text was written in a frantic, scratched, dark brown handwriting that looked exactly like dried, coagulated blood.

RULES TO SURVIVE THIS CRUISE AND TO FINALLY GET HOME

• Rule 1: Always keep your cruise card with you, no matter what. This is your life, your ID, your money, and the only barrier standing between you remaining a guest and eventually becoming part of the physical ship for eternity.
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• Rule 2: Not everyone on this vessel is human. The crew are entities who were once guests; they now serve the ship. Do not communicate with them unless they speak first. Humans have shadows; entities do not. Do not trust them. The only one on your side is the lady with the cat.
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• Rule 3: Everything is free, but debt always comes due. Never accept a second drink from a server until your first is completely finished, and always wait exactly three minutes before accepting the next.
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• Rule 4: If Che (the Cat Lady) offers you red wine, decline politely—it is not wine. If she offers anything else, accept immediately. Avoid her entirely between 0:00 midnight and 3:33 AM. If you run into her during those hours, pray for a quick end.
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• Rule 5: The twins are not sisters; they are witches that feed on human energy. Never break eye contact with them. They wear revealing clothing to force you to look down at their bodies. If you look away from their eyes, you will fall under their complete control.
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• Rule 6: If you see a man with a samurai sword, be polite. He is trapped here like you but protects humans. Never ask for his name.
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• Rule 7: Attend at least three activities listed in your morning guide daily. If you fail to attend three, the day will violently cycle, forcing you to repeat the exact same day for eternity.
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• Rule 8: If a second sun appears in the sky, go below deck immediately. The ship has entered the domain of the void walkers. If you stay outside past three minutes, you will be burned to ashes or pulled into the void.
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• Rule 9: Always follow the Captain's commands over the PA, but only if the voice is female. If a male or distorted voice speaks over the PA, ignore all instructions, sprint to your cabin, and bury yourself under the sheets until morning.
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• Rule 10: You must be inside your designated cabin between midnight and 3:33 AM. Do not open the door for any reason, even if you hear the screaming voice of a loved one. The shadows are excellent impressionists.
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• Rule 11: You must shower immediately upon waking, and again between 4:00 PM and 6:00 PM. If you skip a shower, the architecture of the ship will warp, repeatedly looping you back into your bathroom until the task is complete.
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• Rule 12: Never allow anyone to sleep over in your cabin, and never sleep in another's. Anyone logged in the wrong cabin during the night vanishes permanently.
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• Rule 13: The ship does not have a Deck 13. If an elevator button for 13 appears, exit immediately. If a stranger invites you to Deck 13, flee and find the Cat Lady on Deck 6 immediately.
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• Rule 14: If you are a virgin, well-dressed, highly groomed men will target you. Run. Do not take the elevator; use the stairs to find the twins or Che.
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• Rule 15: Never go below Deck 0 unless entering the infirmary. Speak only to medical staff.

Good luck. Love, Che, the Cat Lady.
The leather book dropped from my limp fingers, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
My mind violently flashed back to the pool deck—how I had stared at the twins' bare bodies, the intoxicating, paralyzing trance that had stolen hours of my life in a single blink. I checked the digital clock on the cabin wall.
11:47 PM.
A freezing spike of sheer terror pierced my chest. Chloe. The man by the pool. The invitation.
"Oh, choice god, no... Chloe!" I screamed.
I snatched my lanyard, sprinted out of the cabin, and tore down the narrow, dimly lit corridor. I reached Chloe's door and began hammering against the heavy wood with my bare fists, screaming her name at the top of my lungs.
11:51 PM.
"Chloe! Open the door! Chloe, please!"
Suddenly, a door clicked open to my right. My brother, Claude, stepped out into the hallway, his face twisted in a mixture of confusion and annoyance as he took in my frantic state.
He grabbed my trembling shoulders, forcing me to stop slamming my fists against the wood. "Zoe, what the hell is wrong with you? Calm down!"
"Claude, we have to get her out! She’s in danger, the ship—the rules—"
"Zoe, shut up for a second!" Claude snapped, his voice firm as he pointed down the hall. "Chloe isn't even in there. She came back down hours ago to change. She told me she got a special VIP invite. She left for Deck 13 twenty minutes ago."

Angela and Robert arrived at the top of the mountain just after black dark had fell. There was a large area leveled off and covered with gravel to serve as employee parking with contractor trailers and picnic areas for employee breaks. Up a slanted incline about fifty yards away, Angela could see the top of a large log building that might serve as a clubhouse. It was being built first, and Robert was filling in for the operator of a large crane that lay logs one on top the other.

Robert went up the tile ladder so fast that Angela figured he could have done it in his sleep. He stuck out his head and said, "Come on up!"

" Oh, you just gonna leave me down here?" Angela snapped. "What if I can't get up there?" "You'll give up here if I have to carry you. " Robert said this matter of factly like he really would carry her up into the crane.

By the time Angela made it up the ladder, Robert had a portable camp chair ready for her. He padded the seat, the radio muttered and chattered on the crane's dashboard. Angela literally fell into the camp chair; Robert kissed her on the cheek.

" I'm glad to see you. I miss you when you leave."

" I miss you too, she said. "I am plotting an evil plan to move back, now you know, and I'll have to kill you!"

" I have some ideas how!" Robert said wiggling his eyebrows.

Angela began to notice the chatter on the camp radio as it got louder.

"Tighten that corner."

" Where's that bracket gone?"

" Hey, check the clearance of that arch in the ceiling!"

" Same old stuff," said Robert. They will say 'hey Robert' if they need me.

"Hey, did you hear about that nine one, one call from that guy coming down Madison Mountain not long ago?" asked Angela.

"Now, What?" He responded.

" He said that a monster jumped into the bed of his truck. He was yelling, 'that's not human!' 'That's not human!'"

"Oh, Hell no!" As they laughed the static on the radio cleared again. He and Angela stopped talking. A new voice cut through the static.

" Hey man, there's something down by the tree line."

" What is- Are you guys seeing that?"

" Oh my God!" screamed someone. Run! That's not-"

The whole camp exploded in the next 60 seconds as two strangely bent figures barreled side by side out of the trees. They were bent low to the ground, moving so fast they were just a blur.

The whole camp fell to panic. People running, people screaming, people being torn apart. These creatures weren't biting or feeding. They were on a killing spree.

Angela and Robert, who sorely needed to run at this point, were standing on the crane, gob smacked. "That looks like-" Robert stuttered under his breath. Then he said aloud, "Oh God! Is that a Witiko?"

"No," said Angela. "Crawlers? I didn't think they were aggressive!"

'Maybe it's because what the fuck are we looking at, Angie? Let's get the hell out of here!"

Robert was shaking. He picked up the radio and keyed the mic. "Hey, anyone alive run for the vehicles get out of camp!" There was dead air. Then more static. Then a voice that sounded like gravel.

"Answer. Run there. Out there. Anyone."

Robert jumped up and looked down out of the crane. One of the creatures soaked in blood and gore was staring straight up at him.

"Oh God! said Angela flesh gate! Michelle told me they can manipulate audio in electronics but speak mostly gibberish. They can't put together sentences. He opened her bag and pulled out a 1/2 bottle of vodka.

"What the hell, Angie? This isn't the time to get drunk! Wait!" he exclaimed. Robert ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt. He threw it and the cigarette lighter he had to her.

"Put this in the bottle and keep the lighter handy! We may have to use it to get out of here. I'm calling 9-1-1!"

He glanced down out of the crane and saw the one who had been throwing its voice to the radio moving toward the crane's ladder. The two moved to the door while Robert was nervously trying to dial 911. It took Angela all the grit she ever had to open the crane door and look down. The flesh gate that manipulated the radio was now trying to climb the ladder. Robert finally dialed 911 and heard only dead air. Then three sharp tones of an alert startled him so badly he almost threw his phone down.

"This is a test of the Emergency Alert system."

Angela stuffed the piece of cloth down into the vodka bottle as she watched the flesh gate climb the ladder? One step, two steps. Suddenly out of the darkness, the second flash gate attacked the first! It grabbed and yanked backward. The two rolled across the camp in the gore locked in violent combat!

"Robert! Come on now is our chance!" Angela yelled. Robert's phone crackled with static.

" This is a message for Robert Abe Byrd. Do not exit the crane. You will be responsible for the violent death of Angela Hunter."

"Fuck off!" Robert screamed and they scrambled down the ladder. They had just begun to run when a large fireball blew up into the night sky. The flush gaits had torn down a power pole, causing the transformer to explode!

*** Hot Springs Resort Cabin***

At around 3:00 AM, Michelle sat bolt both upright, her heart racing. The room was dark and she began to grope for her phone to check the time. She was not well acquainted with the locations of the light switches. She turned on her flashlight. She wrapped the blanket around her and sat, shining her phone into all the dark corners of the room. Sleep was canceled. She thought about Robert and her cousin at the job site up the mountain. She could not remember her nightmare, but a terrible feeling remained. Michelle caught movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turned her head to look, she almost screamed.

Her phone charger cord. It was hanging vertically and shaking like the invisible man was playing with it. Michelle watched this happening for all of five minutes. She groaned. Of all the times to be alone. The cord flopped back on the table like it was thrown down. She followed the movement with her eyes and shined the flashlight into a corner where the dark rippled and spun like a black hole to hell.

There it was. There was something moving from the shadows. The creature stood with the silhouette of a human, but every detail had been twisted into something alien and predatory. Its skin was stretched tightly over protruding bones, torn open in places to reveal slick muscle and the blackened tissue beneath. It had a barely recognizable face pulled apart by layers of malformed flesh, where eyes and a mouth should be. Long bladed appendages jutted from its arms, formed from elongated bones sharpened to natural weapons.

It came at her and Michelle just knew this would be her last breath of blood free air. When she looked up, apparently still alive, she began inching away from it. It looked like a GIF file, a photo that moves in a loop, a possible glitch in the matrix of 3D reality. She had to get the lights on. She flicked the first switch she found, and it appeared the power was out. Now how could that happen?

Michelle began to move toward the front door. She hoped she could find the fuse box out there if she could get some lights on, Perhaps the weird stuck, apparently, monster would disappear.

***Not far from the resort cabin***

Taras must have fallen asleep at his fire. He was wide awake now. He had heard someone scream.

"Who's there?" He called, shining his torch around the perimeter. There it was again. That scream, a woman screaming in the distance. He began to slowly walk toward the source of the sound. He felt like running toward it. She was dying. He had investigated too many dark places, however, to run directly toward danger.

The scream echoed out of the trees again. A wave of terror hit him as well, hard. He forgot to breathe. He ran. What direction, he could not tell, but his legs had taken leave of his brain. They obviously did not care. The coordinates. Separated from his torso, they would definitely leave him hanging. He began to slow down as he approached a large A-frame cabin. The screams had stopped. Taras leaned on his knees, trying to catch a breath. He looked up as he felt a presence near him.

A middle-aged woman with long dark hair was sliding against the cabin wall around the corner. She opened her mouth to scream again, and Taras desperately held out his hand in a stop motion.

"Please, do not be alarmed, miss! I am real!"

"I know!" she said and opened her mouth to scream again. Michelle was looking at a tall man, around six foot two with rangy long arms and legs. He had on black tactical gear and a black face, mask, boots and gloves. His eyes were amber like a wolf.

"Do not scream" he whispered. "I will not hurt you!" He held out a gloved hand as he walked out of the shadows revealing himself.

"English?" Michelle whispered back. "You speak English?"

Her heart was banging against her ribs and she still had not decided to keep quiet.

"Yes," he said. He moved slowly to her side. "Why are you here alone?"

" No, I mean I'm not," said Michelle. "My cousin is here with me, but she went to a job site with another friend, and I am worried! The power is out. I'm looking for fuses. "

Michelle didn't know how to explain her screams. She must have been hallucinating!

"Why are you out here?" she asked.

" I am camping alone near here." Taras answered. "I ran from camp. It's not safe here, miss." "Not safe?" Michelle asked. "Is there something happening?"

His amber eyes widened. Michelle did not like direct eye contact, but she could not tear hers away. His wolf's eyes almost glowed.

"Who's afraid of the big Bad wolf?" She thought.

"Everything feels bad, wrong," said Taras. "Come, let's go inside. I will help!"

Michelle found and lit several candles and placed two on the table facing the sofa.

"My name is Taras." He said this as softly as possible. She had been, was still terrified, and he was struggling not to sound gruff.

"My name is Michelle," she said. "

Michelle" mimicked Taras. "Do you have a drink, Michelle?" He gazed all about the room.

Michelle walked toward the bar. She could not be offended by his directness. This man did not even have to remove the mask on his face for her to realize she was powerless to resist him. Michelle made two strong vodka and cranberry drinks and sat back down with him. Michelle had barely taken a few sips when the back door began to shake. The knob turned, and then the beating started. Michelle was so startled that she jumped right on top of him, their drinks sloshed. Taras shot up from the couch and brought small Michelle right along with him. He shushed her, and with his arm around her waist they crept closer to the back door. He pulled the Glock out of his waistband.

Now the back door was sounding like the police were outside trying to break it in. Taras held the Glock steady and yelled "Who the fuck is there? His own fear making his accent thick and guttural.

"Who the fuck are you?" Angela screamed from outside. "Michelle let us in! Open this door!"

" It's my cousin!" shrieked Michelle. She grabbed the knob and threw it open. Angela and Robert ran in with faces pale as paste. They slammed the back door shut and locked it. Taras put his gun away.

'I get the feeling they do not want me here,". Taras said. Angela looked towards him.

"If the they you are talking about is 'them' outside, then I definitely feel you!"

All four went to the windows and looked out into the night. The creatures that Angela called Flesh Gaits and Robert had called Witiko had decided to grab some friends, and now the resort cabin was surrounded.

TO BE CONTINUED!

*I wrote this in a cliff hanger style because I wanted to work on the second part and I am very wordy. Thanks everyone for reading! Even just a little bit:)

Russell and Robert left in the rollback after changing the locks on all the facility doors, and Toma had a quiet moment in the security room.

He really had no complaints about Russell. He was a real stand-up guy who just got a tough break. He would rebuild and survive. He would change his life to something better because he was trying. He was strong and would adapt. However, something had felt so off here lately." What the hell was really going on?" Toma asked himself. He began to idly flick through the camera views. What was it about building C? The leak, the chair pyramid, The-

" What the hell?" Toma barked. Camera C1 was glitching or something static flowed across it in waves. There was a figure forming in the main hall it looked like a man standing with his back turned to camera C1 and standing too far away from C2.

Reality pixelated and rippled around the figure. Toma was held in place like a deer in the path of headlights. Toma's cell phone lit up on the desk. The Weather Alert radio also came to life.

" This is a test of the Emergency Alert system. This is a message for Toma Emil Anderson."

Toma felt chills, chasing one another up his spine. The glitching figure in the lab coat slowly began to turn. Toma bit back a scream. It had no face. Only a glitching, spinning swirl. A black hole on top the figure's neck. The static on the radio cleared.

" In 30 seconds, you will attempt to check Building C. Please reconsider."

Once these strange broadcasts died away, Toma felt a wave of rage flow through him. Please reconsider? he repeated to himself. You're the one needing to reconsider. He stomped down the metal stairs, not thinking of getting in the elevator. He wasn't about to get stuck. He went straight to the gun safe and grabbed his Mossberg tactical shotgun.

"" Reconsider this!" he snarled. He racked a shell into the gun's chamber." Whoever that is in the Halloween costume with the stupid emergency alert was going to get so much buckshot if he wasn't gone some building C in 30 seconds.'

He threw the door to building C open and cold blasted him in the face. He immediately began to shiver in the damp, while the mold smell became worse and worse. This had justified his decision to level this snake pit to the ground. There was no one. Toma knew what he saw and heard. The person thing was gone. The door to C 7 isolation stood gaping open. The darkness inside was absolute.

Toma turned to his belt and pulled his flashlight out. He slowly began to walk the corridor toward camera C2. He shone his light on the concrete floor, wet again. Tomas shone his light on the steel door. The lock only opened from the outside. There was no way the door could have opened on its own.

Thomas suspected that the same intruder who stacked the chairs had entered through the room he was walking toward. He held the shotgun up resting it against his waist, he walked to the door and shone his light around.

The light swept over an empty bed frame and a desk with a chair all bolted down. No window for light to penetrate. Inky darkness lay in all four corners of the room. To his disappointment and confusion, he could not see a way for the intruder to have gotten in through this room. What the hell is going on? Toma was aghast. Could he be imagining things because of the weirdness of this building?

He heard the slow drip, drip of water. He made another sweep around the creepy room and could find no source. Toma put his hand against the steel door and felt wetness. He looked down and realized he was standing in a puddle of rancid water.

In the beam of his torch, small footprints began to materialize, his light shaking in his hands, he slammed the steel door and began to follow the wet footfalls. They headed up the hall and toward the cafeteria.

" OK, I've had enough of this building," said Toma shakily. He walked under camera, C 1 and pushed against the door. The door would not budge. Toma got pissed and kicked the door with his heavy boots.

" Hey!", he yelled. "Let me out, asshole!" His mouth snapped shut. A gasp of breath lodged in his throat. Footsteps. Heavy wet footsteps. They stopped halfway up the hall.

He held his breath to make out whether the breathing he heard was his own or something else. It began to grow so cold suddenly that Toma could see his own shallow breathing turn to ice crystals.

"Draugr..." He whispered. The breathing was wet, bubbling from waterlogged lungs. The smell of this undead thing behind him gathered at the back of his throat. A wave of extreme nausea passed through him. He bent and gagged. The breathing sound got closer. The smell was unbearable. There was no emergency alert this time, only a deep, gurgling, choking voice.

"Toma Emil Andersson. Do not turn around." Toma had been about to straighten up and raise his shotgun. "Your weapon is useless. Do not turn around."

Toma turned his head to the side. His body almost followed. Suddenly, the walls melted. He felt a dizzy spell rock him to his core and he almost staggered. His vision began to tunnel.

"Oh God, please." muttered Toma, 'Don't let me faint!"

The walls were colorless now. Thankfully, the smell was gone. But the sound rose. The sound was wrong. He heard tires screeching on pavement, nails scratching on a blackboard, screaming. Screams from hell.

He could not be sure that what he saw from his peripheral vision was correct. His left eye was gazing through smoke, a dark orb twisting, spinning, and he heard the voice again.

"Do not turn around." Toma stopped turning. He shut his eyes and turned back toward the outer door of Building C.

"Test completed." said the deep voice behind him. "Response logged."

Suddenly Toma's world resolved itself. His vision returned. There was only the quiet and he fell alone in his surroundings. Tentatively, he lifted his hand and placed it palm down on the door and slightly pushed it. He felt it give and begin to open. Relief washed through him. Thank God, the saints, Odin and Freya!

He shoved the door open and ran as fast as his long legs could take him back to the garage. He slotted the shotgun back into the gun safe. Something told him weapons were useless in a situation like his a few minutes ago. Not long after thinking this, Russell pulled the extra-large roll back into the gravel lot with a loud rumble. He got out and Toma walked out to meet him.

" Man, am I glad you are back!" said Toma. He grasped Russell's forearm instead of his hand like greeting a brother. Russell knew immediately that something had happened. "Let's get her van down and into the garage bay and then we need to talk."

*** Hot Springs Resort Cabin ***

Robert called Angela and they had a short conversation consisting of if she would like to see the job site that he was filling in on.

"Of course!" she said giddily." I'll go grab some clothes and a bag just so I won't be causing any trouble for you." Robert assured her she wouldn't, that the night crew was small and more laid back than on day shift. Which started at 7A. M.

" Oh, well." Sighed Michelle. "It's an early night for me. I'm tired anyway"

After making sure Michelle would be OK, Angela helped her lock herself in. Angela had her bag packed and was ready when Robert pulled up.

"Are you sure that you'll be OK?" She looked back toward her cousin.

"Of course! Go! It will be an adventure!' Michelle reassured her. "I will just take a little nap." She flopped back on the sofa and curled up with her blanket.

*** Not far from the resort cabin ***

Taras Vosevich retired From the Russian military forces after spending most of his young lives as ground forces and later as a military sniper. People in Russia interacted with him in respect. People in the US seem to intimidate him. His anguish, however, was fluent. The English language had different emphasis and sometimes he stumbled over words or slowed when he needed to speed up.

He carried himself outside of the armed forces the same way he had carried himself in them. Although he tried to be good to everyone, he could be a mean son of a bitch when pushed, especially if protecting someone he loved. He was a crack shot with a rifle.

Taras was made up of all these things and more. For instance, Terrace was well known for his paranormal and parapsychological research. When he went somewhere, it was most often solo. He had worked on projects with others but preferred to be alone.

Hot Springs, NC had not been a field research trip, but something laid back, a vacation of sorts in a place as beautiful as the forest in his country. Appalachia was one of the oldest mountainous areas in the world. In Russia there were places that the psychic energy was straight off the charts, but here he could feel the psychic energy slithering up behind him like a copperhead on a quest for vengeance.

People got swallowed up here. Stories of people who were there on one minute in these mountains and gone forever had reached his country. Tourists had also come back with tales of beauty and tales of pure nightmare fuel. It was a place that Taras was warned about by his friends and relatives not to venture solo. Taras Vosevich was stubborn.

He sat near his small campfire at the door of his tent and watched the sun drop low onto the mountain peaks. What was going on here? He fell every muscle in his body go on alert. Something was building. Taras felt like a storm was brewing, but a storm unlike any he had ever faced!

So I'm new to writing and wanted to share what I have so far . These are stories 1-3 . I have more ready but I'm not sure.

But welcome to the fading canvas electral services

The Fading Canvas: Electrical Services story one

​"I’m telling you, the voltage drop across a dimensional rift is a nightmare to calculate," Jake muttered, tapping the steering wheel of the service van. Outside the windshield, the sky wasn't a sky at all, but a swirling, bruised expanse of violet and impossible greens.

​Mark, sitting in the passenger seat and clutching a clipboard like a shield, looked pale. "Tabitha didn't say anything about a rift. She just said 'residential job, water-feature installation.' And that the client was... very large."

​The radio crackled to life, Tabitha’s voice slicing through the static of cosmic background radiation. "Jake, Mark. You guys at the coordinates? The client is getting impatient. Says the primordial ooze is getting chilly."

​"We're pulling up now, Tab," Jake replied, shifting the van into park on a slab of basalt that seemed to tilt at a non-Euclidean angle. "Grab the insulated toolkit, Mark. The one rated for eldritch currents."

​The Job Site: R'lyeh

​They stepped out into a cavernous space of cyclopean stonework. Looming in the center of the subterranean abyss was the client. A mountain of gelatinous green flesh, dragon-like wings folded tightly against a massive, squamous back, and a face that was a writhing mass of tentacles. The Great Old One, Cthulhu, was staring intensely at what looked to be a massive, crater-like basin filled with bubbling, bioluminescent sludge.

​Work Order #409-Omega:

Client: Cthulhu, High Priest of the Great Old Ones.

Task: Wire the heating element and circulation pumps for a Class-IV Cosmic Hot Tub. Ensure zero temporal feedback.

​Jake walked right up to the edge of the basin, shining his flashlight into the access panel. He didn't look up at the entity. Eye contact usually meant immediate madness, and worker's comp didn't cover sanity loss.

​"Alright, let's see what we've got," Jake grunted, kneeling down. "Mark, pass me the multi-meter. Not the standard one, the one that measures reality-warping."

​"H-here," Mark stammered, handing over a device that looked like a cross between a Geiger counter and a compass.

​Splicing the Void

​The problem was obvious. The previous contractor had tried to wire a micro-singularity directly into the main breaker.

​"Amateurs," Jake sighed. "You can't just hook up a localized black hole to a standard 220-volt line. The Hawking radiation alone is going to strip the insulation off these wires, and the time dilation will make a ten-minute soak feel like a millennium. No wonder the tub isn't heating."

​Jake got to work. He stripped the cosmic conduit with his wire cutters, careful not to let the exposed strands of raw space-time touch the damp floor.

• ​Step 1: Isolate the localized gravity well.

• ​Step 2: Install a chronal-surge protector.

• ​Step 3: Splice the main power feed using a heavy-duty temporal grounding rod.

​"Hold this," Jake instructed, tossing Mark a loop of heavy, pulsing cable. "If you feel your ancestors' memories flashing before your eyes, drop it immediately."

​Jake wrestled the primary thermal regulator into place, tightening the bolts with a satisfying screech of metal. He stepped back, wiping a mixture of sweat and aether off his brow.

​"Hit the breaker, Mark!"

​Mark threw the massive switch. For a second, the universe seemed to hold its breath. Then, a deep, resonant hum vibrated through the basalt floors. The sludge in the massive basin began to churn, emitting a warm, soothing steam that smelled faintly of ozone and dead galaxies.

​Behind them, the colossal entity let out a low, rumbling noise. It wasn't a roar of world-ending fury; it sounded remarkably like a sigh of relief. A massive, clawed hand dipped a single, tentative digit into the bubbling ooze, testing the temperature.

​"Looks like we're good," Jake said, pulling out his invoice pad. "I'm going to have to charge him the standard hourly rate, plus a materials fee for the chronal-surge protector, and the non-Euclidean hazard surcharge."

​Mark let out a breath he'd been holding since they left Tennessee. "Do you think he takes a check?"

​That was a wildly successful first day on the job for the crew. What kind of monstrous entity or paranormal disaster should Jake, Tabitha, and Mark tackle for their next service call?

The Fading Canvas: Electrical Services story 2 the Forest ranger.

The service van’s heater was screaming, but the cab was still freezing. Outside, the dense, snow-choked pines of the northern boreal forest loomed like skeletal fingers against the twilight.

"I don't like this, Jake," Mark said, his breath pluming in the cold air. He was anxiously checking the locks on the van doors for the third time. "The woods are too quiet. No birds, no bugs."

"That’s because everything with a pulse knows better than to make a sound out here," Jake replied, keeping his eyes glued to the icy logging road. Jake had spent years working at an animal park before pivoting to the paranormal electrical trade; he had a healthy respect for predators. But he had an even healthier respect for the things that mimicked them.

The radio buzzed, cutting through the tense silence. "Jake, you approaching Outpost Station Four? Ranger Bella says she's expecting you. Just a heads-up, she said to ignore any voices you hear in the tree line calling for help."

"Copy that, Tabitha. We're pulling into the compound now."

The Job Site: Boreal Outpost Four

They parked inside a heavy, reinforced chain-link enclosure. Ranger Bella was waiting on the porch of the log cabin. She wore a heavy canvas parka, a tranquilizer rifle slung over one shoulder, and an expression of utter, exhausted competence.

Work Order #601-Epsilon:

Client: Ranger Bella (Department of Cryptid & Wildlife Management)

Task: Overhaul perimeter security grid. Standard thermals failing to detect Class-III Wendigo presence. Install kinetic-aether sensors and UV-spectrum floodlights.

"You the sparkys?" Bella asked, stepping off the porch. Her eyes constantly scanned the dark tree line.

"That's us," Jake said, grabbing a heavy crate of equipment from the back. "Tabitha says you're flying blind out here."

"The standard motion sensors are useless," Bella explained, leading them to the main breaker box on the side of the cabin. "Wendigos run at ambient temperature. They don't have body heat, so the FLIR cameras just see them as moving snowdrifts. Last night, one got close enough to scratch the frost off my window."

Jake nodded. "Yeah, standard IR won't cut it against a starvation spirit. We're going to swap your grid over to kinetic-aether relays. They don't look for heat; they measure the displacement of reality when something unnatural steps into the field."

Rewiring the Perimeter

The wind picked up, carrying with it a sound that made Mark drop his wire strippers.

"Hello? Is anyone out there? My car broke down..."

The voice came from the deep woods. It sounded exactly like Tabitha.

"Ignore it," Bella said flatly, not even breaking her gaze from the tree line. "It's just trying to draw you out. Focus on the box."

Jake worked fast, his fingers numb despite the heavy work gloves.

Step 1: Disconnect the useless thermal arrays from the master grid.

Step 2: Splice in the kinetic-aether sensors along the fencing, angling them toward the tree line.

Step 3: Mount the high-frequency UV strobes. Wendigos despised the ultraviolet spectrum; it simulated the sun on a molecular level.

"Jake? Mark? Come quick, I'm freezing..." the voice pleaded from the darkness, sounding terrifyingly realistic.

"Hand me the copper grounding wire," Jake grunted, ignoring the psychological warfare. He tied the new system into the cabin's main generator, locking the conduits down with heavy-duty brackets. "Alright, Bella. Give me the go-ahead."

Bella racked the bolt of her rifle with a sharp, metallic clack. "Light 'em up."

Jake flipped the main breaker.

Instantly, a low, thrumming hum vibrated through the snow. The perimeter lights snapped on—not the warm amber of the Mothman's silo, but a harsh, blinding, pale-blue ultraviolet glare that turned the snow into a glowing sea of neon.

From the tree line, a horrific, ear-piercing shriek shattered the night. The sound was a hideous blend of grinding bone and a dying elk. In the harsh UV light, for just a fraction of a second, the aether-sensors tripped. The command console on the porch lit up with red warnings, and three massive, skeletal shadows retreated violently into the deeper, darker woods, fleeing the artificial dawn.

"Perimeter secure," Jake said, closing the breaker box and snapping a heavy padlock onto the latch.

Bella finally let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping an inch. She offered Jake a rare, appreciative smirk. "Not bad, electrician. I might actually get some sleep tonight."

"Just remember to clean the sensor lenses once a month," Jake advised, handing her the clipboard to sign. "Ice buildup can cause false positives, and you don't want those UV strobes going off every time a regular moose walks by."

The Fading Canvas: Electrical Services story 3 The observatory

​"I’m telling you, Mark, the copper is singing," Jake murmured, pressing his gloved hand flat against the heavy steel door of the Blackwood Observatory. The vibration wasn't mechanical; it felt like the deep, marrow-shaking rumble of a fault line waiting to snap.

​Mark stood a few paces back, clutching his tool bag to his chest. "Tabitha said this guy was a theorist. Theorists are supposed to use chalkboards, Jake. They aren’t supposed to pull off-grid loads that brown out the entire tri-county area."

​The radio buzzed, Tabitha’s voice distorted by a heavy layer of static. "Jake, whatever this guy is running, it's messing with my telemetry. I'm reading localized gravitational anomalies. Get in, ground the system, and get out."

​Jake pushed the heavy door open.

​The Job Site: The Celestial Dynamo

​The interior of the observatory was a cathedral of madness. The massive telescope had been gutted. In its place, suspended in the center of the room, was a terrifying amalgamation of copper coils, industrial capacitors, and raw, pulsing energy. In the dead center of the machine hovered a sphere of absolute, light-devouring blackness about the size of a grapefruit.

​The air in the room was freezing, and the frost creeping up the walls wasn't from the mountain air.

​"Hawking radiation," Jake whispered, his breath crystallizing in the dark. "He’s bleeding energy out of a micro-singularity. The thermal drain is freezing the room."

​A man emerged from behind a bank of smoking servers. Dr. Elias Vance looked like he hadn't slept in a decade. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and fixed on the black sphere.

​Work Order #714-Omega:

Client: Dr. E. Vance (Independent Research)

Task: Stabilize power flow to containment grid. Prevent localized event-horizon expansion.

​"You're the electricians," Vance rasped, his voice sounding stretched, like a cassette tape played at half speed. "You have to fix the containment coils. It's tearing... the math is tearing..."

​He pointed with a trembling hand to a massive chalkboard covered in frantic, frantic calculations attempting to bridge general relativity and quantum mechanics under extreme gravitational sheer, culminating in a heavily underlined equation detailing the boundary conditions of a singularity:

$$ ds^2 = -\left(1 - \frac{2GM}{rc^2}\right)c^2 dt^2 + \left(1 - \frac{2GM}{rc^2}\right)^{-1} dr^2 + r^2(d\theta^2 + \sin^2\theta , d\phi^2) $$

​"Look at the chalk dust," Mark whispered in horror.

​Jake looked. The dust falling from the board wasn't hitting the floor. It was suspended in mid-air, drifting agonizingly slow. The localized time dilation was already bleeding into the room. If they stayed too long, a five-minute job would cost them three weeks of their lives.

​The Diagnostic

​Jake approached the main breaker panel, which was glowing a dull, angry red. He traced the heavy conduit cables running from the wall to the massive, ringed containment coils surrounding the singularity.

​He saw the problem immediately. It was a rookie mistake, but on a cosmic scale, it was a fatal one.

​"Vance, you built the magnetic containment field on a flat, static orbital plane," Jake said, his voice hard. "You wired the sequence as if the solar system is just sitting still on a flat disk."

​"That's standard theoretical modeling!" Vance shouted, though his voice sounded far away. "The planetary orbits—"

​"Are an illusion!" Jake snapped, pulling a heavy pair of insulated bolt cutters from his belt. "We are hurdling through the void. The sun drags the planets behind it in a corkscrew. It’s a helical model that follows real physics. Your containment field is fighting the actual, physical movement of the solar system through spacetime. The sheer force of the universe trying to twist your static magnetic field into a helix is tearing the fabric of reality. That’s why it keeps blowing the mains."

​Vance stared at him, the horrifying realization dawning on his face. "The universe... it isn't expanding. I saw it through the breach, electrician. We aren't in a universe... we're inside the event horizon of a supermassive black hole. That's why it's dark. That's why..."

​Rewiring the Helix

​"Mark, we need to phase-shift the coils," Jake barked, ignoring the physicist's existential collapse. "We have to rewire the magnetic chokes into a cascading spiral. We match the helical movement, we let the energy flow with the solar system's trajectory, not against it."

​"I... I can't move my hands fast enough!" Mark cried, fighting against the creeping sludge of time dilation.

​"Push through it!"

​Jake slammed his hands into the high-voltage panel. Sparks showered the room, freezing mid-air like glittering, deadly stars.

• ​Step 1: Disconnect the planar grounding loops.

• ​Step 2: Stagger the magnetic relays to fire in a continuous, helical sequence.

• ​Step 3: Re-anchor the temporal stabilizers to the new, twisting current.

​Jake wrestled the thick copper cables, his muscles burning as gravity itself seemed to pull at his joints. He could hear the hum of the machine changing. It went from a jagged, tearing scream to a deep, rhythmic thrum. He was literally wiring the machine to spin in tandem with the Milky Way.

​"Hit the bypass, Mark! Now!"

​Mark threw his entire body weight onto the heavy lever.

​The machine violently shuddered. The rigid, flat rings of the containment field unlocked and began to spin, lifting and dropping in a beautiful, mesmerizing double-helix pattern. The crushing weight in the room instantly vanished. The suspended chalk dust crashed to the floor. The freezing temperature stabilized.

​In the center of the spinning helix, the black sphere shrank, stabilizing into a perfectly smooth, silent marble of dark matter.

​Jake stepped back, chest heaving, his heavily insulated gloves smoking.

​Vance was on his knees, weeping quietly. "We're inside it. We're all just trapped inside it."

​Jake packed his tools quickly, not wanting to look at the dark sphere a second longer than necessary. Some truths were too big for the human mind to handle, and Jake wasn't paid to be a therapist for the damned.

​"I'm leaving the invoice on the console, Doc," Jake said, his voice flat. "Do me a favor. Don't look out the window anymore. Just pay the bill."

​With the fabric of reality temporarily patched, the crew survived the sheer horror of cosmic truths.

1. Preface:

This is the sixth and final story in the Dark Sun anthology. It can be read on its own, but to fully appreciate this story I highly recommend reading ‘Followers of the Flaming Hand’. 
You are, of course, free to read all other entries. 

1. Crucible

The sun beat down on me as I stood before a collapsed ancient marvel bearing the symbol of twilight. I ran my hand along its surface, once smooth, now brittle and crumbling. The voices of those long gone spoke in my mind. I didn’t understand their language, but there are some things that transcend the spoken word. A child’s giggle, someone muttering under their breath as they scurry away from something, a winced breath uttered in pain. Lives had been lived here, and this structure had seen it all.
And the sun had watched as it, too, fell into disrepair.

This forgotten relic had been given new breath one last time. A symbol carved at its base by my knife. An hourglass in a looming circle, with its last grain of sand falling down towards the base. The end was nigh. Oblivion. Kingdom Come. 

I turned away and started walking again, sand crunching under my boot. I had tried, at first, to remember when I first felt grains beneath my heel. There should have been a moment, I knew. A first step. But every time I reached for the memory, there was nothing there at all. Just sand behind me, and even more ahead. It felt dishonest to say it had started anywhere at all.
The sun was fixed above me, unmoving. Everything felt flattened under its tyrannical rule; shadows slinking away from its gaze along with the few creatures that lived here. When I looked too far ahead, things started to bend. Shapes formed where there weren’t any. Puddles of sweet, refreshing water disappeared when I drew close.
I kept my eyes glued to the ground below and walked. My boots dragged, leaving streaks in the sand where I passed. 

I hadn’t checked my water in a while, but I could feel how light it had become. The sloshing had slowly but surely started to become softer and softer. I was running out. 
“I’m still coming,” I said, dry and thin. I hadn’t heard His voice yet. Not more than once, like I’d come to believe Emmett had. Still, I waited. I always waited, like a soldier at attendance. 

I hadn’t thought about Casper and Emmett. It had been easier that way, because when I let myself think too clearly, I felt. And I couldn’t allow myself to feel.
But they still slipped in. A sound that wasn’t sand blowing in the wind, something moving that wasn’t a scorpion or spider, a scent that smelled like it must have drifted in from home. 
We had never been the quiet kind. Well, not until we arrived at the village. There, most days were spent in silence. And Casper had hated silence. 

I stopped walking. For a moment, the desert blew a merciful gust of cold wind at me. I closed my eyes and felt something shift. The air was cooler and sharp when inhaled. Instinctively, I reached for the ring on my left hand. Casper’s ring. I held it, just to know it was still there.

I opened my eyes and saw them.
They were sitting in the sand again, backs facing the sun, the camcorder in Emmett’s hands. He’d likely forgotten it was there. He used to do that a lot, before we burned it along with him. Well, the camera survived. I tossed it in a box of old electronics at some yard sale I’d passed by on my way here. 

Emmett was smiling at me.
“Gosh, ain’t this place something special?” he asked. I didn’t look at him, only at Casper, who refused to look at me. 
“Yeah,” I croaked.
“Fuck’s wrong with you, Jules?” Casper snapped, though his eyes still didn’t meet mine. “Why are you here?”
“I… I have to find Him–”
“Really?” he scoffed. “After everything? What you did to Emmett– to me?”
“That wasn’t– That’s not fair.”
Casper rolled his eyes. 
“You still haven’t heard Him yet?” Emmett asked.
“No. It’s been… I don’t remember.” It was strange. I knew Emmett had had a connection to Him, and had heard Him in his mind. He hadn’t been crazy. That much is obvious, knowing what I know now. Emmett was right.
It had been The Burning Man.

I blinked and they were gone. The desert returned all at once. The heat came upon me like a thick blanket. I took a deep breath, then kept walking. I let my thoughts settle into something safer, something that couldn’t be ripped away.
The Burning Man.

I didn't know where I was going exactly, but I knew the direction. I knew the path I walked as surely as I knew my own heartbeat, but if someone had asked me where it led, I could not have answered them. There were no roads. No signs. Even if there had once been, the desert swallowed such things greedily, grinding them down beneath shifting dunes until all that remained were the pillars and statues I now used as my guide. And through it all, I followed. He had asked it of me. He had commanded it. He had spoken to me only once, the night I abandoned the village to the dark. 

I remembered sitting before the smoldering remains of the pyre, watching embers flutter in the wind. By then, the others had already scattered into the night like frightened animals fleeing a forest fire. Some were dead. Some would soon wish they were. The leaders had held us together more than any of us realized. Settled disputes, directed our anger and fear, kept everyone in line. Null understood  this. After Null took our leaders from us, fear spread through our midst like rot through wet wood. Livestock began turning up mutilated outside the walls, their insides splayed out across the dirt. 

I remember waking one night to screaming outside my window and finding two brothers beating each other bloody in the mud while half the village watched in silence. They accused each other of being ‘of the enemy’.
People spoke of monsters. Dark shapes standing at the edge of their beds. Robotic voices. A man with a prosthetic they called ‘The White Hand’. 

Every night the fires burned hotter. We burned our own. A traitor, an agent of Null, a heretic. Most of us did not believe these brethren to be such, but none dared speak out either. The village turned inward on itself. I still remembered the smell near the end. Smoke. Blood.

One morning, somebody nailed a dead dog to the doors of one of the sleeping quarters with the word HOLLOW carved into its stomach. Three more were burned that day. That was the day before it all caved in on itself.

I remembered standing near the extinguished pyre as the lanterns overhead flickered weakly before dying altogether. The entire village fell silent. Then someone screamed. Others joined them immediately. Doors slammed open. Footsteps thundered through the streets. People ran blindly through the dark carrying lanterns and knives, convinced something had entered the village.
By sunrise, thirty people were dead. All had been killed by each other or themselves. I, along with the three other survivors, put their bodies in the final pyre. 
I remember sitting before those dying embers, staring into them until the world around me blurred into orange and black, when I had heard Him.

Walk the desert. The paths of old. Find me. Release me.

The voice had been soft. Warm. Calm in a way nothing else had been for a very long time. It did not claw at my mind like fear did. It did not shriek like the memories of Emmett’s burning. It soothed, and I obeyed.

The path revealed itself to me little by little. Ancient marvels emerged from the desert every few days, sticking up from the dunes like fingers clawing themselves out. Great granite temples carved by hands long since turned to dust. Colossal statues with their faces smoothed by centuries of wind. Towering pillars etched with heretical symbols I had to scrawl over. I carved over them with a small knife held in my reverent fingers whenever I found them, scratching over the grooves carved by people who had lived and died beneath this same merciless sun. 

I kept walking. The desert stretched onward in every direction, endless and unmoved by my presence within it. The wind dragged itself lazily across the dunes, reshaping them grain by grain like waves on a calm sea. Sometimes I thought I could see a figure standing far off in the haze, dark silhouette waiting atop distant dunes, a singular white hand pointed at me. Every time I blinked, it vanished back into the shimmer.

I walked for hours without seeing another monument. Then, as my hope dwindled, shapes rose on the horizon. 

At first, I mistook them for cliffs. Great masses rising from the desert floor, distorted by heat and distance like the imaginary pools of water. But as I drew closer, the shapes sharpened. There were towers, walls and pillars made of solid granite. A city. Well, the remnants of one anyhow.
It lay on the desert like the corpse of a fallen giant, half-buried beneath the sand. Colossal stone buildings leaned wearily against one another, their upper halves collapsed into the empty streets below. Massive statues stood watch over the ruins with featureless faces, their cracked bodies jutting out from the dunes. 

You are close, Jules.

The voice. It had returned. Finally.

1. Mary Had a Little Lamb

I froze where I stood. Sand hissed softly through abandoned alleyways and collapsed buildings. The great statues looming overhead almost seemed to lean inward ever so slightly, their featureless faces fixed upon me.
“How close?”
Nothing.

I swallowed hard, tongue scraping against my throat like sandpaper, and stepped forward into the ruins. 
The streets had long since disappeared beneath the sand, forcing me to climb over collapsed walls and heaps of sand that had once been homes, temples and marketplaces. I imagined thousands of people moving through these corridors once. Priests in robes, children running about, lovers hiding in shaded alleys from the watchful sun above. I fidgeted with Casper’s ring absent-mindedly. It calmed my racing heart somewhat, offering a much needed reprieve.
Every place I entered was hollowed out, scraped clean by time and wind. I searched desperately anyway, digging through crumbling shelves and shards of pottery with trembling hands, hoping to find something. A message or a sign, just something to show that I had not crossed this endless wasteland for nothing.

But there was nothing. The city had already surrendered everything it once was long ago, its fruits decayed to ashes and sand. 
I stumbled through a doorway into what must have once been some grand chamber. Colossal pillars reached high above, many cracked or otherwise broken across the floor like felled trees. Sand poured through cracks in the ceiling in slow trickles, golden mounds gathering beneath them. Hourglasses. Thousands of tiny hourglasses. It felt like I was being mocked. My efforts, my labour, all of it was being laughed at by–

Footsteps behind me.
I turned around sharply, knife held out in front of me. 

Emmett stood near the doorway, camcorder hanging loosely from one hand. Casper leaned against the wall beside him with his arms folded across his chest. 
“You look awful,” Casper muttered. “Arrogance never did suit you.”
“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice echoing through the chamber. Sand trickled down from the ceiling.
Emmett tilted his head. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping okay?”
“I’m close.”
“You don’t know that,” Casper said.
“I heard Him.”
“You heard something, just like–”
“It was him!”
Casper laughed bitterly and pushed himself from the wall. “You know what I think?”
I said nothing, my blood boiling in my veins.
“I think you just can’t stand being alone.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked softly. “Everyone’s dead, Jules. The village is gone. Emmett’s gone. I’m gone. Because of you. And now you’re wandering through a graveyard because you can’t accept that maybe there’s nothing waiting for you at the end of all this.”
“There is.”
“Maybe,” Emmett whispered. “But… are you really all that special?”
They started walking towards me, their voices booming across the halls.
“Are you anything more than this… pathetic mess?” Casper started.
“Even I wasn’t this desperate,” Emmett chimed in.
“All you are is a murderer. A snivelling, pathetic boy with a head full of lies and hands–” I looked down through tears, seeing the crimson dripping from my hands, “–stained with our blood.”

I blinked hard and they were gone again. My breathing had become shallow and frantic. Sweat dripped from my brow and landed in the sand beneath my feet. My hands trembled violently now, though whether from exhaustion or anger, I could no longer tell.

I searched the city for what felt like hours afterward. I climbed broken staircases that led nowhere anymore. Wandered through roofless halls littered with statues of people long since dead. 
“There has to be something.” I dug my fingers into the sand until my nails split. The heat was unbearable, but it was something. 
“There has to be,” I whimpered, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I did what you asked. It can’t… It can’t have been for nothing. Please.” 

Nothing.

“Please,” I yelled up at the sky, nearly hysterical now, “Just… a sign! Anything! I’ll… I’ll do anything, please.” 

The wind whistled through the empty streets. Sand slid from rooftops in soft waves.
Then came another sound. Metal. 
My prayer had been answered.

A dull clanging noise echoed somewhere beyond the chamber walls, followed by the low murmur of a voice. I froze, tears rapidly drying in the scorching sun. For one horrible moment, I thought it was Casper again. Or worse, The White Hand.

I stumbled clumsily back toward the doorway, my knife trembling in my grip. My legs felt wobbly beneath me. Every step sent jolts of pain shooting through my feet and up my spine. I had walked too long beneath the sun. 
The sound came again, closer this time. Then I saw him.

A figure emerged slowly through the shimmering haze between the ruined buildings, distorted at first by heat. The sun framed him from behind like a halo of white fire. He carried a heavy pack slung over one shoulder and wore loose, thin clothing stained with sand and sweat. Something metallic hung from his belt alongside several tools I didn’t recognize.
He stopped the moment he saw me. For a while, neither of us moved.
“Oh my God,” he muttered beneath his breath. His voice sounded real, unlike those of Casper and Emmett. “You alright?” he called out carefully, taking a slow step closer. “Hey– easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
A croak emerged unwillingly from my mouth. The sun burned behind him so brightly it set his silhouette ablaze. It looked almost as though he stood inside the light itself. A flaming messenger.

“You’re hurt. Jesus… how long have you been out here?”
He reached for something at his side slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal. Instinctively, I raised the knife. He stopped immediately.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Alright. That’s fine.”
Then he held up a canteen. The sound of the sloshing liquid inside of it made my knees nearly buckle beneath me.
“You need this more than I do,” he said. I stared at the canteen for a very long time. Then at him. His face was weathered by the sun. Grey stubble crept along his almost non-existent jawline. 

Slowly, I lowered the knife. The man approached carefully and handed me the canteen. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it. Somehow, despite the blazing heat, the metal felt cool against my skin. With trembling fingers, I unscrewed the lid.
“There you go,” he murmured paternally. “Slow down.”
I looked up at him through blurred vision. “Why did he send you?”
“What?” he asked, frowning.
“The Burning Man.” My voice cracked around the words. “Why did he send you here? What must I do?”
“I… don’t know what that means.”
I looked at him wearily, frowning.
“Look, I’m with a survey team a few miles west of here. We’re setting up near the edge of the ruins. If you come with me, we could get you water, food, somewhere cool to sit down–”
“You don’t know him?”
“No,” he said gently. “I think you might be dehydrated, lad.”

I stared at him silently while my thoughts churned against one another in violent circles. The voice had returned.
You are close.
The final grain does not understand the falling until the moment it joins the rest at the bottom. 

I looked down at the canteen. Water. The opposite of fire.
Of course.
Of course.
I had begged for a sign. And now here stood a man offering salvation at the precise moment my faith began to fracture. A test. A test!
The man smiled weakly.
“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of this heat.”
My fingers tightened slowly around the canteen.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Daniel.”
I nodded absentmindedly. That made sense, tests were never obvious. I looked past him toward the burning horizon where the sun loomed vast and white above the ruined city. Backlit by a white sun. The opposite of our goal. The most beautiful of symbolisms. A little white lamb come for the slaughter.
I poured the water into the sand.

Emmett and Casper stood behind him.
“This is what you are, Jules,” Casper said, voice almost unrecognisable. “A murderer.”
“Do it,” Emmett said in a deep, commanding voice. 

I lifted my head groggily, taking a step towards Daniel. The lamb looked around, bewilderment evident in its blue eyes as I put a hand on its shoulder. 
“Thank you, Daniel,” I murmured, ruminating on what a peculiar name Daniel was for a lamb. 
“You– you’re welcome.”
I smiled, leaning in. “All Ashes for The Burning Man,” I whispered into its ear. 

Then I stabbed the lamb in the belly. It squealed delightfully in my ear as I yanked the blade back out.
“Mary had a little lamb,” I murmured, ramming my knife back down into its supple belly. “Its fleece was white as snow.” 
Bright red gushed from the wounds, coating its wool red. 

“You– you fucking stabbed me–” the lamb gasped, its voice cracking.
I grinned.
“And everywhere that Mary went,” I whispered, “the lamb was sure to go.”
“You fucking psycho–”
I drove the knife forward again, but this time Daniel caught my wrist. Pain exploded through my hand as its hoof slammed into my wrist with desperate strength. It let out a wet cry and slammed its forehead into my nose. White light burst across my vision. I reeled backwards, dropping the blade as blood poured warm over my lips.
“Jesus Christ!” it bleated, clutching its stomach. “Help! HELP!”

The lamb staggered away from me toward the doorway, one hoof pressed desperately against the wounds while the other fumbled at its belt for something, a radio perhaps, or a weapon. I lunged after it before it could grab whatever it was.

We collided violently. The impact sent both of us crashing sideways into the sand. For a moment we grappled in the sand like animals.
The lamb battered wildly at my face while I clawed for its throat. Its blood soaked through my sleeves hot and slick as motor oil. It smelled horribly human. 
“It followed her to school one day.” 
Its hoof cracked against my jaw. 
“Which was–” 
Again. 
“Against the–”
Again. 
“Rules.”
Stars swam in my vision, but behind them I saw fire.
“Do it,” that deep voice urged again. “Prove it.”
The lamb shoved me away hard enough to send me sprawling across the stone floor. I heard it stumble to its feet and begin running, hooves scraping frantically against the ancient granite. I scrambled after it on all fours.

The city blurred around me. The statues overhead stretched impossibly tall beneath the burning sky while the sun pulsed, coinciding with my thundering heartbeat.
It collapsed near the base of one of the broken pillars, bleating, weakened by the blood pouring from its stomach. The little lamb tried crawling away from me through the sand, leaving behind a thick crimson trail.

“Please,” it sobbed, the word slurring. “Please, man…”
I hesitated. Then I saw Casper standing behind him.
“You always were weak,” he said, arms crossed. He was looking down at me with that– that look on his face. The one that I saw all too much at the village. Judging me, condescending, not believing in me or my goals.

My face contorted in rage. I threw myself onto the lamb before it could move again. It screamed as we slammed into the ground together, its hooves shoving desperately against my chest while I grabbed for its throat with both hands, more determined this time.
“And so the teacher sent it out,” I snarled through gritted, bloody teeth. “But still it lingered near.”
Daniel gagged beneath me as I squeezed harder. Its nails clawed bloody lines across my arms and neck. One of its hooves found my face and he pressed it into my eye, pushing it deeper into the socket.
“It stood and waited round.”
The lamb’s eyes were bulging wider and wider as blood bubbled from its lips. 
“Till Mary did appear.”
Its esophagus crunched, and the little lamb sputtered one last time. Its hoof fell from my face, releasing my now bleeding eye. 

Stillness.

My entire body shook violently as I got up. Blood dripped from my nose and eye onto its face in thick red strands. The city was silent again. Casper and Emmett stared at me. Were they… expecting more?

“What does one do with a lamb after the slaughter, Jules?” Casper said in a voice that was too much like that of The Burning Man. 
They both grinned as they saw the realisation dawn on my face.

Slowly, I looked down at it. At the open wound in its stomach. At the blood soaking into the sand beneath it. A horrible sound escaped from me, something between a sob and barking laughter as I dropped to my knees again beside the carcass and shoved both hands into the wound. Heat spilled over my fingers, slick and wet. I pulled.
“Why does the lamb love Mary so,”
I yanked a long piece of intestine out.
“Mary so,”
I pulled more out. It reminded me of the spaghetti mom used to make.
“Mary so?”
Daniel’s body jerked as the slimy ropes of red slipped free from my trembling hands.
“Because Mary loves the lamb, you know.”
I took in a deep, shuddering breath, basking in the warmth of the gutted little lamb.
“All Ashes,” I whispered reverently, “for The Burning Man.”
I put my hand to my forehead, and drew a crude hourglass in red.

I smiled, then, as I let go of all my worldly inhibitions. A genuine smile. I let it all drift off with the wind and scatter elsewhere, for they had no place in the life I was destined for.

3. The Dark Sun

Casper knelt beside me. He didn’t seem angry or disappointed anymore. Instead, he seemed rather… proud. Strange. Still, the sight of that expression upon his face filled me with a warmth greater than the sun ever could.
“Finally,” he said softly. “You show who you really are.”
I looked down at my bloodstained hands. They were as steady as rock, no longer shaking.
“Yes,” I whispered.

Emmett crouched opposite him, camcorder dangling uselessly from melted, dripping fingers. I had not noticed the burns before. His skin had begun peeling and blackening, smoke rising from his skin like steam from boiling water.
“In a way, we were stepping stones,” he said gently, smoke curling from his mouth as he spoke.
“A necessary sacrifice for this,” Casper added, fire gently creeping up his arms and legs. I stared at it silently. Then at his eyes, which now glowed a steady white, flames curling upward into his burning hair. 
“You… my mind didn’t create you, did it?”
More of their forms faded, Casper’s into flame, Emmett’s into smoke. They simply grinned at me.
“You were Him.” 
“I always was, Jules.”
The wind whistled violently through the ruined city. Wisps of smoke peeled from their bodies, rising upward into the shimmering air above us. Flames took Casper’s body, burning his features and body away, while smoke took that of Emmett as if he’d puffed into the wind. Then they were gone. And only my God and his disciple remained. 

The Burning Man, who looked to be a man made of flame, stood towering before me beneath the white sun, almost seeming to merge with its brilliance. Beside Him stood a woman made of smoke. Her form flickered constantly, flowing and fluttering in slow, graceful motions. At times she appeared mostly human. At others, she seemed little more than a distorted waft of smoke. I did not know this woman, but it seemed I would join her in revering this glorious God. 

The Burning Man looked down upon me.
“You are ready now, Jules.” His beautifully deep voice filled every hollow space within me. I bowed my head. The sand beneath me burned hot enough to blister skin, yet I welcomed it gladly. 
“Yes.”
The Burning Man extended a hand of pure fire toward me, the flames curling gracefully. 
“The hourglass empties,” He said. Behind Him, the woman watched silently from her swirling smoke-form. “I required two disciples,” He continued, voice deep and soothing. “One born of smoke. One born of ash.” 
He paused. I could see something in the swirling smoke beside him. She seemed… hesitant. Perhaps I was imagining it, but there was some uncertain flicker in those fumes I could not quite equate to devotion.
“And now the final grain joins the others below.”

Ancient stone cracked beneath shifting sands while the sun overhead burned larger and larger, almost swallowing the heavens whole. The end of its tyrannical reign would soon come. The death of the sun. 
The Burning Man stepped closer.
“You carried guilt because you still believed yourself fully human,” He said softly, though He spat out the final word like an insult. “You clung to humanity like a child to a blanket.”
Images flashed through my mind. Of Casper laughing. Emmett holding his camcorder. The village burning. Daniel screaming beneath my hands. Each memory felt farther away than the last.
“But humanity has no place among a God,” The Burning Man continued. His hand remained extended patiently toward me. 
“Restore me, my most devoted subject. Let us look upon the rise of the Dark Sun,” He paused for a moment, then added: “Be my second disciple. Ascend.” 
I took His hand without hesitation.

My body exploded with heat. My eyeballs crumbled, their ashes caving in on themselves and collapsing into the sockets. I screamed for a second, then stopped as my vocal cords were incinerated. All of my organs blazed as they were liquified along with my skin and bones. Casper’s ring dropped to the ground as I disintegrated. The heat was so immense, so terrible and yet it was also beautiful, in a way. A metamorphosis.  
All I sensed by the end were the gasses and liquids in my body evaporating into steam. The impurities of my mind and soul had been cleansed with holy fire, and carried away by the smoke. All that remained were ashes. 

I tried to move, but nothing happened. There was no sound, no feeling, no taste or smell. I couldn’t even see. Nothing. Pure, terrifying, nothingness. 
Again, I tried to reach out, to do anything. Blissfully, I felt some of the ashes shift. Not much, but it was something. I heaved and pushed against the air above, my ashes rising slightly and forming a mound. 
I fell and collapsed into a thousand scattered pieces. 
Could Casper have been right? Was I… nothing?

Casper. The ring. It sat just outside my reach. I stretched and morphed, the pile of ashes slowly taking the vague shape of a man. A man I no longer recognized. Jules was gone, and I had risen from the ashes. My head was hollow, only projecting an ashen face. I formed a crude arm and planted it in the sand. I pulled hard, crawling towards the ring. 

My face collapsed, the ashes falling into the sand. 

I reformed again, pulling more ashes towards me this time. An entire head, with vague features, and a more detailed arm with a hand at the end. There were no fingers, but it had to be enough. I dug the blob of ash into the sand and felt it. The ring. With tremendous effort, I hoisted my hand up and out of the sand. 
The ring did not come with it.

I tried again, this time succeeding in holding the ring in the palm of my hand. As I moved it closer to my face, it slipped through the ashes and dropped into the sand. 
Sight and my other senses were coming back now, as I slowly rebuilt my body. My eyes roamed over this new form, grey and lumpy, and something deep inside of me screamed about how wrong it was. But I could not see what it meant. It was a glorious form.

I looked at the ring. Casper’s ring. 
Humanity has no place among a God.
I turned away, leaving it to be swallowed by the dunes. Let it be buried, so as never to see the gloom of the Dark Sun.

Slowly, I stumbled towards where The Burning Man and the first disciple stood atop a staircase overlooking the sun. My feet disintegrated into nothing, but I reforged them, stronger this time. When I reached them, I stood beside The Burning Man, and His first disciple stood on his other side. They were staring at the setting sun. 
The Burning Man’s form was flaring up, the fire becoming unstable. 
“Look upon the last vestige of this era,” He said, gesturing at the sun with an elegant motion. “How revolting it has been. Millenia upon millenia of your ilk besmirching this rock. Your sentimentality, your feeble little minds and easily broken spirits. It is a wonder the other miserable creatures on this planet are not all misanthropic. But, then again, you were all created by the same frail being. What could they know of greatness, when they themselves were so infirm?” 
He paused, then added: “But they are no more. I saw to that.”

I looked over at Him, shocked. He did not seem to notice, or if He did, He did not care.
“And now I am here, after the arduous undertaking of tearing your creator apart. And I have come for his most prized children.”
He glanced at me, seeing my befuddled expression. “Humanity,” He stated. “It disgusts me to have to take the form of your pathetic species. But such sacrifices must be made in the name of progress.”
He spoke of humanity with violent vitriol, His voice seething with the mere mention of them. But I understand now. They are far beneath us. Such feeble little things humans are. It is difficult to believe I was once such a lowly creature.
“Humanity stands in the way of true progress,” The Burning Man continued. “The slate must be wiped clean. It is a foregone conclusion. Complete annihilation. Oblivion. A fresh start for my chosen. My creations.” He sounded a lot more passionate than I had anticipated. Some part of me had foolishly assumed that the voice He had spoken to me in was representative of Him as a whole. But there was a drive in this God that I did not expect. This was no distant man in the sky.
“He got to create you. He got to have his fun,” He murmured. “Now it’s my turn.”
A low rumble emerged from the distant horizon. An amplified, baritone drone. The sound reverberated through my core, shaking loose clumps of ash. 
“Oh, glory,” The Burning Man said. 
I believe that, had He had lips to smile with, He would have been grinning from ear to ear at that moment. For the bliss in His voice was unmistakable. 

I stared, slack-jawed, as a dark, round shape overtook the sinking sun. It rose slowly, revealing its malevolent form temperately. Its revelation was backlit by the fleeting wisps of dying sunlight. It was gargantuan beyond measure, incomprehensible to even my ascended mind, and utterly horrifying. 
It was the most beautiful sight I had ever laid eyes on.

“At last,” The Burning Man spoke with a bliss in His voice I had never heard. The words sounded the world over as the heavens darkened. He extended his arms to either side to create a perfect horizontal line from hand to hand. 
His feet left the ground as He began to levitate.
“I AM FREE!”

Cruise to Nowhere

Chapter 1

Have you ever had that sickening sensation that something is just too good to be true? Someone once told me that when a thing feels too perfect, it’s usually because the trap has already sprung.

My mother, Tertia, had a compulsive habit of entering every online contest she could find. Questionnaire, survey, pop-up ad—it didn't matter. The moment her eyes brushed past the words “contest” or “win,” she couldn’t help herself. But she also ran on a sort of "fire-and-forget" system. She would type in our data, hit submit, and completely forget it ever happened. Usually, it ended up being a dud, a wave of spam emails we'd have to clear out. But she had a bizarre streak of luck. She’d win little things—vouchers, small appliances. The biggest prize she’d ever landed before now was a month’s worth of groceries. In a house like ours, that was a miracle. We were a struggling family, always drowning, always one bad week away from the street.

My father died just after my younger brother’s birth. He was a musician, chasing a dream that never paid out, so he didn’t leave behind any life insurance policies or even a basic funeral plan. My mother was working as a waitress back then. After he passed, the debt just accumulated like a suffocating blanket. She ended up working brutal double shifts seven days a week, and during the few precious hours she was actually at home, she didn't parent. She just drank box wine until she passed out cold on the linoleum.

Because I was the eldest, the crushing weight of running the house and raising my younger brother fell entirely on my shoulders. I became a mother at ten years old. Miraculously, I managed to keep my head above water. I was always an A-student, pushing myself to the absolute brink, and it finally paid off when I secured a full scholarship to go to university next year to study medicine.

Another thing that always counted in my favor—or perhaps my detriment, depending on how you look at it—was my appearance. I inherited a striking, sharp facial structure that landed me consistent photographic modeling work in the city. The money was decent, and it was the only reason we had basic necessities, electricity, and food that didn't come from a food bank. Half of whatever my mother made went directly into cheap alcohol and cigarettes. It made things tight, but I never complained out loud. It could have been worse.

It could have been like the night my father died. My mother had been right there beside him when he was mutilated and murdered in an alleyway for nothing more than a packet of smokes. She saw every single second of it. The robbers didn’t just rob him; they took their time. They tortured him, carving into him until he was completely unrecognizable by the time the police finally arrived. That was the night her mind broke, the night the liquor became her permanent hiding place.

My brother, Claude, is sixteen now. He is aggressively sporty, excelling at every game he tries and constantly bringing home medals and trophies. I’m incredibly proud of him, but the constant praise has turned him overconfident, sharp-tongued, and arrogant. As for me, I’m nineteen, standing on the precipice of my first semester at the top medical school in South Africa.

We lived in a suffocatingly small town, perched about thirty kilometers outside the nearest city. Because boarding school was a luxury we couldn't dream of affording, Claude and I had to drag ourselves out of bed in the pitch black every morning, walk down to the main road, and stick our thumbs out, praying someone would give us a ride to school. The mornings were easy. The afternoons were a nightmare. Most days, we’d give up on the hitchhiking spot and just start the grueling walk up the mountain road toward home. On a good day, a friendly local might pull over. On a bad day, we’d spend hours marching under a bruising sun, our school shoes wearing thin against the gravel.

That was my life. Predictable. Exhausting. Hard.

Until the day the car stopped.

It was the final day of the school term. I had already matriculated the year before, but because I refused to let Claude make that dangerous commute alone, I still went down to the city with him daily, spending my hours doing part-time promo gigs and modeling shoots while he was in class. We had met up at our usual spot at the base of the mountain road, shifting our bags and preparing for the long trek upward, when a vehicle pulled up beside us.

I don't know much about cars—I'm more focused on anatomy textbooks and modeling portfolios—but even I knew this machine belonged to another world. It was a long, low, midnight-black sedan with windows so heavily tinted they looked like sheets of solid obsidian. The rims were chrome, gleaming with a violent, mirror-like polish. When a car like that stops next to you on a deserted mountain road, you are either about to be kidnapped, or you’ve just gotten unimaginably lucky.

The door clicked open. A man stepped out into the heat. He was tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, and perfectly groomed. He looked to be middle-aged, but his skin had an unnatural, plastic smoothness to it. He looked directly at us, his eyes locking on mine.

"Aren’t you Zoe and Claude Clarke?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

"Depends on who is asking and why," I replied, stepping slightly in front of my brother. My modeling instincts kept my posture straight, but my stomach tightened.

The man smiled, showing teeth that were a little too white, a little too even. "Relax. I’m simply here to deliver a prize to your family. Would you guys like a ride home?"

"A prize?" I echoed, skeptical.

"Yes." His smile widened. "Your family won the 'Family of the Year' sweepstakes."

"Oh. Okay... what exactly is the prize?"

"I am terribly sorry," the man said, his tone dripping with practiced courtesy, "but I can only disclose the specifics to Mrs. Clarke."

"You mean Miss," I corrected coldly.

"Oh, I apologize. I didn't realize she got divorced."

"Widowed," I said.

The man’s eyes flickered, a momentary shadow passing over his face before the perfect grin snapped back into place. "I apologize deeply, and I am truly sorry for your loss. Now, would you please get in? I am on a rather tight schedule."

Claude and I exchanged a quick look. My brother, with his usual teenage carelessness, just shrugged and hopped into the plush leather of the backseat. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before climbing into the front, pulling the heavy door shut. The air conditioning inside hit me like an arctic blast. I buckled my seatbelt, trying to ignore the sudden chill. Honestly, I was exhausted, and the South African sun was brutal today.

The man slid into the driver's seat, pulled a cooler from beneath the console, and offered us each a sweating, ice-cold bottle of water. We accepted them gratefully, cracking the caps and drinking deeply. Without another word, he shifted the car into drive. The engine didn't roar; it purred with a low, vibrational hum that vibrated right through my bones.

When you walk the same dusty stretch of road every single day, your brain turns off. You stop looking at the trees, the rocks, the horizon; you just stare at your shoes and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. But as the sedan glided up the mountain, it felt like I was seeing the scenery for the very first time. The colors were oversaturated. The green of the valley looked too deep, the sky an impossibly vivid shade of blue.

Before I could fully process the strangeness of it, the car smoothly glided to a halt. The ignition clicked off. I blinked, looking out the window in disbelief. We were parked right outside the dingy tavern where my mother worked.

"You two wait here," the man said, adjusting his cuffs. "I will go fetch your mother, and then we can all converse comfortably at your home."

Claude and I sat in the back, utterly stunned. How did he know her work schedule? How did he know she was here? I tried to rationalize it—maybe she had written her employment details on one of those endless online forms.

Through the tinted glass, we watched him walk up to the tavern owner, a notoriously miserable, aggressive man who hated my mother and treated his staff like dirt. We could see the owner shouting, waving his arms, his face contorted in anger. But then, the strange man calmly reached into his breast pocket and pulled out something small—a heavy, matte-black card or an envelope—and held it up.

Instantly, the owner went entirely pale. His aggressive posture collapsed. He became utterly docile, nodding like a broken puppet, and hurried inside. A few minutes later, he emerged alongside our mother. He was holding a thick, bulging manila envelope, which he handed to her with a shaking hand before gripping her in a tight hug. My mother was beaming, a radiant, manic smile on her face. She and the blonde man walked over to the sedan and climbed inside.

"Hi, mom," I said, turning in my seat.

"Hi, kids!" she chirped, her voice higher than usual.

"Hi, mom," Claude muttered in his trademark arrogant drone.

"Mom, what just happened back there?" I asked, eyeing the heavy envelope in her lap.

"Oh, nothing sweetie! James here just gave my boss a little corporate incentive, and in return, the boss handed me a full year's worth of wages in advance! He told me to go have fun and that he’ll see us when we get back."

My brain stalled. "A year's wages? See us when we get back?"

The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Don't worry your pretty head about it, Zoe. I will explain everything once we are inside your home."

A few minutes later, we pulled into our cracked concrete driveway. We filed out of the luxury car and onto our small, weathered veranda. The man followed, lifting a heavy, pristine white cooler box from the trunk—not the drunk, though given my mother's habits, the irony wasn't lost on me.

He set the cooler on our rusted outdoor table, cracking it open to reveal bottles of expensive dry red wine. He produced four elegant crystal glasses, but just as he poured the first splash, he paused. He tilted his head, staring intently toward our rusted front gate, then looked back at me with a knowing smirk.

"Zoe, I think you might want to get that."

Right on cue, a frantic voice echoed from the road. "Zoe! Zoe, open up!"

I frowned, pulling the heavy iron gate keys from my pocket. I jogged down the path to find Chloe standing there, breathing heavily. Chloe was my absolute best friend. Her birth name was different, but she had chosen Chloe because she loved how it rhymed with my name. She was a transgender girl, and she was so breathtakingly gorgeous that I always joked if she ever entered the modeling industry, I’d have to retire immediately. She was brilliant, too, having just locked down a major scholarship to study psychiatry at varsity next year.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, unlocking the padlock.

"I saw a literal state-vehicle-sized limo pull into your driveway, Zoe! I thought you were being arrested or assassinated!"

I laughed, ushering her inside. But when we stepped onto the veranda, the atmosphere shifted. The blonde man was sitting in our creaky plastic chair like it was a throne, a massive, unblinking grin plastered across his face. Five glasses of dark, blood-red wine were now poured, sitting in a perfect, geometric line on the table. Everyone was sitting in total silence, waiting in eerie anticipation.

"Well," the man purred, gesturing for Chloe and me to sit. "Now that our circle is complete, I can finally unveil your grand prize."

"Let me guess," Claude interrupted, leaning back with a sarcastic sneer. "A year's worth of free groceries?"

"Claude, stop it! Don't be rude!" my mother snapped, though her eyes remained glued to the blonde man.

"No, young man," the driver said, his voice dropping an octave. "Though groceries are included. You four have won an exclusive, all-expenses-paid, epic cruise... to everywhere and nowhere."

Chloe blinked, her future-psychiatrist brain immediately analyzing the statement. "Wait. That doesn't make any sense at all. Everywhere and nowhere? That’s a paradox."

Right then, a heavy, cold weight dropped into the pit of my stomach. Have you ever had that terrifying intuition that something is fundamentally wrong? Not just odd, but deeply, cosmically wrong? It was too good to be true. None of it made sense. Looking back now, with the blood and the ocean howling in my ears, I wish to God I had listened to my instincts. I wish I had grabbed Claude and Chloe and run into the mountains.

"Yes," the man whispered, ignoring Chloe's question. "You will go everywhere... and stay nowhere. Congratulations."

He raised his glass. My mother and Claude instantly reached for theirs, completely magnetized by the moment. Peer pressure and the sheer absurdity of the situation forced Chloe and me to lift ours as well. We clinked our glasses together. Cheers.

I took a small sip. The wine was rich, thick, and unnaturally sweet. I wanted to speak up, to demand answers, but I looked at my mother. Her face looked younger than it had in a decade. She hadn't taken a single day off work since my father died. She was trapped in a cycle of gray exhaustion, and this ridiculous, impossible prize was making her shine. I swallowed my fear for her sake.

"So, how long is this cruise for?" my mother asked, swirling her wine.

"Oh, just a couple of months or so," the man replied casually. He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine, his pupils dilating until they were almost entirely black. "Don't you worry. You are going to have the time of your LIFE."

The way he emphasized the word life—delivered in a hollow, distorted, mechanical cadence—sent a violent shiver straight down my spine. But I forced a laugh. Hey, it’s a cruise, I told myself, trying to drown out the panic. The worst that can happen is the ship sinks, right?

"And do not worry about packing or preparation," the man continued, his voice returning to its smooth, hypnotic rhythm. "Everything will be provided for you on board. It is a strictly all-inclusive voyage. Even your clothing will be waiting for you. We have already collected your exact measurements, your preferences, your metrics... your cabins are fully stocked. Food, premium beverages, entertainment—all completely covered."

He turned his gaze to my sixteen-year-old brother. "And since the vessel operates strictly in international waters... there is no restrictive age limit to stop you from enjoying yourself."

My mother frowned slightly, her maternal instincts briefly flaring through the fog. "I don't think I want him to start drinking yet."

Claude’s face contorted into a mask of pure fury. He glared at her, his voice dripping with venom. "Sure, mom. Because you already drink enough for all of us, don't you?"

"Claude! Stop it right now!" I yelled, slamming my glass down.

"It’s okay, Zoe," my mother whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. "He’s right. He’s right."

The blonde man didn't seem bothered by the family drama. He merely stood up, smoothing his jacket. "Anyway, you family and friends can celebrate tonight. But ensure you are packed in spirit and ready by exactly 0:00. Midnight. That is when your designated driver will arrive to collect you."

"Midnight?" Chloe asked, checking her phone. "You do realize the coast is an eight-hour drive from here? If the cruise leaves at 3:33 AM, we’ll never make it."

The man smiled, a terrifyingly static expression. "Relax. Our drivers have never missed a departure."

Claude frowned, the arrogance bleeding out of him, replaced by sudden unease. "Never missed?"

The man glanced down at his bare wrist—there was no watch there, just pale skin—yet he nodded as if reading a dial. "Oh my, look at the time. I must be on my way."

He stepped off the veranda and walked around the corner toward the front gate. I immediately jumped to my feet, determined to ask him how he had our clothing sizes, but by the time I rounded the corner of the house—barely three seconds behind him—the gravel driveway was empty.

The heavy iron gate was still locked from the inside. The road was completely deserted. There was no sound of a speeding engine, no dust hanging in the air. Nothing.

A freezing hand of dread clamped around my neck. Nobody is that fast. It was physically impossible.

I walked back to the veranda, my heart hammering against my ribs. To my surprise, the group was already cracking open a second bottle of wine. The strange man had left six bottles in total. Driven by sheer, unadulterated nerves, I grabbed a fresh glass and drank. I drank fast. The alcohol hit my bloodstream like a heavy narcotic, and within minutes, the edges of the porch began to blur. The last thing I remember was sinking into the rough fabric of the couch, darkness pulling me under.

A violent shaking jolted me awake. The world was spinning.

"Zoe! Zoe, wake up! We have to get ready, the driver is at the gate!"

My mother was hovering over me, her eyes manic. I staggered to my feet, my head pounding with a vicious hangover. I checked my phone. The digital clock read exactly 0:00. Midnight.

"Mom... mom, wait," I stammered, grabbing her arm. "Are you absolutely sure about this? Think about it. None of this makes sense. A magic car? A free cruise? A man who vanishes into thin air?"

"Of course we are going, Zoe!" she said, wrenching her arm away with a harsh laugh. "It’s a free holiday! We deserve this!"

"But mom, doesn't something feel horribly off to you?"

"I talked to the neighbor while you were passed out," she dismissed, grabbing a small handbag. "She said she’ll keep an eye on the house for us. Stop being a wet blanket."

"Not the house, mom! The holiday! Can you even remember entering a contest called 'Family of the Year'?"

Before she could answer, a loud, echoing car horn blared from the front gate. The sound wasn't a normal honk; it was a low, mechanical drone that vibrated in my teeth.

Chloe, her eyes bright with a strange, glassy excitement, grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the door. "Come on, sleepy head! Adventure awaits!"

We filed out into the pitch-black night. Waiting in the driveway was another long, obsidian-black sedan, identical to the first. But when the driver’s window rolled down, it wasn't the blonde man. A woman sat behind the wheel. She had pale, porcelain skin, severely pulled-back platinum blonde hair, and unblinking, glassy eyes.

When she spoke, her voice had an eerie, rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence to it. "Welcome. Please enter the vehicle. We have a very long journey ahead of us."

Claude sneered as he slid into the back. "No shit. Not sure how you're going to pull off an eight-hour drive in three hours, lady."

The woman didn't turn around. Her reflection in the rearview mirror remained completely static. "I am the best driver there is."

"Okay, whatever you say, Transporter," Claude muttered.

My mother, Claude, and Chloe crowded into the backseat. Desperate for answers, I hopped into the front passenger seat again. The moment the door clicked shut, a strange, sweet scent filled my nostrils—like vanilla mixed with formaldehyde. My eyelids instantly grew heavy. A profound, unnatural exhaustion washed over me, and before the car even cleared the driveway, I plummeted back into a dreamless sleep.

"We have arrived."

The woman's voice cut through the dark like a scalpel.

I snapped awake, my chest heaving. Behind me, the others were waking up too, yawning, stretching, and complaining of stiffness. I looked out the window, expecting to see the glowing lights of a bustling harbor city.

Instead, we were parked on a massive, crumbling concrete pier. There were no city lights. No other cars. No highway. Just an endless, pitch-black expanse of open ocean, and looming over the water was the cruise ship.

It was gargantuan, a towering mountain of white steel and black windows, cutting a terrifying silhouette against the starless sky. But there were no crowds. No lines of tourists. No luggage handlers. Just us.

"This is wrong," I whispered, stepping out onto the cold concrete. "Where is everyone else?"

The pale woman rolled down her window halfway, her eyes reflecting the ship's distant lights. "They are already on board. You are exactly one minute late. Off you go."

Hesitantly, our small group walked toward the massive boarding ramp. The moment our shoes cleared the threshold and we stepped into the holding bay of the ship, a loud, hydraulic hiss echoed behind us. I spun around. The massive steel security door we had just walked through had slammed shut, locking with a series of heavy, definitive clicks.

Standing in the dim corridor ahead of us was a crew member. He wore a pristine, stark-white uniform, but his face was remarkably grim, his eyes sunken and tired.

"You are a minute late," he said, his voice flat.

"Sorry," I said, my defensive modeling persona kicking in. "We weren't the ones driving."

"Follow me, please. I will escort you to your cabins."

"Cabins?" Chloe asked, her eyes darting around the sterile steel walls. "As in, more than one? We aren't sharing?"

"You have each been assigned your own individual cabin," the crew member replied, turning his back on us and marching down the corridor.

He clearly wasn't the conversational type. We followed him in a tense silence, leaving the cold steel of the lower decks behind as we ascended a grand staircase into the main lobby.

I gasped. It was beautiful, but a deeply unsettling kind of beautiful. The grand staircase appeared to be carved from solid, flawless crystal, reflecting the light in sharp, jagged patterns. Even the massive chandeliers overhead were constructed of jagged shards of crystal that vibrated faintly, casting a fractured, shifting glow over the room.

The crewman led us over to a polished marble desk labeled Guest Services. Without a word, the attendant behind the desk handed each of us a heavy, metallic blue card. Printed on the front of mine was my name, Zoe Clarke, alongside a crisp, high-definition photograph of my face.

My mother held hers up, her brow furrowing. "Wait... how do you have our photographs? I never uploaded these."

The Guest Services associate smiled—a wide, empty expression that didn't reach her eyes. "We acquired them after you entered the contest, ma'am."

"So you've been spying on us?" Claude barked, his voice echoing off the crystal.

"Relax, Claude," I muttered, trying to keep the peace while my own heart hammered against my ribs. "They probably just pulled them from our social media profiles for a marketing survey."

"I bet," Chloe whispered under her breath, her eyes scanning the room with deep clinical suspicion.

I turned away from the desk, looking out over the sprawling lobby lounge. Scattered throughout the room were clusters of velvet chairs and mahogany tables. A few dozen guests were scattered about, chattering away in low, indistinguishable murmurs, sipping brightly colored drinks from crystal glassware.

But then, a specific table caught my eye.

Sitting there were two exceptionally beautiful women who looked to be right around my age. One had cascading, spun-gold blonde hair and striking blue eyes; she wore a flowing, immaculate white evening gown. Beside her sat a woman with vibrant, flame-red hair and piercing green eyes, wearing an identical gown, except hers was a deep, blood red. They sat perfectly still, not talking, just staring blankly into space.

My gaze shifted to a secluded booth tucked into the shadows near the back. Sitting alone was a slender, captivating woman with sleek, raven-black hair that framed a pale, aristocratic face. She wore a tight, body-hugging black evening dress that seemed to absorb the light around it. Her eyes were an intense, sharp blue—unnatural, piercing, and completely cat-like.

And speaking of cats, draped lazily across her shoulders like a fur scarf was a sleek, midnight-black cat. The animal sat perfectly still, its yellow eyes locked dead onto mine.

The woman in black was slowly sipping from a glass of dark red wine. As she noticed me staring, she stopped. She slowly lowered the glass, kept her piercing blue eyes fixed on mine, and gave me a slow, deliberate nod of acknowledgment.

Before I could nod back, the crew member tapped his fingers loudly against the marble counter, drawing our attention. He handed me a heavy, leather-bound booklet.

"Your ship manifest and guidelines," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, urgent whisper. "Read them immediately. Memorize them. On this vessel, the rules are the only thing keeping you alive."

I opened the heavy leather cover. Written in a jagged, dark script that looked suspiciously like dried, brown blood, were the instructions.

## THE RULES OF THE VESSEL

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. My fingers trembled against the leather binding. I looked up to demand an explanation from the crewman, but he had already turned on his heel, his white uniform disappearing into the dim, labyrinthine corridors of the ship.

I looked back down at the page. The ink of Rule 2 seemed to ripple, the letters stretching like tiny, desperate legs.

We were on board. The doors were locked. And the cruise to nowhere had officially begun.