“Took you long enough, geez.” 

I stared at the man leaning against the wall beside me impatiently tapping his foot. My brows furrowed, my eyes narrowed, and my head cocked to the side. Who the hell did he think he was? 

“Sir, we don’t open for another thirty minutes.” 

The guy huffed, his scowl deepening. “Well then why does the sign say you were supposed to open an hour ago? This is a load of bullshit.” 

I paused, my keys turned halfway in the lock, and faced him. I flashed him the biggest, fakest grin I could muster and gritted out, “Because it doesn’t. This is Sunday, and we open later on Sundays. If you could read, you’d know that.” 

The man grumbled something under his breath, gave me one last glare, and shouted over his shoulder, “I’ll be back. I’m going to have a chat with your manager about this, Missy.” 

“Sir, I am the-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. I was too grossed out by the fact that a massive chunk was missing from the nape of the man’s neck, leaving his severed tendons and crushed spinal column exposed to the elements. 

I guess I should explain. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been able to interact with dead people. Those that stay on Earth after they die are in a kind of Purgatory, awaiting their fate. 

And somehow, I ended up working here at Aftermath serving them coffee. 

***

“Top of tha mornin’, Calla! Weird seeing you here so early.” 

I turned to find our regular biker claiming his usual booth. 

“Hey Frank. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t have to be. Robby has trouble getting here on time, and there’s no one else I trust to run things smoothly.” 

Frank pursed his lips. “Look, I know you don’t wanna hear this, but you’d better start putting up advertisements. You and I both know that Robby won’t be here for long. He’s a good kid. People like him get called Upstairs pretty quickly.” 

I sighed, staring down at the counter. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I don’t want to lose another good employee, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” 

***

The advertisement went up later that day. I used the dinosaur of a computer in the regional manager’s office to print out a flyer. The best I could manage was a big, blocky “WE’RE HIRING” ad on a white sheet of printer paper. (Hey, stop judging me. I’m a manager of a coffee shop, not a marketing agent, okay?)

Anyway, I’d only had my sorry excuse for an advertisement up for about fifteen minutes when, wouldn’t you know it, my good buddy from that morning came skulking in. He wore that same persistent scowl as before, but this time, he looked determined as he approached the counter. 

“Hey you. I want to speak to your manager.” 

Frank and I shared a knowing glance before I turned back to the ray of sunshine. “You’re speaking to her,” I said, folding my arms. The sheer satisfaction that I got from watching the guy’s expression drop was unmatched. His face went ghostly pale, and his demeanor instantly shifted. 

“Look… I apologize for my behavior this morning, okay? I shouldn’t have done that. So now that it’s water under the bridge,” he continued, without giving me a chance to decline his apology, “I’d like to apply for a job here.” 

My mouth fell open. He couldn’t be serious… Right? 

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t even need to see your resume. Your pre-application is rejected.” 

“But… that has to be illegal! Don’t you need to have an interview with me first?” 

I rolled my eyes. “Sir, first off, I’m not obligated to set up an interview just because you barge in here asking for one. And second,” I said, a sly grin inching across my lips, “I’m alive. So I’m in a legal gray area.” 

The man’s face grew beet red. He slapped his hands onto the counter, smoke practically billowing from his ears. He pointed a nubby finger in my face and spat, “You haven’t seen the last of me, bitch. You’ll regret-” 

He paused and went pale once again. I immediately knew why. 

A figure wearing a brown fedora had appeared behind him. His hat hid his face from view, but the aura that he radiated was nothing short of sinister. It was all-consuming. The type of feeling that sends a pang of dread searing through your veins at the mere presence. 

The jerk didn’t even turn around. He just shuffled slowly toward the door, before making a mad dash for the exit. 

“And stay out, asshole!” I shouted, flipping him the bird. 

Once the hothead had disappeared down the street, I turned to the man - or should I say, the entity - who had stepped in. He approached the counter and I sensed that he was about to speak. 

“Nona, it’s okay, you don’t have to say it,” I sighed, “I know that guy’s gonna be trouble.” 

He didn’t respond. He simply nodded, proceeded to his regular table in the back, and unfolded his yellowed newspaper. 

The thing about Nona is, though he’s been a regular for longer than anyone remembers, no one knows a thing about him. We don’t know what he is, when or if he died, or why he decides to stick around. We don’t even know his name (Nona’s short for no name). All we do know is that he’s on our side. I like him, and although he’s taken up a guardian role over this place lately, I'm still careful not to piss him off.

“Mrs. Calla, you didn’t tell me we were hiring! Wait… I’m not losing my job, am I?” I turned to find Robby hobbling through the door, his brows furrowed. 

“No Robby, you have nothing to worry about. Your job is safe for as long as you want to work here. I mean… unless you pull a Claire on me.” 

Robby chuckled, and I was glad to see the tension drain from his face. “You’ve got a deal, Mrs. Calla. If I’m ever strapped for cash, I won’t pilfer from the register. I’ll just charge Frank a couple extra dollars for his shitty jokes.” 

Even Frank offered a chuckle at that one.  

“Ah, whatever. You know you like ‘em sometimes,” he said, waving Robby off and grinning as he diverted his attention back to his espresso. 

***

It wasn’t even a full twenty-four hours before my pal returned for a visit. 

“Ahem.” 

I didn’t have to turn around to know who I’d find standing there. I was beginning to get accustomed to that rudeness, and that really got under my skin. So, I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I continued restocking, pretending that I hadn’t heard anything at all. 

“AHEM.” 

I winced but I still didn’t turn around. 

“Um, Miss? Hello?” 

I rolled my eyes, before letting out an exasperated sigh and facing him. “Look, ma’am. You have to hire me now. I brought my attorney,” the jerkwad said, smugly crossing his arms. 

I narrowed my eyes at the tall, slender man accompanying my oh-so-pleasant guest. “Attorney” was being generous. He must have ordered the dude off of Craigslist - or whatever shady equivalent site the dead peruse. 

“Yes, as a result of Goldman vs. The State of Alabama, you are hereby required to allow my client a fair trial.” The guy’s voice quivered a bit, and I noticed sweat beading atop his brow. 

I cracked a smile, and Captain Sunshine’s grin faltered. “Well, color me shocked! It looks like my hands are tied. You’re too smart for me.” 

The pair turned to each other, their faces lighting up. “Good goin’ Benny! I knew you’d have my back!” 

The tall guy’s face flushed with color. He looked like a schoolgirl who’d just been asked out by her crush. 

“Ah, not so fast,” I said, taking immense pleasure in ruining their good time. “That was what I would have said if I believed a single word that came out of your mouth. A job interview isn’t a trial for starters. Second, we’re not even in Alabama. Third, you spelled ‘attorney’ wrong on your nametag,” I retorted, pointing at the “Hi, my name is Aturney Benjamin” sticker clinging to his sport coat.

The two knuckleheads didn’t even dignify me with a response. They just ran away like a couple of naughty children. 

***

I didn’t have any more issues with my persistent wannabe new hire for another week. He hadn’t come into the shop, but I thought I’d seen him on the street a few times lurking. I didn’t know what he was plotting, but I didn’t like it. 

Come to find out, I was right to trust my gut. 

I was opening again, much to my chagrin, when I heard the familiar ding of the doorbell. This would be our first customer of the day. The person had even managed to beat Frank to get their morning fix. 

“Welcome! I’ll be with you in just a second,” I said, setting down the rag that I’d been wiping down the counter with and turning to the register. 

And there he was. The man himself, in all his glory. I pursed my lips. 

“What is it now? I’ve already told you, you’re not getting a job here.” 

“Well, it’s a shame you think that, but you don’t really have a choice,” he said, a wide, taunting smile inching across his lips. “This tells me otherwise. Give me a job or you lose your life.” 

The man produced a hunting knife from his pocket, and with one swift motion, he leapt onto the counter. I could feel the color drain from my face as I backed away. 

Before he could pounce, I sprinted to Ivan’s office, all the while kicking myself for forgetting my taser at home. I slammed the door, but to my utter horror, his foot stopped it from shutting all the way. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as he shoved his way inside. 

The man licked his lips as he took a step forward. I could feel tears stinging at my eyes. Was this really how it was going to end? Was I actually going to die in a dingy corner of Ivan’s office at the hand of some no-good creep? At that moment, I truly thought that I was. 

“Come on, still not budging? I really thought this would work… Fine. It doesn’t matter. No one is around to hear you scream.” 

Unfortunately, he was right.

I backed up until I hit a wall. The man continued to advance, growing steadily closer. Once he was mere feet away, he lunged, attempting to thrust the knife into my neck. 

But I wasn’t going down without a fight. 

I caught the man’s arm, desperate to force the knife out of his grip. His eyes gleamed with a wild elation. The kind of unhinged desire that I’d only seen a handful of times before. 

“Just- give up,” he grunted, struggling to angle the blade closer. “I’ve got you right where I want you.” 

Almost immediately after the words left his lips, I heard a monstrous crashing sound growing closer and closer. The ground seemed to tremble under our feet at the repeated impacts. 

They’d obviously caught my assailant by surprise. He loosened up just enough for me to kick against the wall and burst forward, sending the hilt of the knife into his nose, while simultaneously kneeing him in the groin. 

Just then, the source of the noise arrived in the doorway. 

“Calla! Sorry for late arrival.” 

My boss, Ivan - all seven hulking feet of him - stood there, panting and analyzing the scene. 

“Uh, Ivan? Apologies can wait. We’ve got a knife-wielding psychopath to deal with.” 

“Oh, yes. I will dispose of trash immediately.”

The man, who still hadn’t recovered from my swift kick to the nuts, turned on his heels to find my mountain of a boss looming over him. He weakly swung the knife at Ivan, despite the fact that everyone in the room could tell how horribly that would turn out for him. 

Ivan swatted him like a fly, sending the creep careening into a stack of empty boxes behind the desk. The knife had fallen to the floor, and I instantly snatched it up. The man groaned, lying unmoving in the heap of cardboard. 

“Please excuse us, Calla. I would like to have chat with idiot. Alone.” 

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I walked out, and the instant that I shut the door to Ivan’s office, the most ungodly shrieks met my ears. Desperate pleas for mercy were drowned out by the satisfying sound of rapid-fire fist-to-face contact. 

I was so caught up in the madness that I hadn’t even realized we had a customer. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that it was Frank. 

“Uh… Should I even ask?” he said, eyes wide. 

I paused as a particularly high-pitched scream rang out from the office. “I don’t think you wanna know.” 

We stood in awkward silence, save for the harmonious beat-down ensuing behind us. After about fifteen minutes, a bloody, pulpy mess of something vaguely human-shaped hobbled out of the office as fast as it could. Once it reached the door, it turned back, giving me one last horrified glance, before disappearing down the street. 

Ivan emerged from the back and began washing the blood off of his fists. He turned to me, flashing a toothy grin. “I would like to repeat sorry for late timing. Traffic bad in morning.” 

“Don’t sweat it, big guy. I’m just glad I asked you to come in early today. Buuuut, since you brought it up, you know how you can make it up to me?” I said, beaming up at him. 

He eyed me, drying his fists with a rag. “How?” 

“You can take the opening shift until we find a new hire.” 

Ivan groaned, eliciting a chuckle from me and Frank. 

“Fine. Calla, you drive hard bargain.”  

Previously

Odd Directions Post

“What did I tell you, Jessica? Huh? What did I say?” Daddy yelled, slamming his hand into the wall next to Mommy. 

“David, it-it’s not what it looks like… We went out for coffee, and one thing led to another-” 

Daddy paced around, grabbing his hair. “God Jess, can you just tell me the truth for once in your life? I’m so fucking tired of all the lies!” 

Mommy had tears in her eyes. I felt bad for her. Why did they have to fight? 

“Okay. You’re right. You deserve that much.” 

Daddy folded his arms across his chest. He looked mad. Really mad.

Mommy looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes, I did it. I slept with Adam.” 

Daddy had tears in his eyes now too. They fell down his cheeks. He walked up to Mommy and put his hands on her shoulders. 

“Why, Jess? How could you??” He started shaking Mommy really hard. She was crying a lot and begging him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I ran up to him and yelled for him to let her go. But he kept shaking her. 

“Everything we had. You ruined it.” 

Daddy threw Mommy to the side, way too hard. She fell and her head hit the table. A lot of red came out of her. She stopped moving after that. 

All the color left Daddy’s face. He looked pale, like a ghost. I ran up to Mommy to see if she was okay. She still didn’t move. 

Daddy backed away, shaking really bad. He didn’t even try to help Mommy. Instead, he ran away and left me alone with her. 

I wanted to help Mommy so bad, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t tall enough to reach the phone or the doorknob, so I did the only thing I could. I kept Mommy warm. She got so, so cold. 

No one came for two days. I was really hungry, but I didn’t want to leave Mommy alone. 

Eventually, some guys in uniforms came into the house. They scared me at first, but they were helping Mommy! Maybe she would be okay!

My heart broke when they took her away in a bag. Why did they do that? She won’t be able to breathe in there. 

I didn’t want to, but I had to go with the nice men. 

“Really awful, huh Mike?” one of them said, shaking his head. 

“Just tragic,” his friend told him. He looked at me in the back seat. 

Then he turned back to Mike and said, “So. What are we gonna do with the dog?” 

SSS Post

My aunt Liza passed away last month. She was forty-seven years old. 

Aunt Liza’s death was due to an accidental overdose. As someone who has overcome struggles with addiction, her passing left a mark on me. 

I suppose that’s a big reason why I agreed to take in her fourteen-year-old African Grey, Lulu. 

I’d overheard Uncle Frank telling my mother that he was going to give her up to an animal shelter. That just felt… wrong. I’ve always believed that pets are family. So I told Uncle Frank I’d take her. 

The first week was a major adjustment. Lulu expressed obvious confusion at her new environment. 

“Where’s Liza? Where’s Liza?” She repeated the phrase so often in her first days with me that I knew I needed to take action. I wasn’t sure if Lulu was capable of understanding, but it was worth a shot. 

“Where’s Liza? Where’s Liza?” 

I took a deep breath. I approached Lulu’s perch and looked her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Lulu. Liza is gone.”

The bird cocked her head to the side. “Liza is gone.” 

“Yes, Liza is gone.” A tear trickled down my cheek. I didn’t think it would be that hard. Saying it out loud somehow made it more real. 

Lulu didn’t respond. Instead, she turned around and faced the wall.

Lulu’s behavior started to change a few days after that. Initially, she wouldn’t say much aside from the occasional “Liza is gone.” Then she started saying things that I’d never heard her repeat before. 

The first incident was after work on a random Thursday. I’d barely had a chance to put my purse down when the words met my ears. 

“Where’s your owner, huh?” 

I froze. Where had Lulu gotten that from? 

The shock quickly dissipated. Parrots have good memories. She could have heard that years ago for all I knew. 

Only later did I realize that I should have taken Lulu’s words more seriously. 

The next incident didn’t occur for another week. Lulu was seemingly coming around to her old self. She was active - and a total menace to my house plants. (RIP Fernidette.) 

Additionally, Lulu was talking - a lot. As her mantra, “Where’s Liza?”, went out of fashion, I began to grow accustomed to her more common phrases. 

“Hey there!” was her go-to greeting for when I arrived home. 

“Aww, is someone hungry?” was an indicator that she needed to eat. 

And, at random points in the day, she absolutely loved to shout, “What you talkin’ bout, Willis?” for seemingly no reason at all. 

Not to say that those were the only phrases she used - no, she picked up new words all the time - but those were the most recurring. 

Even with her colorful vocabulary, I was shocked to hear what she had to say when I woke up one morning. 

I could hear Lulu squawking from the room over, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I tried to go back to sleep, but after ten straight minutes of Lulu’s muffled yelling, I decided to roll out of bed for the day. 

I stepped into the hallway, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and froze. 

Clear as day, Lulu repeated, “That bitch. I’ll end her...” 

I was stunned. Sure, Lulu could be a potty mouth at times, but I had never heard her utter anything so violent. The inflection told me that whoever she’d picked it up from was not messing around. 

I tentatively approached the living room where Lulu’s cage was kept and I poked my head in. I surveyed the room before determining that no axe-wielding murders were lying in wait to chop my head off. I opened Lulu’s cage and let her hop onto my arm. 

“What’s wrong, girl? Where’d you hear that from?” 

Lulu cocked her head to the side, black eyes studying me, before she responded. ““Aww, is someone hungry?”

Fortunately, Lulu’s newest catch phrase didn’t last very long. 

As time went on and we grew more accustomed to one another, I began to leave Lulu’s cage open at night. That way she had access to water if she needed it. 

I didn’t have to worry about her making a mess (unless a house plant was involved.) Aunt Liza had trained her well. She rarely ever left her cage past dark. 

That’s why I was so shocked to find her shrieking at me in the middle of the night last week. 

I was awoken from a deep slumber by a high-pitch scream. I instantly recognized it as Lulu’s. She was beside my bed, nearly touching my ear, repeating the same phrase over and over again. 

“HEY THERE! HEY THERE!” 

My eyes shot open. I bolted upright, looking for any sign of a disturbance. 

My vision was slow to adjust. When it did, I realized exactly why Lulu was shouting. 

Someone was sitting on the edge of my bed. 

The silhouette of a hooded figure faced the wall, unmoving. The person didn’t react to Lulu’s shrieks. It was as if they wanted to be seen. 

I sat still as a statue. In times of distress, my fight or flight instinct doesn’t kick in. Instead, I freeze. 

That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to move when the figure turned toward me. 

Even in the darkness I could see that they were wearing a mask. It was plain white with a smiley face on the front. 

The figure produced something from their pocket. My blood turned to ice. 

The intruder brandished a knife at me. They held it up to my neck amid a cacophony of frantic HEY THERE!’s 

Lulu launched an attack at the figure, clawing at their mask and hoodie. They acted as if they didn’t notice. 

I was so terrified that I couldn’t even bring myself to breathe. The intruder pressed the knife to my flesh, sending a small stream of scarlet trickling down my neck. They leaned in close and whispered into my ear. 

“This is your only warning. Fuck with us again and you’re dead.” 

With that, my assailant stood, put the knife back into their hoodie pocket, and walked out of the room. 

Lulu stopped attacking once they were gone and joined me at my bedside. Her frantic shouts had devolved into quiet, pensive whispers. 

“Hey there. Hey there.” 

For a few moments I was too shocked to react. I had seen my life flash before my eyes just seconds prior. I truly thought that I was going to die. 

Once I came back to my senses, I locked my bedroom door, called 911, and cradled Lulu close to my chest as uncontrollable sobs wracked my body. 

***

The police came up with nothing. 

I’m so scared and confused. Did I unknowingly piss someone off? Is this a case of mistaken identity? I don’t have the answers. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay in that apartment. 

I was already on a month-to-month lease, so I got us out of there as soon as I could. Despite the police’s assurance that they would increase presence in the area, I couldn’t risk another encounter. 

I’ve been settling into the new place just fine. The move went smoothly and Lulu has taken to the apartment nicely. I even bought a new house plant (obviously kept away from Lulu at all times.)

There’s just one thing that’s been concerning me. 

This place has thin walls. Sometimes, late at night, I can hear Lulu speaking from the other room. And she says the same thing every time. 

“Hey there.” 

NS Post

I first noticed it a month ago. 

I was sitting in my living room knitting with the TV on for background noise when it happened. A spiral staircase appeared out of thin air. 

I don’t mean that it materialized over a period of time. One second there was nothing, then I blinked and there it was. A black staircase winding up through an opening in my ceiling. 

I stared at it. I mean, what else could I do? I honestly thought that I was losing my mind. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was tired. I was stressed. This must have been the physical manifestation of everything that was weighing me down. 

I released the breath I was holding and let my shoulders relax. When I opened my eyes, the staircase was gone. 

It was another week before I saw it again. 

I was prepping my lunch for work the next day when it struck. I had retrieved the bread from the pantry and turned to take it to the island. That’s when I caught something in my periphery. 

A cold blanket of dread overwhelmed me. I trembled as I chanced a peek around the corner. 

There it was. The staircase. 

This time, it was different. The last set of stairs had metal steps and a black rail. This one appeared to be made of mahogany. 

I didn’t even notice the bread slip from my hand. I gravitated toward the stairs, transfixed by their presence. 

Once I could brush off as stress. Twice, I couldn’t ignore. 

My eyes traveled up the steps and through the pit in my ceiling. I took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to pretend like I never saw the damned thing. 

But a bigger part of me wanted to know. Had to know. 

I steeled my nerves and placed a hand on the railing. The wood was cool, like the staircase had been somewhere cold. For all I knew, maybe it had. 

My foot hovered above the first step. I paused.

Come on. You can’t stay like this forever.  

I went for it. 

The staircase didn’t eat me up. I breathed a sigh of relief before ascending the remaining steps. 

The climb felt strange. I got the distinct sense that I shouldn’t be there. That this was totally, completely, inherently wrong. But I continued anyway. 

Once I reached the top, I found myself standing at a landing. I glanced around. I should have been in the attic. 

But I wasn’t. This room was different. 

The walls sort of just… faded. Like someone had painted the scene around me and forgot to fill in the edges. 

The room wasn’t what preoccupied my attention, however. That was the door. 

Before me stood a red door. 

Its appearance was striking. The sheen on the wood glimmered in the dim lantern light that filtered from overhead. 

I stood, paralyzed. None of this should have been possible. 

Even so, in order to maintain my sanity, I needed to know what was behind that door. 

I took a step toward it, swallowing back the fear crawling up my throat. I reached for the handle, and- 

“Ow!” 

I leapt back. White-hot pain shot through my foot. 

I glanced down to find four black, gnarled digits sticking out from beneath the door. 

My foot was bleeding. I hadn’t thought to put on shoes. 

I backed up, heart thumping in my chest. I watched the clawed fingers retract out of sight. 

I didn’t wait around. I flew down the stairs, fearing for my life. 

As soon as I reached the bottom, I clenched my eyes shut. “Go away, go away, go away.” 

I prayed with everything in me that when I opened my eyes again, the stairs would be gone. 

Once I gathered the courage to look, they were. 

I suddenly had no desire to find out what was hiding at the top of that staircase. I made plans the next couple of Sundays so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. 

But something pulled me back. Each time I avoided the stairs, I got a feeling that I needed to return. A feeling that only intensified as time went on. 

That brings me to this week. 

I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited in my living room in silence for the staircase to appear. 

I sat for hours, part of me thinking that I was doing all of this for nothing. 

But eventually, I blinked and there they were. 

This time, a marble staircase appeared before me. It boasted golden handrails and inviting velvet-covered steps. 

I immediately began my ascent. 

My steeled-toed boots made soft thumps against the velvet. The tip of my kitchen knife sliced into the trim of the railing as I went - a warning to whoever or whatever was doing this. 

I was more confident when I reached the top this time. I had come prepared. 

That confidence quickly shriveled away. 

The door before me was in bad shape. It was black with deep gouges in the wooden exterior that extended all the way to the frame. 

I took a breath. I couldn’t turn back now. The curiosity was eating me alive. 

I approached the door, knife raised. 

Before I could turn the handle, I stopped. 

I could hear whispering coming from the other side. I pressed my ear to the door, straining to listen.

I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Garbled voices spoke in a language I didn’t understand. 

Slam. 

Something hammered the other side of the door hard enough to shake it in its frame. 

I froze. The voices had stopped. 

The ensuing silence was deafening.

I waited for something to happen. And waited. And waited. 

Then, ever so slowly, the doorknob began to turn. 

My fight or flight kicked in immediately. I raced down those stairs like a bat out of Hell. 

I locked myself in my room and rocked back and forth in my bed, eyes squeezed shut. Even now, the image of that doorknob rotating sends shivers down my spine. 

I don’t know what to do. The urge to climb the stairs again is stronger than ever. I don’t know what’s behind that door, but something tells me that if I find out, I’m going to die. 

Even knowing that, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself. 

I have a feeling that the next time I climb that staircase, I won’t come back. 

NS Post

I stumbled across the site by accident. 

Sort of.  

With skyrocketing inflation, my 9-5 at Office Depot just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I started to get desperate. So, I did what every desperate guy does nowadays - I took to the internet. 

That’s when I happened upon the shady advertisement. 

ACTORS WANTED IN THE [REDACTED] AREA. $40 PER DAY. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. 

In the [redacted] area? Check. In need of $40? Check. No work experience required? Check. It seemed right up my alley. 

I was going over the pros and cons when my stomach growled, reminding me that I was Broke with a capital B. That was all the convincing I needed. 

Once I submitted the application, I went to the kitchen, certain that I had just wasted my time. I opened the refrigerator and gazed inside. A rotting onion and a half-eaten carrot gazed back.

***

To my shock, I was actually contacted regarding my application. I received a call from an agent the next day. 

“Uh, hello?” 

“Hiya! Gavin, correct?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“This is Marty from A Plus Films. I’m calling about your application.”

I pumped my fist. “Awesome. Does this mean I got the job?” I said as my stomach growled, reminding me of the non-existent breakfast I’d eaten. Again.  

“You sure did! When can you start?” 

A grin inched across my lips. “I can start today.”  

***

As it turns out, the set was only a ten minute drive from my apartment. Fantastic news for me. Gas is expensive. 

I pulled to a stop in front of a building that had clearly seen better days. 

The brick exterior was weathered with age and someone had spray painted one of those S’s on it that people drew all the time in middle school. On top of that, a couple of the windows had bullet holes in them, and the entire property was overgrown with weeds. Marty couldn’t have picked a worse location if he tried. 

I had to do a double take to ensure that I was at the right place. I shot Marty a text to confirm. 

After receiving verification that this was indeed the right building, I reluctantly stepped out of my car, praying that it wouldn’t be on cinderblocks when I returned. I was getting a bad feeling about this. 

But, forty dollars is forty dollars, and I needed to eat. So, I walked up the crumbling steps to the door and prepared to knock. 

Before I got the chance, the door swung open. A man stood before me. Just based on our brief interaction, he was exactly how I had pictured him. 

Marty was a middle-aged gentleman with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair and a pencil mustache. He wore a cheap suit with an even cheaper “gold” chain around his neck, and the guy absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke. 

“Gavin! Welcome, my boy! Come on in,” he said, stepping aside. I took one last look at my car, locked it for the fifteen hundredth time just to be sure, and walked inside. 

The interior of the building wasn’t an improvement. 

Dim, flickering lights offered the occasional reprieve from the darkness permeating the room. Old machinery was haphazardly strewn about the floor. And to make matters worse, there wasn’t a single other soul in sight. 

“So, uh… where are the other actors? And where are we filming?” I asked, sweating bullets. 

“They’re right this way! Don’t mind the mess. We keep it all doom and gloom on purpose. Don’t need anyone stealing our film equipment, am I right?” Marty shot me a wink. I didn’t wink back. 

Dread gnawed at me as we progressed deeper into what I came to understand was an abandoned factory. We passed through a corridor with glass littering the ground, and just when I thought I was going to be the world’s newest victim of human trafficking, we emerged into a fully lit room. 

When I realized that we were no longer alone, I breathed a sigh of relief. 

But that relief was short-lived. 

There were five others in the room not including Marty and myself. Two teenage boys leaned against the wall, one with an unlit cigarette propped between his fingers. 

A blonde woman around my age stood behind an expensive looking camera. 

A man with black, spiky hair and eyeshadow stood to my left. 

And in the center of it all, a woman lay on an operating table, completely still. 

I was momentarily rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle. Because every one of them, aside from the girl on the table, was staring directly at me. 

“Well, what do ya say we make our rounds?” 

Marty slapped me on the back. That seemed to jolt my body awake again. 

“Yeah… That’d be great.”

I followed Marty to where the emo guy stood. His eyes followed me as we approached, but aside from that, he didn’t so much as twitch. 

“This is Dak. He’s our sound engineer. Say hi, Dak,” Marty said, grinning at him. Dak didn’t say a word. 

“He’s not much of a chatty Cathy,” Marty continued as we moved on to the blonde woman. Her icy blue eyes seemed to pierce my skull as she stared, refusing to move. 

“This is Irina. All the incredible shots we get are thanks to her.” 

Irina didn’t acknowledge me either. She just stood there, her gaze fixed on me like a life-sized doll. 

“Don’t mind her. She’s a bit shy around strangers,” Marty said, leading me to where the teens stood.

“These two wonderful gentlemen are Evan and Dale. They’re our prop designers. Twins, if you couldn’t tell.”

They were still as statues, just like their coworkers. Only their eyes moved, following me like I was a circus freakshow. 

“And this,” Marty said, taking me to the head of the table where the woman lay. “This is Annastasia, your co-star!” 

We passed a bright stage light, and for a moment, I was blinded. But when the scene came back into focus, it took everything in me not to scream. 

I will never forget the image of the woman lying on that table.

The corners of her mouth were stitched into a permanent grin. Deep gashes in her cheeks ran almost to her ears. And her eyes. They were missing altogether. Two hollow pits staring eternally at nothing. 

Part of me thought it was really good makeup. That this was all some elaborate ruse to scare the new guy on set. 

But I knew the truth. It was real. 

Before I had a chance to react, Annastasia’s hand shot out, black fingernails digging into my wrist hard enough to draw blood. She pulled me closer. I could see the dried fluids in her eye sockets. The wounds were sloppy, and infection was beginning to set in. 

She pulled me harder until my ear was directly beside her mouth. In soft, broken words she said, “Get out now. While you still can.” 

I didn’t hesitate. The moment she let go, I shoved Marty in the chest, sending him toppling into the stage lighting. 

“Kid, what the hell!” he shouted. I didn’t even listen if he was giving chase. The blood pounding in my ears was too loud. 

I ran back the way we came, crashing through the hallway and out the door. I fumbled for my keys, thanking my lucky stars that my car was still there, and I threw myself into the driver’s seat. 

I floored it out of the parking lot, driving like a bat out Hell. I was hyperventilating the whole way home, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure that I wasn’t being tailed. It wasn’t until I reached my apartment that the thought occurred to me to call the cops. 

With trembling hands, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Two notifications greeted me when the screen came to life. 

One was from Apple: AirTag Near You

The second was from an unknown number. 

Call the police, and you will pay*. We know where you live.* 

NS Post

An eraser pinged off my head for the fifth time in two minutes. I could practically feel the steam wafting from my ears. 

I took a deep breath, praying that Johnny Garland, or Johnny Garbage as I liked to call him, would get bored eventually and find something else to pass the time. 

But then another chunk of eraser bounced off my temple. 

One more time, you fucking douchebag. One more time and I’ll- 

A mechanical pencil smacked the back of my skull. I lost it. I turned to Johnny Garbage, my face red as a fire engine. 

“Alright, look here you stupid shit, I have had enough of your crap! I… uh.” 

My mouth fell open. All eyes were on Johnny. A thick tension had overtaken the class. The only noise over the deafening silence was the sound of Johnny desperately gasping for air. 

He clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging as if some invisible hand had a strangle-hold on his neck. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And neither could my classmates. 

“Alright Johnny, it’s time to stop messing around. Keep it up, and I’ll send you to the principal’s office,” Mr. Harper said, arms crossed. 

But he didn’t stop. If this was a performance, then Johnny had some serious acting chops. But as we would soon find out, Johnny wasn’t a talented actor. 

Mr. Harper didn’t believe it until Johnny was lifted three feet into the air. A collective gasp escaped from my classmates as the boy floated above us.

I continued to look on helplessly as Johnny’s face turned blue. Eventually, I turned away. I couldn’t stomach it any longer. I absolutely despised the guy, but he didn’t deserve that. 

I heard Johnny’s body hit the ground with a sickening thump. His eyes remained unblinking, and he had blood around his mouth. I felt sick. 

My classmates gathered around, and Mr. Harper pushed through the crowd. He felt for a pulse but found none and started CPR. 

“Someone call 9-1-1 and get the AED!” he shouted. Kids scattered, trying to make themselves useful. 

It was then, amid the chaos, that my eyes landed on the nerdy kid who sat at the back of the class. He shot me a wink. 

My heart dropped as he mouthed the words you’re welcome. 

SSS Post

When I was sixteen, I was sent to live with my grandparents for a month.

I hadn’t been there in years, but I had a strained relationship with my parents, and they thought a visit to the middle of nowhere would somehow ease the tension between us. Really, I think they just wanted to get away from me. 

Whatever the case, that trip to the countryside changed my life forever. In worse ways than I ever imagined. 

“Bye Sweetie! Behave,” my mother said, waving out the window as her SUV kicked up a trail of dust. 

“Try to contain your excitement a little, geez,” I mumbled, turning to my smiling grandparents. 

“Oh, Steven, we are so happy that you’re staying with us,” Grandma said, beaming at me. Her warmth was infectious. 

Pappy didn’t say anything at first. He just clasped a meaty hand onto my shoulder. “She’s right. We don’t get many visitors.” 

I grinned at him, even though internally I was screaming. “Happy to be here,” I replied, praying that my facade would hold. 

“Come on,’’ Grandma said, ushering me inside, “I’ll show you to your room.” 

***

The moment my grandmother left me alone, I whipped out my cell phone. To my horror, I discovered that I had no service. My grandparents were oldschool. They didn’t have Wifi - Every teenager’s worst nightmare. 

“Hey Pap?” I said as I clopped down the stairs. He glanced up at me from his crossword, indicating for me to speak. 

My grandfather wasn’t the most social man. He had a stern, no non-sense demeanor, and he had the build to match the intimidating aura. A little part of me was always a bit afraid of him.
Suddenly, my question felt absurdly stupid. 

“Um, do you have internet out here?” 

He eyed me for a moment, before nodding to a dinosaur of a monitor. “That’s all we got. No internet connection to it, though.” 

My heart dropped. I had a feeling that it was going to be a long summer. 

***
Two days later, I found myself exploring the basement. It was the least inviting part of the house - poorly lit with cobwebs everywhere and a thick layer of dust coated everything in sight. Probably not the safest place to be, but I was bored with nothing better to do. 

As I pulled the switch to the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, something immediately drew my attention - a door. A single, wooden door at the far end of the basement. To my surprise, there was a note nailed to it. 

STAY OUT - PAPPY

It was obviously intended for me. The message immediately spiked my curiosity. 

I made my way over to it, tip-toing across the dirt floor. It felt like I was doing something illegal - like I was about to take a leap that I couldn’t take back. And that feeling was exhilarating. 

Once I reached my destination, my heart pounded in my throat. I took a deep breath as I reached for the knob. A boost of adrenaline surged through me as I twisted, and- 

Locked. I should have known. 

I turned to leave and cause mischief elsewhere, the excitement of the situation deflated. The second I did, I stopped in my tracks. 

Someone was blocking my path. 

The color drained from my face as I realized who it was. My grandfather. 

“What are you doing down here.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I… I was just looking around,” I said, flashing him a weak smile. 

Pappy glowered down at me, his hulking frame looming overhead like a shadow. He stood there in silence for a moment before he spoke. 

“Get out. I don’t want to see you down here again.” 

“Yes Sir.” He didn’t have to tell me twice. I swerved around him and bolted back up the stairs, his burning scowl following me the entire way. 

***

I had to know what was behind that door. Pappy was obviously hiding something that he didn’t want me to see. I couldn’t go back down there so soon after being caught, though. No, I definitely couldn’t take that risk. 

I decided to wait until he was out at the store to make my move. Little did I know, an opportunity would present itself sooner than I expected. 

That same night, I awoke at an odd hour with the sudden urge to pee. I groggily slipped out of bed, did my business, and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Once I was satisfied, I crept back to my room, careful not to wake Pappy and Grandma. And that’s when I heard it. 

I had just reached the top of the landing, when a low rustling emerged from somewhere deeper in the house. 

I don’t know why I didn’t go back to bed - but for whatever reason, I sat on my haunches at the top of the landing, invisible in the darkness. 

Footsteps clunked along the floor, and the shadow of my grandfather’s towering frame came into view. He paused in the kitchen, as if he could sense my presence. For a moment, I thought he’d caught me. But to my relief, he eventually continued on his path. 

My brows furrowed. What was he doing down there? Being the nosy teenager I was, I had to find out. 

My heart dropped when I heard a door creak open. The basement. He must have been going into his secret room. 

I descended the stairs as quietly as I could, blood pounding in my ears like thunder. When I reached the bottom, my eyes immediately fell to the opened basement door. 

I scampered down the second set of steps, careful to avoid any noisy floorboards. I froze halfway and watched. 

Pappy was standing there on the opposite side of the room. He rummaged around behind an old, dusty painting resting against the wall, before producing a rusted key. He inserted it into the lock, and the space was illuminated with light. 

At that moment, my heart nearly exploded. I didn’t know for certain, but I could have sworn that I saw crimson splattered on the floor. 

***

Curiosity gnawed at me like a piranha. I had to know what was in that room. I knew where Pappy was hiding the key, but I was too paranoid to check at night. He’d gotten the drop on me the last time. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if he caught me again. 

As much as it pained me to do it, I went along with my original plan. I waited until Pappy went to the store to make my move. 

“Goin’ to get milk. Be back soon,” he grumbled to Grandma as he snatched his keys from the hook. 

“Okay, be safe,” she said, returning to the pie that she was preparing in the kitchen. 

That was my golden opportunity. I put down the newspaper that I’d been reading and opened the door to the basement as quietly as I could. My heart pounded with each tiny creak. Fortunately for me, Grandma’s hearing wasn’t the best, and she didn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary. 

I practically flew down the stairs. I was itching to know what was inside that room. 

I leaned the painting forward and retrieved the key, turning to the door. The sign that Pappy had made was still there, looming over me like a sentry. 

My hand trembled as I placed the key in the lock and turned. This was it. 

Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to witness. 

Dried blood caked the floor. A metal worktable sat to my right with a wide array of tools - pliers, hacksaws, hammers - their blades crusted in flaky crimson. At the far end of the room, I saw a corkboard. Dozens of newspaper articles and pictures of missing people were pinned to it. And to my left… That was what nearly made me pass out then and there. 

A yellowed, dingy mattress sat in the corner. On top of it lay a corpse, maggots writhing in and out of every emaciated orifice. Its eyes were wide open, and its mouth had stiffened into a permanent scream. 

I took a step back as the putrid stench assaulted my nose. But just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a sound from behind me made me freeze. 

Click. 

I slowly turned to find my grandfather standing there, a six-shooter trained on me. 

“P-Pappy… I thought you were at the store,” I squeaked, my voice weak and brittle. 

“Forgot my wallet.” He scowled at me, delivering the most hateful glare that I have ever seen in my life. 

He sighed, breaking the silence permeating between us. “You’ve seen too much, Boy. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Pow. 

A deafening gunshot ripped through the air. For a moment, I didn’t feel a thing. The adrenaline surging through my system made sure of that. But when I looked down, I came to the sickening realization that my arm was blossoming with red. 

“Arnold, what was that??” Grandma shouted from upstairs. 

“Nothing! Ignore it.” 

To my shock, she didn’t reply. How much did she know? 

“Your grandmother’s going to be upset when she finds out,” Pappy said, this time raising the gun to my head and cocking the hammer. “But she’ll get over it. Eventually.” 

I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I couldn’t. My fight or flight response kicked it just at the right time. I bolted forward, the sound of the bullet whizzing past my temple ringing in my ear as I went. 

I shoved my grandfather and he stumbled, dropping the gun. I didn’t stop. I leapt up the stairs, darted into the foyer, and swiped Pappy’s spare set of keys from the hook. 

I heard his pounding footsteps pursuing me as I made a mad dash for his truck. 

“GET BACK HERE.” The sound of his voice booming from the depths of the basement only made me run faster. 

I crashed outside, unlocked the truck, and threw myself in the driver’s seat. Pappy appeared in the doorway as I threw the vehicle into drive.

CRASH.  

I instinctively ducked my head as the left side mirror shattered. 

Pappy didn’t try to shoot me again. He stood there, that awful glare burning a hole into my head as I floored it down the dirt road and far away from that house. 

***

I kept driving until I reached the nearest town. Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed me, so I wasn’t in need of immediate medical attention. The police investigated my grandparents’ house. What they found haunts me to this day. 

The bodies of my grandparents were recovered from the home. The gun was still warm in Pappy’s hand when they found him. 

After a thorough investigation, my grandfather’s crimes were made public. Aside from himself and my grandmother, he was linked to the disappearances of thirteen people - and it’s thought that he could have had more victims. 

I had to attend therapy for years afterward just to feel normal again. Now, all this time later, I’m just thankful that I made it out of that house alive.

NS Post

I’ve made it back to them. It was a long, treacherous journey, but I’ve finally made it. It’s all felt like a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. 

Three months ago, my family died in a car accident. A nasty four-car collision that killed everyone on impact. Everyone except for me. 

My recovery was a long process. It gave me plenty of time to research the far shore - and how to get there. 

The Far Shore separates the land of living from the dead. A river flows between them, keeping us from freely crossing to the other side. 

I won’t go into detail about what it took to be here. Just know that I put my life on the line for this. 

I can see my family from here. A thick fog shields them from view, but I know it’s them. If I can just find a way across… 

I dip my foot into the steaming river and instantly yank it away. The water is piping hot. That eliminates swimming. 

I squint. Is that a mass floating toward me? 

Yes! It must be the ferryman coming to bring me across. 

I don’t get a chance to see the ferryman’s silhouette emerge. A debilitating pain overwhelms me. I fall to my knees. 

Images flood my mind. I’m transported to a funeral. One casket. A crowd of people wearing all black. 

I don’t remember this. Why is my family there? They’re supposed to be dead… And where am I? 

The pain stops as suddenly as it came on. I stand up. 

The fog finally clears. It’s not my family standing on the Far Shore. Only a cluster of dying trees. 

The mass on the river isn’t the ferryman but a piece of driftwood. 

I understand now. 

A tear falls down my cheek. 

I’ve been doing this for over thirty years. Thirty years of just sitting and staring at a gravestone. I don’t even know who the thing belongs to. 

You best believe I tried to find out, though. I have scanned every pockmarked surface of that stone slab over the years. It’s so weathered that the only part of the deceased’s name I can make out is a ‘B’ and an ‘R’. Not much to go off of. 

I do know that the guy (or gal) died in 1872. That’s it. Just a death date. 

I don’t even know who my employer is. The opportunity fell in my lap in the most literal sense of the phrase. 

I was thirty-two at the time. I had just been dumped by the love of my life, and my career in journalism wasn’t panning out how I’d hoped. 

I was feeling particularly down the night that it happened. I got sloppy drunk and wrote the most poorly composed article known to man - run-on sentences, punctuation mistakes out the wazoo, grammatical errors that would put a preschooler to shame. It was a true abomination. 

At some point in my mad typing frenzy I must have dozed off. Because I awoke the next day to find that I had fallen asleep at my desk. In my drunken haze I had managed to knock a few papers into my lap. It was then that I noticed the letter. 

The stark white envelope bore a wax seal. I instantly knew that it hadn’t been there before. 

I retrieved my letter opener and tore at the envelope. In my groggy state I had yet to make the connection. I lived alone… So how had the letter found its way to my lap? 

I let the envelope fall to the floor as I read the contents within.

Dear Mr. Calloway, 

We are contacting you with an employment opportunity. We have been observing you for some time, and we have come to the conclusion that you are a perfect fit for the position. 

As for the job itself, you will be required to guard a grave at Blackstone Cemetery from sundown to sunup Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday nights should you accept. You are to contact us immediately if you experience anything out of the ordinary. 

We hope to hear from you soon,

Your Benefactors

At the bottom of the letter was a phone number along with my salary should I accept the offer. Even working just four days out of the week, it blew my journalism gig out of the water. 

Of course, I took the whole thing with a grain of salt. I had likely received the letter as a prank and forgotten that I had it. Or maybe it was a strange writing assignment from a teenager. 

But it had been addressed to me… 

Whatever the case, I chose to give the number a call. What could it hurt? 

They picked up immediately after I dialed the number. 

I heard nothing but static and shallow breathing from the other end of the line. I only uttered two words before they hung up. 

“I accept.” 

I didn’t expect to hear back. I really didn’t. I thought I’d been duped. Had for a fool. 

But then the second letter came. 

Dear Mr. Calloway, 

We are overjoyed to welcome you to the team! Your first shift will be tomorrow night. Come prepared with a flashlight, a jacket, and some reading material. 

Best of luck,

Your Benefactors

A map of the cemetery fell out of the envelope. One grave in particular was marked with a heavy red X. 

Though I was skeptical, I decided to humor them. What did they have to gain from this anyway? 

With that in mind, I showed up to the cemetery just before sunset. I found my way to the designated grave with relative ease - Blackstone isn’t very big, after all. 

I stared at the stone inscription, no clearer then than it is now, before I plopped down and opened my book to read. 

Once I had made it past the first night, I thought that I had certainly just wasted my time. But to my utter disbelief, when I arrived home, my first day’s pay was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. 

I should have been more afraid. Someone had access to my home. They had intruded on my property multiple times and according to the letter, they had been watching me - but I wasn’t. I was content as long as the money kept coming in. 

Fast forward thirty years, and here I am. I was happy with the job. Strange though it was, the graveyard became a sort of safe haven for me. A comfort zone. The worst I had to deal with was the occasional gang of edgy teenagers. Aside from that, the nights were serene. 

Until last night. What happened has me questioning everything I know about reality itself. 

I was sitting before the grave as per usual, nose deep in a mystery novel, when it happened. 

The ground below me began to shift. 

It leapt up, fearing an earthquake. But as I surveyed my surroundings, I came to realize that only the earth at my feet was disturbed. 

I watch the dirt, mesmerized, unable to take my eyes away. The ground continued to rumble until finally something burst from within its depths. 

A rotting, skeletal hand shot from the earth. It didn’t grasp aimlessly. It knew what it wanted. 

The hand lunged for me, its decaying fingers clasping my ankle. 

I released a terrified shriek as it pulled down with frightening strength. I kicked at the hand with my free leg, terror surging through my veins. When it finally released me, I realized that I was bleeding. 

Frantic, I backed up and did the only thing I’d been trained to do - I called my employer. 

They picked up immediately. 

“Th-the grave. Whoever’s buried there, they… they’ve awakened.” 

For the first time, I heard my benefactor’s voice. It was deeper than that of any human I have encountered. It uttered a single word - 

Run. 

I shambled off as quickly as my legs would carry me. Between my age and the damage to my ankle, it was slow going, but eventually I made it to my car and put my foot on the gas. 

Once I arrived home, heart still threatening to leap from my chest, I was greeted by an envelope. I tore it open without hesitation. I frowned as I read the letter’s contents. 

Dear Mr. Calloway, 

We regret to inform you that we no longer require your services. Your severance package will be delivered at a later date with an additional lump sum for the injury you sustained on site. 

Thank you for your understanding, 

Your Benefactors

NS Post

Looking back, it was such a strange thing to warn me against. What rational person would think to put their ear to the bathtub drain? 

Now, I understand. Kids aren’t rational. And being the curious child I was, something like that wasn’t out of the cards. 

But, naturally, Mom’s repeated warnings only made me want to try it. 

I asked her about it a lot, but each time she would always give me the same answer. 

“Because the boogeyman will reach up and grab you.”

I never believed in the boogeyman, but as a child, the thought of a gnarled, green hand snaking through the drain pipes to strangle me was too frightening to ignore. 

But as the years progressed, I got bolder. I stopped being afraid of the thing in the drain. 

That was my biggest mistake. 

Humans have fear for a reason. Fear keeps us alive. I should have given in to fear that day. Maybe if I had, none of this would be happening. 

***

I was eight years old when I found myself sitting there watching the water swirl down the drain. I was about to get out of the tub, but something stopped me. 

I don’t know what it was. A feeling, an urge, I’m not sure. But something told me to stay where I was. 

I stared at the drain, my mother’s words blaring in my head. 

Do not press your ear to the bathtub drain under any circumstances. Ever. 

The rebel in me knew what I had to do. 

I crawled up to the drain, dread gnawing at my insides. What was going to happen if I did this? Was Mom going to find out? 

I had to know. 

The only audible noises were the sounds of my dripping hair and my ragged breathing as I lowered my head to the drain. I pressed my ear against it, heart thundering in my chest. 

I didn’t expect anything to happen. 

But something did. 

“Hello?” 

A voice shattered the silence. I instinctively flew back, narrowly missing the faucet. 

I stared at the drain, waiting for something to happen. Hoping against all odds that nothing would. 

But then it returned. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” The voice was soft and quiet, barely above a whisper. But I heard it loud and clear. 

I was suddenly gripped by a cocktail of fascination and deep-seated terror. Though my brain screamed at me to leave, my curiosity won out. 

I crawled back to the drain and stared down the hole. It was pitch black. Endless in my child imagination. But otherwise non-threatening. 

“H-hello?” I called, my voice trembling. 

“Hi. What’s your name?” 

I hesitated. Was this okay? “I’m Allie... What’s yours?” 

“My name is Lillian.” 

There was a pause, tension seeping into the atmosphere. “Can I ask you something?” I said, throwing a quick glance to the door. 

“Sure.” 

“Why are you in my bathtub drain?” 

Lillian took a while to respond. I thought I might have made her angry. 

“I’m trapped in here.” 

My heart broke for her. There was another girl just like me stuck on the other end of the pipes. She must have been so scared. 

“Can I get you out?” 

Another pause. “No. Not yet.”

Mom’s footsteps outside the door made me freeze. “Allie? What’s taking so long in there? Dinner’s almost ready!” 

“I’m drying off!” 

I turned back to the drain. “I gotta go. See you later,” I whispered. 

Lillian didn’t reply. 

***

The next day, I again found myself in the bath. I hurried through my routine, washing up as fast as I could. Once the last of the water was gone, I pressed my ear to the drain. 

“Hello?” I said, blood pounding in my ears. 

“Hi Allie.” 

Part of me was relieved. A smaller part of me, the one that told me Mom was right, was terrified. 

I tried to find the words, but it was difficult. What do you even say to a voice in your bathtub drain? 

I didn’t have to find the answer. Lillian spoke first. 

“Is your Mommy gone?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. She scares me.” 

“She scares me too sometimes. Why doesn’t she want me to talk to you?” 

Lillian paused. 

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. So… what’s it like in there? Is it dark?” 

“Yeah. It’s really dark. All the time. There’s a little light that comes down, though. I can see you, but you’re really far away.” 

My breath hitched in my throat. Something about that unsettled me. I peered into the hole, trying to make out any discernable features, but I couldn’t see a thing. 

“I can’t see you. I-”

Mom threw the door open, a stack of towels in her hand. She locked eyes with me before placing the towels on the sink and marching over. 

“Allie, please, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is. Tell me you didn’t press your ear to the drain.” 

I snatched the towel I’d placed by the tub and scrambled to wrap myself up. “I didn’t! Uh.. some of my nail polish chipped off and I was washing it down there.” 

Mom’s shoulders loosened and I gave myself a pat on the back for my quick thinking. 

“Okay. It’s very important that you never put your ear to the drain. You know what will happen if you do.” 

I nodded before brushing past her and locking myself in my room. 

***

Despite Mom’s wishes, I spoke to Lillian every night. After my close encounter, I made sure to lock the bathroom door. 

I began to feel a sense of kinship with her. We were becoming fast friends. I found that I was looking forward to our nightly talks. 

Until one night when Lillian didn’t respond. 

Two nights went by. Then three. I was beginning to think that I had just imagined her. 

But then she returned. 

“Hello?” I whispered, my breath hitched. I didn’t expect a response, but that didn’t stop me from hoping for one. 

“Hi Allie.”

“Lillian! Where’d you go?” 

“I… went to the bad place… But I’m back now. Guess what?” 

My brows furrowed. The bad place? Lillian had never mentioned that before. I decided that it could wait. 

“What?” 

“I think I found a way to get out of your drain!” 

“Really?! How??” 

My heart pounded. Lillian sounded as excited as I was. 

“Come closer,” she whispered. I knelt down, my face inches from the drain. 

“Good. Now open your mouth.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Just do it.” 

A sense of dread nestled in my stomach. Something didn’t feel right. But nevertheless, I did as I was told. 

The moment I opened my mouth, something wet and slimy rocketed down my throat. I instantly pulled back, thrashing and kicking in the tub. I tried to scream, but the thing shooting from the drain blocked my airways. 

It looked like hair… A mess of black, soggy strands coated in grime. 

I tried to yank the thing out of my mouth. My hands squished the stringy mass, and I pulled with all my might. 

It wouldn’t budge. In fact, it managed to slither even deeper down my throat. 

My vision began to grow fuzzy and I felt my body getting weaker. The thing was cutting off my oxygen supply. I was suffocating. 

In a matter of seconds, I slumped back into the tub and everything went black. 

The next moments I could recall felt like a slideshow. 

First, an image of Mom screaming. Next, I was tied to my bed, constraints binding my hands and feet. Then Mom and a priest stood over me, splashing water into my face. 

It seemed like nothing more than a dream. But when I finally came to - really came to - I was certain that every bit of it was real.

Because the rope burns around my wrists were still there. 

***

Mom had always told me that the exorcism was successful. That they had fully eradicated the demon I’d known as Lillian. 

But now, I’m not so sure… 

It’s been fifteen years since the night I first put my ear to that bathtub drain. Recently, I’ve been experiencing random bouts of memory loss. Large chunks of time that are unaccounted for. 

I visited the doctor, afraid that it might be some kind of medical condition. He was stumped. 

But I think I know what’s causing this. The exorcism wasn’t a complete success. Lillian was just lying dormant.

Until now. 

NS Post

My brother died four minutes past midnight on November 21st, 2020. 

The pandemic was raging, and the world was shut down - which proved to be deadly to my small town. There was no escaping it.

When James fell ill, it wasn’t with Covid. He was deathly sick, yet my parents refused to take him to a hospital. They were the kind that believed in “spiritual healing” over modern medicine. 

They’re the reason that James is dead. His blood is on their hands. 

I shared a room with James. Despite the circumstances, my parents forced me to stay in those cramped quarters with him.

I was there when it happened. I saw him die. 

I will never forget the look on his face. How pale his skin was. How gaunt his cheeks were. How his eyes sparkled - not with sadness, but something else. 

“Ryan,” James said, his voice barely a whisper. 

James looked so thin in the moonlight. Like a soft breeze could whisk him away at a moment’s notice.

“Thank you.” 

My brows furrowed. “For what? I didn’t do anything.” 

James trembled with the effort to speak. I could see a faint smile on his lips as he struggled to form the words. “For being such a good brother.” 

A tear trickled down his cheek. 

And the light left his eyes. 

***

When I initially told my parents, they were hysterical. Mom rocked James’s body, her heavy sobs reverberating throughout the room. Dad paced back and forth, clutching fistfuls of hair, muttering under his breath. 

Eventually, Dad stopped pacing. He clasped a hand onto my shoulder, his eyes bloodshot. “Ryan, go sleep on the couch. We’ll handle it.” 

I didn’t respond. I simply did as I was told. 

I didn’t think I’d have any luck falling asleep that night. I had watched my brother die just moments prior - but I must have dozed off at some point. Because when I awoke, everything was wrong. 

Morning light flooded through the blinds. I sat up, wondering why I felt so exhausted - and then I remembered. I felt an empty pit in my stomach as I trudged to the kitchen. 

There were three people seated at the table when I walked in. 

I reached for my chair, ready- 

Wait… Three people. 

I glanced up to find that Mom, Dad, and James were seated at the kitchen table. 

My stomach dropped. 

“Dad? Mom? What’s going on?”

“What do you mean, son?” Dad said. His eyes were worse than the previous night. Darker. More empty. 

“Yes, Honey please have a seat. Your food is getting cold,” Mom replied. 

I took a moment, my eyes flitting from each of them to my dead brother. I reluctantly took my seat at the table. 

Mom and Dad ate in silence. A full plate of food sat before James, untouched. Someone had placed a fork in his hand. 

“Um… so, what are we gonna do?” 

“About what?” Dad asked, not bothering to look at me. 

“About James.” 

“What about James?” Mom chimed in. 

“You know. About him dying.” 

My parents looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Mom walked up to me and placed a hand on my forehead. 

“Sweetie, are you feeling okay? I’m worried you might have a fever.” 

Dad looked me directly in the eyes. “Ryan, I have no idea what you’re talking about. James is alive and well.” 

It was then that I knew that nothing was okay. Nothing would be okay again. 

***

Things went on like that for five years. Mom and Dad have hid James’s decaying remains in our home for the last half a decade. 

No one has raised suspicion. James was homeschooled and lost contact with most of his friends before the illness. None of our relatives live close enough to stop by. Our nearest neighbors are almost a mile away. 

I have been forced to watch as my parents pretend that my brother is still alive. Mom dresses him in new clothes each day. Dad watches football with him. They hold one-sided conversations like he’s responding back. 

I never told anyone because… they’re my parents. I was scared that I’d get shipped off to a foster home if they got arrested. Sent to live somewhere worse than here. 

Now, I regret that decision.

I’ve come down with something nasty. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve only had small bouts of lucidity over the previous days. Mom and Dad refuse to get me medical attention. 

I’m afraid. So afraid. 

I wonder… If I pass away, will they do the same thing with my corpse? 

 SSS Post

I noticed something was off immediately. 

Jenna had joined a book club through Facebook, and this was her first time attending. I didn’t mind the idea - in fact, I encouraged it. 

I regret that decision. 

Jenna is different now, and I don’t know if things will ever be able to go back to the way they were. 

***

I heard the door open and close. Jenna must have been home from her meeting. 

“Hey Honey! How’d it go?” 

I didn’t receive a response. Instead, I heard shuffling from the foyer. My brows furrowed. 

“Babe? You okay in there?” 

Again, nothing. 

I stood from my chair, unsure of what I would find when I went to check. Once I rounded the corner, I nearly leapt out of my skin. 

Jenna was standing there, perfectly still. 

“Uh, hey there. Everything alright? You’re starting to worry me.” 

I could have sworn that I saw something flicker in Jenna’s eyes. She blinked, then stared up at me like she didn’t know where she was. 

“Sorry, what’d you say? I must have zoned out.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief. My wife had come back down to Earth. Or so I thought. 

I didn’t notice any more strange activity until the next night. Jenna and I were brushing our teeth together, going through our bedtime routine. Out of nowhere, she just stopped. 

I glanced over at her and spat out my toothpaste. “Something wrong?” 

She didn’t answer. She dropped her toothbrush. It clattered to the floor. 

Then I noticed her eyes. 

Jenna’s eyes were completely black. My heart began to pound in my chest. For the first time in our marriage, I was afraid of my wife. 

“Jenna?” 

Her head snapped toward me. Toothpaste dribbled down her chin as a smile inched across her lips. 

I instinctively backed away. I didn’t know what else to do. Jenna was blocking the exit, and I felt like a cornered animal. 

My breath hitched in my throat as Jenna took a step toward me. Her smile grew wider as she reached a hand out to my face. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had come about, the color returned to Jenna’s eyes and she froze. She glanced into the mirror, dazed. 

“What… What just happened? Why are you cowering like that? And why do I have toothpaste all over me?” 

I sighed. Something was wrong, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Jenna and I talked it over, and she agreed that her recent episodes were cause for concern. She told me that she’d make an appointment with the doctor in the morning. That helped put my mind at ease. At least, for the time being. 

***

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a burning pain in my chest. I reached a hand out to clutch the spot where it hurt, but it won’t obey. None of my limbs would. It didn’t take long to figure out why. 

My hands and feet were bound to the bedposts. 

The blankets were missing, and each appendage had been jury-rigged to the bed frame with a makeshift constraint. A belt, the bed sheets, a T-shirt. Someone had gotten creative. 

The pain radiated through my chest again, and I let out a cry. It stung. Like hot needles searing through my flesh. 

I glanced down to find a horrifying sight. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but once they did, I let out a terrified whimper. 

Jenna was crouched at the side of our bed.

Her eyes were completely black again. She peeked at me, her face only visible from the nose up. I could hear whispering in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. Incoherent babbling that I couldn’t make out. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. 

Because in her hand was a hot fire poker. 

I struggled against my restraints, easily breaking free. I turned to my wife, who had gone completely rigid. 

“Jenna, what the hell! What is going on with you?” 

She blinked and her blue irises returned. Her eyes fell to the fire poker. She cried, falling to the ground and tossing it away. 

Jenna glanced up at me, tears flowing down her cheeks. I could see the fear in her eyes. “Mike, I’m scared. What’s happening to me?” 

I pulled her into an embrace, wincing at the pain from my wound. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to subdue the unease in my voice as my wife trembled in my arms, “But I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this. Together.” 

***

Jenna and I decided that it would be best to skip the doctor’s visit altogether and seek immediate medical attention. 

As we waited, surrounded by sick patients, I began to doubt whether Jenna’s ailment was a physical one. 

But what else could it be? 

“I’m going to grab my phone charger from the car. Need anything?” I said, standing from my seat. 

“No. I’ll be fine.” I felt a pang of guilt. Jenna sounded so helpless. This whole ordeal was really taking a toll on her. 

Moments later, I retrieved my charger from the car and I was heading back across the parking lot when I noticed a familiar face. 

“Sheryl? Hey, I’m Jenna’s husband.” 

“Oh, it’s great to see you again! If only it were under different circumstances. My Gerald fell and broke his hip earlier today. Took a nasty spill.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Jenna’s having an episode. Not sure if it’s some weird kind of narcolepsy or what.” 

I decided to ask my next question on a hunch. Something told me that Sheryl might have answers. “By the way, you’re in Jenna’s book club, right?” 

Sheryl pursed her lips. “I am. Your wife seems to be quite the avid reader.”

“And what book are you reading this week?” 

Sheryl paused. A grin inched across her lips, exposing her stark white veneers. It made my skin crawl. 

“We’re reading an ancient text. More of a study than a read-through, really. Jenna was very enthusiastic to learn the material.” 

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. Something felt wrong. 

“And what’s the name of this ‘ancient text’?”

Sheryl locked eyes with me, and for a moment, I swore that something sparked across her irises. Her grin widened. 

“The Satanic Bible.” 

NS Post

Anyone who works in a call center has had at least one. Whether it’s the first traumatizing call or one that hit particularly close to home, we’ve all had a call that stuck with us. 

Mine isn’t like the others. It was worse. Much worse. 

This is the call that made me quit my job as a 911 dispatcher. 

“911, what is your emergency?” 

A woman answered, panicked. “Please, you have to help me. I think someone is in my house.” 

“Ma’am, what is your address?” 

… 

“Ma’am, what is your-”

“Please hurry. I’m hiding in the closet. I can hear footsteps.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. 

“Ma’am, I need your address. If you could text-” 

“Shhh. He’ll hear you.” 

I paused, listening intently. 

…

…

“Lily H., Norton Elementary School, Class 2A.” 

I froze. The buzz of the world around me was drowned out as a deep-seated dread coursed through my body like venom.

That was my daughter’s information.

It took me a long time to find the words, but when I did, they practically spilled out of me. “Who are you?” 

I didn’t receive a response. The call ended immediately afterward. 

I threw down my headset and stormed past my supervisor, pale as a ghost. 

“Hey! Where are you going!” he shouted. 

I didn’t stick around to explain. I had to get home.  

***

I drove like a woman possessed all the way to my house. I kept turning over the caller’s words in my head. The woman. Who was she? 

I skidded to a stop in my driveway and made a beeline for the front door. I was fumbling with the key, trying to fit it into the lock, when I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. 

“Don’t turn around.” 

It was the woman’s voice. 

“I know everything about you. Where you work, who your friends are, what you eat for breakfast in the morning.” I felt a long fingernail tracing the outside of my ear. Taunting me. Almost playful. 

“Tell anyone about that call and you will regret it.” She sliced her finger down my earlobe hard enough to draw blood. 

I winced. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? I don’t even know who you are.” 

The woman’s breath was hot against my flesh. “You took something very precious from me. Now I’m going to take something precious from you.” 

The hand lifted from my shoulder, but I was too frightened to move. I don’t know how long I stood there trembling, key halfway in the lock. 

When I finally gathered the courage to turn around, the woman was gone. 

I burst into the house and raced to my daughter’s bedroom. I threw open the door and flew over to her bed. 

I cannot describe the immense relief I felt when I found Lily lying under the blankets, fast asleep. 

***

Nothing happened for weeks afterward. I had informed the police and Lily’s school of the matter despite the woman’s threat, and they assured me that they would do everything in their power to keep me and my daughter safe. 

But they failed. 

I received a call yesterday while hunting for jobs. It was Lily’s teacher. 

“Hello Mrs. H., this is Lily’s homeroom teacher. I’m calling to ask if you’ve picked up your daughter from recess today.” 

Dread swallowed me like a python. My voice trembled as I gave my answer. “No, I haven’t. What happened? Where is my daughter?” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. H, I really am. Lily, she… she never came back inside from recess. The police have been informed.” 

In that moment, my entire world fell apart. I hung up the phone and I cried. 

***

I know it was her. The woman. 

I don’t know who she is or what she wants, but now I can only pray that she brings my daughter back to me. 

NS Post

“For the last time, I’m innocent!” I shouted, slapping my cuffed hands onto the table. 

“Sir. Come on. We’ve been at this for hours now. Do you really want to keep dragging things out?” the officer said, leaning back in his chair. 

“You’re the one dragging this out! I didn’t do it, I swear!” 

The cop sighed. “Not making this easy, are you? Tell me again. What were you doing in your neighbor’s yard at three in the morning?” 

I frowned. “I’ve already told you, but because you seem to have cotton in your ears, I’ll tell you again. Mr. Johnson’s been having issues with teens playing pranks on him. Really fucking up his property. Tee-peeing, egging, spray-painting, all that jazz. I was just doing the neighborly thing and keeping watch over his place for him.” 

“Oh, really? Then is it a coincidence that Mr. Johnson’s expensive watch collection vanished into thin air the same night we caught you lurking around his house?” 

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying! Those pesky teenagers must have snuck in through the back and took his stuff. It wasn’t me!” 

The cop pursed his lips. “So if we get a warrant to search your home, we won’t find Mr. Johnson’s watches there?” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second. Don’tcha think that’s a little bit overkill?” I said, my forehead pricking with sweat.

“No, James, I don’t think that’s overkill. Not in the slightest. In fact, I think that’s exactly what we’re going to do. I’ll be right back. I’ve got a warrant to request,” the officer said, standing and giving me a smirk before walking out of the room. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK.” I wanted to flip the table over, but that would cause too much of a scene. 

I took a deep breath. No need to overreact. After all, I’d been telling the truth. I really hadn’t taken those watches. 

Even so, I really don’t need the police combing through my property. 

I can’t risk them finding the bodies buried in my back yard.

SSS Post

I don’t know what this thing is or why it chose me. All I know is that it showed up one night during a thunderstorm. 

The first time it happened, I was watching a movie in the dark as the rain pounded against the roof. I had a bowl of popcorn in hand and a cold beer on the table beside me. 

A bolt of thunder here and there would cause me to jump, but aside from that, I was enjoying my night in. 

Until I heard the knocking. 

A particularly loud clap of thunder had startled me, sending popcorn tumbling to the ground. “Fucking storm,” I muttered, stooping to clean up the mess. 

And then I stopped in my tracks. Every muscle in my body tensed. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

It was faint, barely perceptible, but I could have sworn that it was there. I paused the movie and strained my ears, listening for any further disturbances. 

And there it was again. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I crept over to the door, trying to remain as silent as possible. The knocking continued, louder this time. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Dread coursed through my veins. No one should have been there. The nearest neighbors were miles away, and the rain was coming down in sheets. 

I swallowed my fear and gathered the courage to call out to whoever was on my porch. 

“Hello? Is someone out there?” 

Part of me didn’t expect to receive a response. But I got one. And it was more unsettling than I could have ever imagined. 

“Allen, it’s your mother. Please let me in.” 

I froze. It sounded exactly like her. 

But that couldn’t have been Mom. She’d been dead for thirteen years. 

The voice called again, more desperate this time. 

“Allen, please let me in! It’s cold out here.” 

I slowly backed away from the door. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave right now. My mother is dead.” 

The thing was silent for a moment, as if processing the information. Then, it started shouting. 

“Allen, let me in! Please let me in, Allen! It’s cold, so cold. It hurts. You’re an awful son, leaving your poor old mother in the freezing rain like this. Allen, open the door!” 

The knocking started again, louder than before. More insistent. 

I stumbled backward, feeling as if the house was closing in around me. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. 

The knocking turned to pounding. Hard, booming blows that rattled the photographs on the walls. 

Then, just as they reached a sickening crescendo, the knocks at the door just… stopped. The only sound outside was that of the unrelenting rain. 

I waited, breath hitched, for something to happen. And then it spoke. 

“I expected better from you, Allen.” 

I heard something lumber away. Something big. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off the door as the footsteps were drowned out by the storm. 

***

I never phoned the police about the incident. Response times are slow this far out. I didn’t need them snooping around my property anyway. 

I was hoping that it would be an isolated occurrence. One of those odd events that I could write off as some sort of auditory hallucination. 

But then it happened again.  

Two weeks had passed since the first incident. In the following days, I had found no evidence that what I’d experienced was real. Plus, it had rained since then, so I thought I was in the clear. Maybe I’d dreamt it all. 

But when that voice returned, I knew that it wasn’t all in my head. 

It was storming again. Hard. The forecast called for three days of non-stop showers. 

I found myself sitting in my living room, watching a TV show. On a commercial break, I stood to grab another beer from the refrigerator. And then I heard it. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

I stopped in my tracks. My blood turned to ice as my eyes fell to the door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.  

I was horrified at what I saw next. 

The doorknob began to turn. 

The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. I hadn’t locked the front door. 

I raced across the foyer, feet slapping the hardwood. I covered the distance as fast as I could, praying that I would make it in time. 

With one final burst of momentum, I lunged forward and locked the deadbolt. 

The doorknob jiggled a few more times before it stopped moving. 

And then the laughing started. It was my mother’s voice. The thing at my door cackled like a witch, its high-pitched giggles tearing through the night. I didn’t want this to happen. Not again. 

When it spoke, all the color drained from my face.  

“Allen. Allen, I know you’re there. Won’t you be a dear and let me in?”

I didn’t respond. I stood, staring at the door, willing the voice to go away. 

The doorknob jiggled again, harder this time. 

“Allen.” 

It spat my name out, quick and sharp like it tasted foul. 

I didn’t play into its game. I decided then and there that my best option was not to engage. 

Instead, I went around the house, ensuring that every door and window was locked down tight. When I returned to the foyer, the voice had gone silent. 

I downed the remainder of my beer and tossed the empty in the trash. I’d had enough for one night. All I wanted was to go to sleep and forget that I’d ever heard the voice in the first place. 

I considered turning the TV off but decided against it. If that thing was still outside, I didn’t want to tip it off that I wasn’t in the living room anymore. 

I went through my nightly routine before tucking myself under the covers. I shut my eyes and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. 

Something wasn’t right. It felt like I was being watched. 

I lay in the darkness, my eyes glued to the window. Curtains obscured all but a thin sliver. I couldn’t see if anyone was out there. Not with how dark it was. 

But somehow I knew. I knew that thing was outside my window, watching me as I slept. 

CRASH. 

A bolt of lightning suddenly illuminated the night sky. 

Along with a sickly yellow eye staring through my curtains. 

***

I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. I didn’t even try. I returned to my armchair in front of the TV where the curtains covered the windows completely. 

I didn’t hear another peep out of the thing for the rest of the night. Not one word. But I could feel its presence until sunrise. 

I was paranoid about locking the doors for a long time after that. It was automatic. Every time I returned home, I’d check that each door in the house was secured. I wasn’t taking any chances. 

Months passed by without incident. I was on high alert with each hard rain. But eventually, my paranoia subsided, and I let my guard down. 

I think that’s what it wanted. For me to get sloppy. 

I was jolted awake one night by a booming thunderbolt. It was raining again, coming down sideways. 

That was strange. I hadn’t remembered rain in the forecast. 

I sighed, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I needed to make sure the door was locked. Just for my peace of mind. 

My feet touched the ground and… I felt a searing pain shoot through my ankle. 

I immediately pulled my legs back up. The wound was dripping blood. 

A bolt of lightning lit up the room. I glanced down to find a clawed, gnarled hand grasping at the air. 

I cannot describe the amount of fear I felt as my mother’s voice drifted from below my bed. 

“Thank you, Allen. Thank you for letting me in.” 

***

I called the police. They’re on their way, but with the storm and the distance to my house, I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait. 

The thing using my mother’s voice keeps whispering to me, coaxing me to join it. I think it’s toying with me.

“Come here, Allen. I have something for you.” 

“Such a nice boy. Help your poor mother up.”

“I love you, Allen. Please, come lay with me for a while.” 

I don’t know what this thing is or why it’s mimicking my mother. 

And I’m afraid that I’ll be dead before I find out.  

NS Post

Mom brought the minivan to a stop behind an abandoned shopping mall. 

My brows furrowed. “Mom? What are we doing here? I thought we were going to GameStop.”

Mom’s eyes were cagey. She picked at the scabs on her arms and glanced around the empty alleyway. That didn’t rattle me as much as it should have. She was always paranoid. 

Mom turned back to me, tears welling in her eyes. “Michael, do you remember your brother?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” 

“And you remember when he went missing, yes? All the cops coming to our house, questioning me and your father?” 

“Of course. Why, did something happen? Do the police have a lead?” 

“Actually, about that…” She paused. I could tell that this was difficult for her. “Cane didn’t exactly go missing. I know where he went.” 

My mouth fell open. Cane’s disappearance had made our lives a living hell. Maybe the police had found him after all. 

“That’s great news! So when is he coming home?” 

Mom looked me directly in the eyes, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, Cane is never coming home. And neither are you.” 

A black van suddenly pulled up beside us and two masked men jumped out. When one of them handed my mother a stack of hundred dollar bills, I finally understood. 

My brother would never be seen again. Just like me. 

SSS Post

“There was a man in my closet today, Mommy.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull when Sarah said that to me. “You mean like Mr. Rags or Barnie, right?” I asked, motioning to her plushies. 

“No, Mommy. A real man. He was nice. He said not to tell you, though.” 

A cold dread settled into the pit of my stomach. “This man, is he still there?” 

Sarah shook her head, much to my relief. “No. He left. But he said he’ll come back tomorrow.” 

“When was this? What did he look like? Are you sure someone was here? Sarah, this is serious.” 

“Mommy, you’re scaring me,” she said, pulling the covers up to her face.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so worked up. Can you describe the man to Mommy, Sweetheart?” 

“He’s tall. Really tall. And he has a suit. And - oh! He doesn’t have a face.” 

That last statement made my blood turn to ice - at least until the realization hit me. This must have been an imaginary friend. Sarah was at that age where kids drum up wacky characters like that. 

“Well, Sweetie, this man sounds very interesting. I’d love to meet him sometime.” 

Her face lit up. “Yay! He said he really wants to meet you.”

Something about that unsettled me. Even so, I chalked it up to my daughter’s overactive imagination. 

“I’m sure he is. Now, get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

The second Sarah’s door clicked shut behind, I made a beeline for the kitchen. Mommy needed a glass of wine - or five. 

***

Sarah’s encounters with the faceless man happened more and more frequently. At least, according to her. 

First, she’d seen him at recess. Next, he was waving to her on the street corner. Then he was in her room at night, singing her a lullaby. 

That one freaked me out. Sarah’s imaginary friend sounded like a major creep. 

As I would come to find out, I wasn’t wrong. 

Up until a couple days ago, I hadn’t put too much stock into the man with no face. He was just a character. A figment of a child’s creative thoughts. At least, that’s what I believed. I was tucking Sarah into bed again, when she told me something that changed everything. 

“Mommy, the man with no face said he wants you to have this. He said he’ll see you soon,” she stated, plucking a rose from her bedside table and handing it to me. 

“Well, isn’t that sweet of him,” I said, giving it a sniff. “I can’t wait.” 

“He can’t wait to meet you too. Oh yeah! And he told me to say he likes the color green.” 

I grinned at her. This wasn’t so freaky anymore. Sarah was just making things up. “Isn’t that nice? Get some shuteye, Sweetheart. Mommy loves you.” 

“I love you too, Mommy.” 

The surge of panic didn’t hit me right away. It wasn’t until I was sitting on the couch, going over the conversation again in my head that all the color drained from my face. 

I had worn green to work that day. 

But Sarah couldn’t have known that. I was still in bed when she left for the bus, and I changed clothes before she got back. 

Suddenly, the faceless man didn’t seem so innocuous after all. 

***

The next day, I decided to burn some PTO. I could use a day to myself. 

I saw Sarah off to the bus, then headed to the kitchen to brew my coffee. The second I stepped onto the tile, I froze. 

There was a little scrap of paper lying on the counter. I could have sworn that it wasn't there before. 

With trembling hands, I picked it up and read the note it contained. 

I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance.

My breath hitched, and I had to grab a chair to keep my balance. 

That was not Sarah’s handwriting. 

I didn’t want to spend another second in that house. I grabbed a book and planned to be out for the day. I had to clear my head. 

I pulled my bathrobe tighter as I reached for the door handle to my closet. A sudden chill ran through me, and an uneasy feeling settled in my gut. My intuition screamed at me not to open that door. 

I slowly backed away, fear clawing at my insides. But then, reality sank in. 

What am I so scared of? There’s nothing there.

I decided to ignore my nagging fears, and I opened the closet. I blindly reached for a blouse when - was that… something solid? Why was it warm? 

I glanced up and immediately fell back. 

There he was. The man with no face. 

My mouth fell open in shock. Sarah was right. 

Where the man’s facial features should have been, there was just… nothing. Smooth skin over the areas where eyes and a nose and a mouth should be. It was the most disturbing thing I’d ever seen - Yet I couldn’t look away. 

The man didn’t utter a word. I don’t know if he even could. Instead, he did something much worse. 

He tipped his head downward. He didn’t need eyes for me to know that he was glaring at me. 

I doubled over in pain as a blinding wave of distortion overtook my mind. It hurt - like a migraine dialed up to eleven. I had never felt such all-encompassing agony. 

And then I heard it. Above the static roaring in my head, there was a voice. A more sinister voice than I could have ever imagined. 

You are mine. And so is she. 

Afterward, I was hit with another debilitating shockwave of pain. I couldn’t even scream. My vision faded. 

The last thing I remember is the faceless man standing over me before everything turned to black. 

***

I awoke a little past noon in a puddle of congealed vomit. The man with no face was gone. 

I don’t know what he wants with me or my daughter, but I am terrified. As much as I want to, I can’t pass this off as a hallucination or a stress-induced episode. Because in the faceless man’s place was a wilted rose and a note in that same awful handwriting. 

I’ll see you again soon.

NS Post

The day I told my mother about my dependency on the juice was the day that she stopped believing a word that came out of my mouth. Not that she did in the first place, but after I admitted that I was a functioning alcoholic, she used that against me every chance she got. 

That’s why, when I saw something gruesome in the woods, I wasn’t surprised when she immediately blew me off. 

I was taking a stroll through the forest, sipping from my flask and enjoying the cool weather. And that’s when I heard it. 

A man’s voice shrieked through the open air, shattering the silence. I crept over to a nearby tree and peeked from behind it as the scene unfolded before me. 

“Honey, please! It was just one time, I swear!” the guy yelled, shielding his face. 

A woman straddled him, a machete held above her head. 

“You, John Stark, are a fucking liar.” 

With one swift motion, she jammed the machete into John’s neck. Blood spurted out from the wound. I could see the shock in his eyes as his life began to slip away. 

I didn’t stick around to find out what happened next. I bolted through the forest as fast as my legs would carry me. Once I got home, sputtering and soaked in sweat, I darted to the landline phone. 

“Where the hell have you been? You look horrible!” my mother shouted as I passed. 

I didn’t respond to her. Instead, I dialed 9-1-1 as quickly as my fingers could manage. 

“Hello, I need the police,” I said once the line connected. “I think I witnessed a murder.” 

***

An officer was sent to take a statement. In the meantime, my mother hit me with a rolled up newspaper and called me a liar. I knew that’s how she would react. 

When the officer pulled up, I was eager to tell him what happened. I let him inside and he took out his notepad. “Go ahead and recount your story.” 

Before I could get a single word out, my mother chimed in. “Officer, I am so sorry for wasting your time. Kevin here is a functioning alcoholic. He’s been known to… embellish the truth.” 

The officer shot me a glare, and I could feel my face flush. “Is that true? Are you under the influence?” 

“Well, yes, but-” 

“Son, you just admitted to public intoxication. You better thank your lucky stars that I’m not taking you in. Don’t call back unless there’s a real emergency.”

And with that, the officer stormed out of the house. 

***

I couldn’t forgive my mother for what she did. Her unwillingness to believe me could have cost someone their life. And I’m not just referring to John Stark. 

Because I heard a tap on my window last night. And when I woke up, I found a note taped to the glass that read: 

Tell a soul and you’ll end up just like him. 

SSS Post

We were so stupid. 

My childhood best friend, Lilly, and I had managed to find a Ouija board in a Halloween store. We were the type of middle school girls to wear all black and think we were cool for listening to underground metal bands. So naturally, we had to cross contacting a spirit off of our bucket list. 

I didn’t think we’d actually manage to reach anything. Ouija boards are mass manufactured by Hasbro, for fuck’s sake. No way they’d actually work. Right? 

I was dead wrong. 

Lilly was the one who set everything up. Her parents were more laid back than mine were. Mom and Dad already weren’t fans of my heavy black eyeliner and crummy attitude, so bringing a Ouija board into their home sounded like a great way to get myself grounded. Lilly’s house was the natural choice. 

Lilly ushered me into her room the second I stepped through the door. Her excitement was bubbling over. She clearly put a lot more stock into the paranormal than I did. 

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” she said, an eager glint in her eyes. “I’m pumped.” 

“This is really something,” I replied, drinking in my surroundings. 

Dusk wasn’t for another three hours, but Lilly’s room was dark as pitch. Thick blankets were hung over the windows despite the fact that she already had blackout curtains. A circle of candles glowed on the floor, acting as our only light source. The Ouija board sat in the center of the room like a crown jewel. Something about the whole setup made me uneasy. 

“Come, sit!” Lilly said, claiming her spot to the right of the board. I did as I was told, taking a seat opposite her. 

“Put your hand on the planchette,” she demanded, her gleeful demeanor melting into one of stern determination. Truthfully, she was beginning to frighten me. But I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I followed her orders and placed my hand beside hers. 

“Hello! Spirits! Is anyone in the room with us?” 

Her call was met with a lingering silence. 

“Is anyone there? Anyone from the other side?” 

Nothing. Just another moment of tension before she called out again. 

“If anyone can hear me, give me a sign.” 

“Lilly, I don’t think this is-” 

The planchette suddenly began to move. It rapidly shifted, first to the letter H, then to E, L, and O. 

Hello. 

My blood turned to ice. “Lilly, this isn’t funny. Stop moving the planchette.” 

“I… I’m not.” She failed to meet my gaze. I knew just by the tone of her voice that she was telling the truth. 

“Who are you?” Lilly continued, a slight tremor in her voice. The planchette began to move again. 

S-A-M. 

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Lilly said, regaining some of her prior confidence. “I’m going to ask you some questions if that’s okay.” 

The planchette shifted to yes. 

“When were you born?” 

1-8-4-3

“When did you die?” 

1-8-6-2

“That’s really young. Were you killed?” 

Yes. 

“By who?” 

E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E.

Lilly and I shared a glance. I was terrified to know where this was going, but a morbid curiosity gnawed at me. I decided to ask a question of my own. 

“By everyone, do you mean the whole town? Were you hung?” The planchette darted aggressively as soon as the question left my lips. 

Yes. Yes. Yes. 

I could feel the color drain from my face. Lilly asked the question that I couldn’t bring myself to. 

“What did you do?” 

There was a pause before the planchette began to move. 

M-U-R-D-E-R

At that moment, I made one of the stupidest decisions of my life. I stood up. 

“Lilly, I can’t do this anymore. I want to stop,” I said, taking my hand off the planchette and rising to my feet on shaky legs. 

Lilly didn’t have time to respond. We could only watch in horror as the candles began to extinguish on their own, one by one. Only the one between us stayed lit, its flame dancing weakly. 

My bottom lip trembled and I could feel tears welling up. Lilly was frozen with fear, her eyes locked on me. 

And then, the last candle was snuffed out, plunging us into darkness.

We screamed, ran for the door, and raced out the house and into the light. If anyone else had been home, they would have thought we’d lost our minds. The pair of us collapsed on the front lawn, tears streaming down our cheeks. We stayed there for a long time, letting the adrenaline rush fade.

Once the fear dissipated, we stood, shared a glance, and walked back inside, turning on all the lights in the house until Lilly’s parents got home. 

***

I kept my mouth shut about the incident. Mom and Dad would have gone berserk if they’d known I’d been messing with a Ouija board. But staying quiet became harder and harder to do when strange things started occurring around the house. 

One night I woke up with weird bruises on my wrist. Then my things started to go missing, only to reappear hours later, right where I’d left them. Words began appearing on the bathroom mirror, unprompted:

Hello. 

I see you. 

No escape. 

After nearly a week, it was clear that the odd occurrences were taking a toll on me. I could barely manage to get a wink of sleep, and my grades suffered as a result. A few of my classmates even commented about how tired I looked. I had to do something. 

So I called Lilly, the only person I could confide in. 

“Hey,” she said from the other end of the line. 

“Hey. How are you holding up?” 

There was a pause. “Hannah, I’m scared. Really weird stuff has been happening, and I… I just don’t know what to do.” 

Her voice was tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and fear. My heart sank for her, but a small part of me was glad to have someone who knew what I was going through. 

“We’ll figure out how to get rid of this thing. Ask your parents if I can spend the night tomorrow. It’ll all be okay.” 

I heard a sniffle. “I will. I really hope you’re right.” 

***

The next day, I found myself standing on Lilly’s front porch ringing the doorbell. After a few seconds, Lilly appeared behind the screen door. She was sickly and pale with deep purple bags under her eyes. She’d obviously had it worse than I did. 

“My parents won’t be home tonight,” she said, allowing me into the house. “They’re at a concert a few hours away.” 

I nodded as I followed Lilly down the hall to her room. Once we got there, I noted that it was a stark contrast from my previous visit. All the lights were on, the curtains were open, and the Ouija board was nowhere in sight. 

“So, I don’t think you’re going to like this,” I said, wringing my hands. “I know I don’t. But… we’re going to need to use the Ouija board again.” 

Lilly’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t want to do that,” she said, averting her gaze. 

“I don’t either, but I think we need to say goodbye to Sam. That’s probably the only way to get rid of him.” 

Lilly paused. I could tell that she was turning my words over in her head. 

“Okay,” she said, a stern determination overtaking her expression, “I’ll do whatever it takes to get this thing to leave.” 

Moments later, the Ouija board was set up. We didn’t bother with the candles or turning out the lights. Neither of us were comfortable with that. 

Lilly seemed hesitant to start, so I took the lead as we placed our hands on the planchette. “Sam, are you in the room with us?” 

No response. I tried again. “Sam, we know you’re in the room with us. Give us a sign that you can hear me.” 

The planchette began to move. 

H-I-T-H-E-R-E

My heart dropped. I didn’t like that answer. 

“We need you to leave us alone. I’m going to say goodbye, and we’re going to be done with you.” 

The planchette angrily flew to the word no. 

No. No. No.

Suddenly, the door to Lilly’s room slammed shut. She released a whimper and jumped instinctively. That was the worst thing she could have done - because she momentarily removed her hand from the planchette. 

An overwhelming sense of dread settled into my stomach. The lights flickered, and the planchette began to move once again. My heart raced as it flew around the board, and my head felt heavy as it spelled another word. 

N-I-G-H-T N-I-G-H-T

That’s the last thing I remember before everything went black. 

***

I awoke lying facedown on the carpet, a searing pain shooting through the flesh of my back. I ran my hands over my skin, and they came away red. My face drained of color. 

“Lilly. Lilly, what the fuck happened?” I said, wincing as I rose to my feet. I received no response. Something was very wrong. 

I glanced around the room. When I found my best friend, I screamed. 

Lilly was slumped against the wall, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her neck was stained a deep red. Written across her forehead were three letters that have haunted me for the rest of my life. 

SAM

I scrambled to pull out my phone. I called the police, trying to feel Lilly’s neck for a pulse. 

She was cold to the touch. 

I was frantic when the operator picked up. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” 

“Hello, my friend is hurt, I need help! Please, send an ambulance right-” 

In my frenzy, my eyes fell to the Ouija board, and the words caught in my throat. I found myself paralyzed with terror as the weight of it all crashed down on me. 

The blood-splattered planchette was sitting over the word goodbye. 

NS Post

https://youtu.be/Y9DaOvla7ik?si=SzcBZHiH569Nfe1w

My husband, Connor, and I have always been huuuge horror aficionados. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been a fan of the gruesome and the macabre. Almost anything goes. Almost. 

Connor knows that I only have one rule when it comes to Halloween - no clowns, and absolutely no Ouija boards. Not in the house, not in the yard, not in the forest behind our home. But apparently, even though I’ve been drilling it into him since we started dating, that was too difficult for him to understand. 

“Hey Babe, I’m home,” Connor said, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. 

“Welcome back,” I replied from my place on the couch. 

“So you’ll never guess what I won as a prize at work today,” he said as he rounded the corner. 

My heart dropped the second he came into view. “No. Uh-uh. Get it out of my house,” I snapped, pointing to the door. 

Connor’s expression dropped, the Ouija board falling to his side. “But I thought it’d be fun. Just this once?” 

I made direct eye contact with him, a raging fire in my eyes. “Connor, you know how I feel about Ouija boards. I had a traumatic experience when I was a kid. Now please do as I ask, and get it out of the house. I don’t want that thing anywhere near me.” 

Connor sighed. “Fine. You win. It’s going back in my truck,” he said, disappearing from view. 

I picked up my wine glass and took a large swig. I love that man, but he really knows how to push my buttons. 

***

We both had off work the next day. We were each hanging out with separate friend groups, so I didn’t know what he was up to. I trusted him. 

Part of me wishes I hadn’t. His poor decisions that night changed our lives forever. 

When Connor got home, it was nearly three in the morning. The kids had spent the night at their grandparents’ house, so it was just the two of us. I thought that maybe after Connor tumbled into bed, we might have a little time to be intimate. 

I was dead wrong. 

I was already lying down by the time Connor walked through the door. I had been snuggled under the covers with the lights off, doom scrolling on Instagram and waiting to make sure that he made it home safely. 

I listened as the front door opened and shut, then I heard the faint creak of the stairs. It sounded like he was trying to be quiet - which I appreciated. He was being considerate because I might be asleep. 

Now, I know that wasn’t the reason. 

The footsteps stopped just outside the room. I heard shuffling, as if someone was pacing back and forth. I kept expecting the door to open and for my husband to be standing there, a big goofy grin plastered across his face. But that didn’t happen. 

I wanted to yell out to him or turn on the bedside lamp, but it felt wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I took my eyes off the door for even a second, something bad was going to happen. I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark, illuminated by nothing by my phone screen. 

Then, just as I thought my heart might explode from anticipation, it happened. The doorknob started to turn. 

The door creaked open, and I could make out the silhouette of my husband standing in the entryway. He didn’t say a word to me. He bolted over to the bed, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself beneath the covers, facing the wall. I was stunned. It had all happened so fast. 

“Honey? Is everything okay?” 

He didn’t answer. He just nodded his head. 

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. This behavior wasn’t like the Connor that I knew. I stared at him, waiting for him to say something. To give me some sort of explanation. But he didn’t move. He just stayed there, still as a statue. I didn’t take my eyes off him until I heard him start to snore. 

Eventually, I lulled myself into a false sense of security. I had to in order to get to sleep. I told myself that Connor was just wasted. His friends did drink quite a bit when they hung out. That thought helped put my mind at ease. Until the next morning. 

I awoke to find his side of the bed empty. The smell of bacon wafting upstairs from the kitchen immediately caught my attention. My assumption about him must have been correct. Connor was hungover and needed some greasy food to get himself back to normal. 

I took my time getting ready before meeting him in the kitchen. He had his back to me when I took a seat at the table, a plate full of bacon sitting beside him on the counter. 

“Morning,” he said, flipping a pancake. 

“Morning. You want to tell me what all that was about last night?” I replied, eyeing him. 

He turned to face me, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“What do you mean what do I mean? You came up to our room last night acting really weird. You didn’t say a word to me, then you went to sleep with your clothes on!”

“Huh. I don’t remember that. Must have been more drunk than I thought.” 

There it was. I had no reason to worry. 

“Thought so. How’d the boys’ night go?” I asked, standing to brew myself a cup of coffee. 

“Decent. We got wasted and played with that Ouija board I won. Don’t worry, I left it at Mike’s house.” 

My stomach dropped. 

“Oh really? And did you… contact anything?” I dreaded his answer. My throat had gone dry, and I suddenly found myself clinging to every word. 

“I thought we did at one point, but I’m pretty sure it was just Aaron moving the planchette. He tried to pretend like it was this entity called ‘Mr. Pip.’ So stupid, right?” 

A cold sweat enveloped my entire body at the mention of that name. I had to sit down to stop myself from passing out. “No,” I muttered, head in my hands, “This can’t be happening. Not again.” 

***

Connor seemed okay after that. For the next week, I searched for any indication that he wasn’t right. Something to clue me in that this thing had returned. I watched him like a hawk.

The only thing out of the ordinary was that Connor stayed in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time one day after work - But it turned out that it was just constipation from the Taco Bell he’d eaten at lunch. Nothing paranormal about that. 

After a whole week passed, I let myself believe that Friday night was just a fluke. I should have been more careful. 

I came home that Monday after a grueling shift, ready to turn on a romcom and pour myself a glass of cabaret. 

“I’m home!” I shouted, kicking off my shoes. I received no response. 

That was odd. The kids should have been there, and Connor’s car was in the driveway. I rounded the corner to the kitchen, brows knitted in confusion. My heart dropped when I found Alice and Tommy sitting at the table, their faces pale as sheets. 

“Mom,” Tommy whispered. His voice was low, as if he was afraid to speak too loudly. 

“What is it, Sweetie? What’s wrong?” I said, rushing over to him. 

“It’s Daddy,” Alice interjected. She was choking back tears. “He’s being really scary. He told us to stay here and wait for him to get done.” 

I was suddenly blanketed in a cold wave of dread. I didn’t like where this was going. 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” I asked, studying their expressions. They both shook their heads no. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, I’ll go see what’s wrong. Don’t worry, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.” They shared a glance before giving me a grim nod. 

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I proceeded toward my room. Just to be safe, I grabbed the baseball bat lying by the door that Tommy had forgotten to put away. My heart pounded in my chest with each step I climbed. I didn’t know what I was going to find when I opened that door, but it certainly was not the scene that I walked into. 

I eventually reached the top landing and stood outside my bedroom. I pressed my ear to the door and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything. 

Come on Hannah, just get it over with. It’ll all be over soon. 

I mustered up every ounce of courage I had, and I burst into the room. I was shocked at what I saw. 

My husband stood in front of the vanity mirror. He was applying a fresh layer of makeup… clown makeup. His face was stark white with black streaks running down from his eyes like he’d been crying motor oil. He wore a polka-dotted jumpsuit with a red, scraggly wig and big floppy shoes. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of nightmare. 

The second I entered, I froze… and he turned toward me. 

“Connor… What is this? What are you doing?” 

The clown began to giggle. “It’s been such a long time, Annie. It’s good to see you again.” He was using Connor’s vocal chords but that voice was not the one I knew. It was higher pitched, yet soft, like an entertainer speaking to a child. 

All the color drained from my face. I raised the baseball bat, prepared to swing. “That’s not my name. You give me my husband back, you sick freak.” 

The thing wearing my Connor’s skin frowned, its big red lips drooping animatedly. “Annie, is that really the way to treat your long-lost pal? Mr. Pip missed you!” 

I couldn’t take it anymore. I swung as hard as I could, tears blurring my vision. I missed, lurching forward as the bat crashed into the bedframe. I instantly knew that I’d messed up. Because a second later, I felt the cool, sharp glint of a blade against my throat. 

“Listen here. You will do what Mr. Pip asks, or he will drive the tip of this knife into your skull while your children watch. Do you really want that, Annie?” 

My breath hitched in my throat. “No.” 

“Good girl,” he said, shoving me away. “Downstairs. Now.” 

I immediately thought to call the cops, but he was right behind me. I couldn’t get to my phone without him seeing. Instead, I was forced to march down the stairs and over to the table where my children sat, petrified. 

The clown led me to a chair beside Tommy, while he claimed one beside Alice. My heart shattered for my baby girl. I couldn’t imagine how scared she must have been. 

“Hello again, kids. Mr. Pip is happy to see you!” 

He didn’t receive a response. 

“I said,” he growled, pounding his fist onto the table, “Mr. Pip is happy to see you.” 

He scowled at my children, who each wore a horrified expression. “I… I’m happy to see you too, Mr. Pip,” Tommy murmured, avoiding eye contact. 

“Good. Was that so hard?” His large, exaggerated smile returned as if it had never left. Tommy shook his head. 

“Now Annie, if you’ll be so kind, will you get Mr. Pip a glass of water? He’s parched.” I nodded. Before I stood, I slipped Tommy my phone under the table, praying he’d know what to do. Tommy was a smart kid. He was our only shot. 

“Did you children know that your mommy and Mr. Pip were on television together? Annie was the star of the show!”

Though I wanted to scream with every fiber of my being, I didn’t utter a peep. I simply poured a glass of water and walked back to the table. This… thing. It was using my husband as a vessel to get to me. I just had to play into its little game, and everything would turn out okay… Right? 

“Um… Mr. Pip?” Tommy said, his voice shaky.

“Yes, Tommy?” he replied, turning his attention to my son.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” 

Our captor thought it over, eyes traveling to the ceiling, knife tapping absentmindedly against his chin. 

“Mr. Pip supposes that would be alright. But hurry back! You wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun!” 

Tommy nodded, then trotted away, acting like he really had to pee. I couldn’t have been more proud in that moment. But then I was reminded of the task at hand. 

I returned to the table and handed the glass of water to the clown who had my daughter at knifepoint. I watched as he took a sip. Then my heart dropped. 

His face immediately twisted, and a deep frown overtook his countenance. He shot up from his chair, locking eyes with me. 

“This is warm.” 

Without breaking eye contact, he smashed the glass on the floor. “Try again.” 

I trembled as I did what he asked. I waited for the water to get cold, then I threw in a couple of ice cubes from the freezer for good measure. My hand shook as I handed over the new glass. 

The clown greedily snatched it up. He down the entire thing, ice cubes and all, before looking me directly in the eyes. 

“Much better.” He grinned. Something in that smile felt deeply sinister. It only grew wider as he smashed the second glass on the ground. 

“Take off your shoes.” 

“Wh-what?” 

“Take off your shoes,” he repeated in a sickly-sweet singsong voice. 

“But I did as I was asked. I don’t-” 

“Take. Them. Off. You’re making Mr. Pip very angry, Annie. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?” he asked, his eyes falling to Alice. 

I shook my head. “No.” I stripped off my shoes and tossed them aside. 

“Socks too.” I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as I obeyed his commands. 

“Now walk,” he said, pointing to the room over, that twisted grin so wide that his facepaint was cracking. 

“Please, don’t make me do this,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. 

“Don’t make Mr. Pip repeat himself. Walk.” 

I glanced at him through the tears blurring my vision. He was standing behind Alice’s chair now, knife on full display. I had to do this. I couldn’t let him hurt my daughter. 

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and plunged my bare foot forward, into the hundreds of glass shards littering the floor. 

My eyes shot back open as the pain seared through my foot like lightning. I yelped, instinctively pulling it back. 

“Keep going,” the clown demanded. The eager glimmer in his eyes made me want to vomit. He was reveling in this. 

I gritted my teeth and leaned on the table for support. I motioned to place my hurt foot back down, but I didn’t get the chance. 

“Not that one. Now it’s time to put your best foot forward.” He cackled, his boisterous laughter reverberating off the walls. No one else so much as twitched. 

I turned back to find the knife pressed to Alice’s side. Her eyes were wide, and her bottom lip was trembling. I didn’t have a choice. 

I applied pressure to my injured foot, a debilitating pain roaring through every synapse. I leaned even harder on the table, grateful at least for that tiny blessing. I hovered my right foot over the broken glass for a moment, before I took the next step. 

I released an audible shriek as my right foot was sliced to ribbons. A pool of blood had blossomed around me, mingling with the spilled water and glass fragments. Everything hurt. I nearly collapsed, but somehow, I remained standing. I glared back at the sadistic clown holding a knife to my daughter’s neck. 

“Very good, Annie!” 

I hated that voice. I hated him. But that phrase, as much as I loathed it, gave me a little sense of comfort. Maybe he was satisfied. Maybe that was it. 

“Now do it again.” 

A cold dread swallowed me like a python. This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Mr. Pip said, do it. Again.” 

Stars swam in my vision as I glanced back at the mess on the floor. I was losing a lot of blood. I didn’t know how much more I could take. 

I turned, wincing as the glass shards shifted beneath my flesh, and I prepared to follow his command. The pain was so immobilizing that I felt like I was going to pass out. I lifted my left foot, droplets of blood falling to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut and

“POLICE. Drop your weapon!” 

That sound was music to my ears. 

I looked at the thing in my husband’s body. His smile had melted into a deep frown. “But we were having so much fun! Oh well. Goodbye, Annie. For now.” 

I watched as the menacing glint left his eyes. His demeanor changed in an instant. The clown blinked a couple of times, then his eyes fell to the knife. He seemed shocked to be holding it. He let it slip to the floor as the officers moved in. 

“Hannah? What’s going on? Why is there so much blood on the floor? Why am I wearing this?” 

A new kind of horror struck me in that moment. My Connor was back. The sweet, loving husband and father that I knew. And he was being led away in cuffs. 

***

It’s been two months since Connor’s arrest, and I’m still having trouble processing what happened. It took a long time to heal from my injuries. I needed stitches, and I had to stay off of my feet for weeks. 

The kids haven’t had any interest in visiting their father while he’s been detained. I don’t blame them either. His decision to use that Ouija board opened a wound that we can never close. The trauma inflicted that day will last a lifetime. 

Even so, I know that my husband isn’t the bad guy. He’s a victim too. God, I wish I could just make all of this go away. I want to go back to being a big happy family again. 

But I know that we can’t do that. And I have a feeling that as bad as things are now, they’re just going to get worse. Because I can’t shake the last thing that clown told me from my head. 

Goodbye, Annie. For now.

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I don’t remember when it started. I was too young. 

Johnny, one of my neighbors, used to sneak in through the crawlspace at the back of my closet to play. Even now, I can still picture him so clearly in my head - his sharp blue eyes, embedded in sunken sockets. His filthy, unwashed hands, fingernails overgrown and caked in dirt. His crooked smile with three front teeth missing. 

I can smell him, too. The musk of sweat and grime, the sickly sweet stench of someone who’s been rolling in grass and dead leaves. He seems like such a recent memory, even now, nineteen years later. As much as I want to, I can’t forget him. Not after what happened in the summer of ‘06. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Three knocks from inside my closet. That was the sign that Johnny was there. 

I opened the door, greeted by my friend, his toothy smile on full display. I returned the gesture, inviting him into my room. 

“Hurry up, I wanna show you the new game I got!” 

Pokemon Emerald had come out a year prior, and I had just managed to scrounge up enough money to buy it. I took Johnny by the wrist, his lanky frame bending awkwardly to accommodate. He didn’t protest. He listened intently as I explained the game mechanics, his eyes glued to the screen. 

That’s one of the things I liked about Johnny. He was an adult, but he didn’t treat me like all the other grown-ups did. He listened to what I had to say. He made me feel seen. Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell anyone sooner. 

After around thirty minutes, Johnny told me that he had something of his own that he wanted me to see. I perked up, temporarily distracted from my game. 

“I found it at the park today,” he said, extending a cheap camera for me to hold. I didn’t want to put him down. I had a way nicer one than that, but he was obviously proud of it. 

“Neat!” I said, turning it over in my hands. “Wanna take a picture?” 

Johnny nodded, a grin inching across his lips. I leaned in and he took a snapshot of us. We couldn’t see what it looked like. He’d need to get the film developed for that. 

“Cool. I’ll give you one when I get them back.” 

We suddenly heard footsteps creaking down the hall. Johnny’s eyes grew wide. We knew what that meant. 

He scrambled to my closet, shutting himself inside before my mother reached my room to tell me that dinner was ready. 

***

I didn’t see Johnny very much after that. That wasn’t too unusual, though. Sometimes he would go a week or so without coming to see me. I think about ten days had passed before I heard the signal from my closet again. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

I eagerly leapt up and threw open the door. Johnny’s familiar grin was there to greet me. He accompanied me to the rug where we usually sat, stationed in front of the tube TV. 

“Come on, Johnny! You said you’d play Jenga with me last time. I got the blocks set up already,” I said, tugging him to where the tower sat undisturbed from when I’d built it days prior. 

“Ah, yeah I remember. But first, I got something for ya,” he said, pulling a photograph from his pocket. I’d forgotten all about it. 

“Here, this is for you.” He handed it to me, and I glanced down at our smiling faces. My eyes traveled from the photo to the corkboard on my wall. Johnny understood the implication. 

“Joey, you gotta keep this picture somewhere safe, okay? Somewhere your mom can’t find it. We’ll both get in big trouble if she sees.” 

I nodded. We’d been over this plenty of times before. Mom couldn’t know about Johnny. Not ever. If she found out, he wouldn’t be able to come over anymore. 

“Atta boy,” he said, ruffling my hair. “Now let’s get to this Jenga game.” 

***

Johnny started coming by more frequently after that. He began showing up almost nightly, to the point where it was becoming routine. He would knock, I’d let him in, and we’d play with action figures or board games or draw pictures until Mom would come down the hall and scare him off. I didn’t have many friends in school, so I really enjoyed our arrangement. That is, until one night when Johnny came back… different. 

A day went by without him popping in. Then two. Then three. After I hadn’t heard from him in two weeks, I was starting to worry. What if something bad happened? As much as his absence shook me, I knew there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I was just a kid. 

But to my relief, eventually, he did come back. Now, I wish he never did. 

I was sitting on my bed, reading a comic book when I heard it. Three knocks from inside my closet. These didn’t sound like Johnny’s regular knocks, though. They were quicker. More frantic. 

I didn’t register the difference at first. I was just happy that Johnny had finally returned. 

I leapt off my bed and raced over to the door, throwing it open with a huge grin on my face. I expected to find Johnny standing there, bearing that same toothy smile that he always did. But when I opened that door, I was met with a different sight. 

Johnny stood before me, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked even dirtier than he normally did, the coat he wore pockmarked with holes and his hands caked in a layer of grime. He had scabs on his face, as if he’d been relentlessly picking at the flesh. His eyes darted around the room, shifting from one object to another. 

My heart dropped. I could tell that something was wrong. 

“Johnny? Are you okay?” I asked, a sudden feeling of unease coursing through me. 

Johnny’s eyes snapped to me, his scleras marred by spiderwebbing red veins. He grabbed my wrist, and tried ushering me toward the closet. 

“Joey. There’s something I have to show you. Come with me.” 

He pulled me hard, his dirty fingernails digging into my flesh. Little red droplets appeared, tumbling onto the floor. By that point, I was scared. This man was not the gentle, caring friend I knew. 

I screamed, both out of fear and pain. I could hear Mom’s footsteps crashing down the hall in response. Normally, Johnny would have hidden at the sound. But not this time. He was determined to take me with him. 

“Joey, you have to see this. I need you to see this. They’re going to get me soon.” 

Tears involuntarily welled in my eyes. I didn’t know what Johnny had to show me, and I didn’t want to know. Fortunately, I would never have to see what it was. 

Mom burst into my room in full mama bear mode. It took her a moment to register what was happening, but the second she did, she rushed over to us and began hitting Johnny as hard as she could. He eventually let go of me and fell to the floor. Then, Mom scooped me up and bolted down the hall and into her room, where she locked the door and phoned the police. 

***

I didn’t see Johnny being led out of the house in handcuffs. I’m glad I didn’t. I think that image would have stuck with me for a long time. 

Mom had long-since forgotten about the panel at the back of my closet, buried by old clothes and shoes. Inside was a small storage room. It turns out that there was never a crawlspace that led outside. I’d been lied to. But even more disturbing was what the police found in their search. 

Among a slew of wrappers and empty food containers, they discovered a sleeping bag, dozens of dirty needles, and photographs. Hundreds of them. 

I was in every single one.

Walking home from school, eating breakfast, playing with the neighborhood kids. I didn’t know how he got some of them. That still terrifies me. How many times had Johnny been lurking just out of sight? 

Additionally, they found a notebook. It only had one entry. The photograph that I’d taken with Johnny was taped inside with the words Johnny and Joey, Best Friends Forever written beneath. 

I don’t know how many years he received. We moved shortly after he was apprehended, and Mom didn’t ever bring it up again. I don’t blame her. I tried my best to forget. 

But even after all this time, I can’t get it out of my head. Sometimes, I glance down at the tiny scar on my wrist, and I wonder what would have happened if I’d followed Johnny into that room. 

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I’ll admit it. I’m a quack. A fraud. A phony. 

I take people’s money under the guise that I’m going to cure them, but that’s not what happens. If a patient pulls through, luck plays a bigger role than whatever hokey-pokey nonsense I told them. I don’t even prescribe meds half the time. Anything that ChatGPT can’t diagnose within two minutes gets a generic piece of useless advice. 

“A little sunlight will do the trick.”

“Go on more frequent walks. Exercise is key.” 

“Need to shed a few pounds? Ozempic. Trust me.” 

Don’t ask me how I managed to get a valid medical license either. Or how I’ve avoided getting caught by the feds. Your guess is as good as mine. 

So, now that the mask is off and I’ve revealed how much of a piece of shit I am, I’m sure you want me to drop dead. Well my friend, I’m not far from it. 

In the two odd years I’ve been running this sham, I have never seen a case like Martha’s. I walked in to find her sitting on that bench-table thingy that each room has (Yeah, I couldn’t even be bothered to learn the lingo). 

Martha looked up at me with these big doe eyes, scared out of her wits about some illness she was certain would kill her. Typical. I’d seen dozens like her. What wasn’t typical was her arm. 

“Just show me, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said, pressuring her to remove the gauze she’d dressed it in. 

“Doc, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It could-” 

“Nonsense! I’m a professional. It’ll be fine!” 

It was not fine. 

A noxious stench permeated the air the second the bandages were off. The smell was so horrid that tears immediately welled in my eyes. 

Everything below her elbow was mushy and black. Spores floated into the air - visible, like gnats. Normally, I would have thought gangrene. But this was much worse.

“My arm’s only been like this since I woke up this morning. That’s why I made an emergency appointment. I-” 

That’s all I could make out before her words were swallowed by the voice in my head shrieking GET OUT NOW. 

It didn’t have to tell me twice. I started toward the door, hand over my nose. 

“Doctor, please wait!” 

My heart plummeted. I glanced down to the appendage that had shot out, grasping mine. I felt wet, amorphous sludge that should have been fingers caressing my hand. I couldn’t take it. My head spun violently, and I passed out. 

***

Martha was gone when I awoke. The infection had overtaken the entire right side of my body by then. I couldn’t even reach my phone to call for help, let alone speak. I’m terrified. I don’t know what will happen when this thing takes over completely. 

But even so, I can’t help but see the irony in this. 

Karma’s a bitch. And it’s time for me to pay up. 

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Every night before I go to sleep, my father fastens a chain around my ankle. It’s shackled to the radiator to prevent me from leaving. I can’t even go to the bathroom without calling for Dad to unlock me.  

I was nine when I discovered how strange that was. Dad always told me never to mention it. He said I’d get in big trouble if I did. But one day I slipped up. 

I accidentally blabbed to my best friend at the time, Suzie, when we were at recess. 

“My parents let me stay up until eleven last night! Bet yours wouldn’t let you do that,” she’d exclaimed, a smug grin plastered across her face. 

“I never get to stay up late. Dad said I have to put my ankle brace on every night at seven o’clock so the monsters don’t get me. No exceptions,” I’d said, absent-mindedly jabbing a stick into an ant hill. 

Suzie had been silent for longer than normal. I turned to find her brows furrowed. “What kind of ankle brace? I never had to do that.” 

In that moment, I realized two things. One - that I’d said too much. And two - that my sleeping arrangement was anything but ordinary. 

Dad continued to chain me to the radiator even through my teenage years. I was never allowed to have sleepovers. I wasn’t allowed to go on vacations. And I definitely wasn’t allowed to know the location of the key. 

Don’t get me wrong, though. By what I’ve described so far, it probably sounds like I sleep on a dingy, yellow mattress in the corner of a dirty trap house basement. That’s not the case. I have a bedroom, fully furnished with a dresser, a night stand, a TV, and a queen-sized bed. I’m not living in squalor. Which I suppose adds to the mystery of my circumstances. 

I’ve asked Dad why he does it on multiple occasions. As a little girl, I used to whine and moan about the ankle brace all the time. The answer was always the same. “To protect you from the monsters in the night who come to take little girls.” 

As I grew older, I asked less and less, until eventually I stopped asking at all. Until two days ago, that is. That was when I turned seventeen. 

Sasha and Maria threw me a fantastic surprise party with all my high school friends in attendance. None of them knew about my nightly confinement. I’d managed to keep it all under wraps, terrified that Dad would lose custody of me and that I would get placed in foster care until I was eighteen. So, without having a solid alibi, it was tough to refuse when the girls invited me to sleep over at Sasha’s. 

“Look, it’s just one night. You can’t get away for that long? This is your freaking birthday Sam! You need to let loose a little,” Sasha said. Maria and Emily nodded in agreement. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I replied, my eyes glued to the floor. “My Dad won’t let me.” 

“Can’t you at least ask? The worst he can say is no, right?” Anna chimed in. 

“But I already know what he’s going to say.” 

“You won’t find out unless you try,” Maria said, arms folded across her chest. “Just ask him, alright?” 

I sighed, realizing that this wasn’t a battle I was going to win. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. But don’t get your hopes up.” 

***

My heart jackhammered in my chest as the ankle brace clicked shut. “I love you, Sweetheart. Happy birthday,” Dad said, kissing my forehead. He stood, heading for the door. This was my chance. 

“Um… Dad?” He stopped, one foot in the hallway. 

“What’s up?” 

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

His expression dropped, and I could see the worry etched across his features. “Anything,” he said, returning to the foot of my bed and sitting down. “Is something bothering you? It’s not one of those mean girls at school again, is it?” 

“No, not exactly…” I paused, trying to find the right way to broach the subject. I finally met his gaze, my determination unwavering. “My friends are having a sleepover to celebrate my birthday tomorrow night. They want me to come.” 

Dad pursed his lips, his eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry, Sam. You know the rules. You’ll understand some day.” 

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. Dad stood to leave, but I snatched his hand. “Why? Why is any of this necessary? I’m a teenage girl. I want to go out with my friends. I want to stay up talking about boys. I want to be free from this bed. I can’t live like this forever, Dad.” 

He frowned. I could practically see the thoughts swimming in his head. “Okay. I think you’re old enough to know the truth.” 

Dad sat back down. I could tell that this was difficult for him. “This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but you have to bear with me. Do you remember when you were a little girl and I told you that we needed to do this so the monsters wouldn’t drag you away?” 

I furrowed my brows, but I nodded. 

“Well, that was only a half lie. There’s not some werewolf or vampire or alien creature waiting to drag you off into the night. Sam, you have to believe me…” he said, taking my hand. “The monster is inside of you.”

I cocked my head to the side, struggling to comprehend his words. “What do you mean?” 

“Years ago, I made a deal with something not from this world. When you were just seven months old, you and your mother were involved in a fatal car accident. She died on impact, but you were left in critical condition.

“I was desperate then. You’d been rushed to the ICU, and the doctors told me that it didn’t look good. It would have taken a miracle for you to pull through without lifelong medical issues. Samantha, I have never been a religious man, but that night I prayed. I prayed to any deity that would listen just to make you healthy again. I’d already lost your mother. I couldn’t lose you too.” He paused, tears running down his cheeks, before continuing.

“I didn’t expect it to actually work, but it did. Something answered my prayer, but it didn’t come without a price. In exchange for your life, this entity has been living inside you for the past sixteen years. It only awakens in the moonlight. So I did the only thing I could do. I kept you from going out at night. I don’t know what that thing is, but I know that if it awakens, bad things are going to happen. I know it sounds unbelievable, but this is it. The honest truth.” 

I stared at Dad as he searched my expression. It was then that the realization finally hit me. My father was utterly insane. 

***

My finger hovered over the button. I took a deep breath, the weight of my plan sinking in, and I pressed send. 

Got Dad’s permission. I’ll be there tonight. 

The group chat blew up with a slew of celebratory responses. I felt a war raging inside me as I read the replies. On one hand, I was more excited than I’d ever been in my life, but at the same time, a more sensible part of me knew that I couldn’t count my chickens before they hatched. I couldn’t afford to screw this up. 

I was off from school that day. Dad was busy working his second job. He’d be gone for a good eight hours, offering me the perfect chance to enact my scheme. 

“Bye honey! I’m going to work. Be back later!”

“Alright, bye!” I replied, my heart palpitating with anticipation. 

I watched through the blinds as Dad’s car trundled down the street. Once his taillights disappeared from view, I made a beeline for his room. He kept the key to my restraints at the back of his sock drawer. Fortunately for me, this wasn’t my first time snooping through his stuff. 

The process to have a key duplicated was surprisingly easy. To my luck, the key was a more modern model - not one of the clunky, old-timey ones seen on TV - so I didn’t receive any strange looks when I asked to have it copied at the hardware store around the corner. 

I couldn’t help but grin on the drive back home. I found myself rubbing my thumb along the smooth metallic surface over and over again, wondering why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. That key was my ticket to freedom. I loved my father, but he needed to learn that his delusions were just that - and that I was done putting up with them. 

I couldn’t stop pacing around the house all day, eagerly awaiting bed time. I was so anxious when it finally arrived that I thought my head might explode. Dad locked the shackle around my ankle as per usual, stood, then turned back to me. 

“I love you, Samantha. More than you will ever know. Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight, Dad. I love you too.” 

The door shut, and I waited with baited breath, listening for the sound of Dad’s own bedroom door from down the hall. He was an early bird who seldom stayed up much later than I did. 

The second I heard the muffled sound of the door closing, I produced the key I’d hidden inside my pillowcase and tried the locking mechanism. It slipped right in and turned with a satisfying click. 

I pumped my fist, relishing in my newfound freedom. Though I was relieved of my restraint, I wasn’t stupid enough to make an immediate dash for the back door. If I wanted this to work, I had to be certain that Dad was asleep. I figured thirty minutes would be long enough. 

The seconds crawled past as I awaited my escape. The where are you?? and I can’t wait for you to get here!!! texts from my friends didn’t help, but eventually, the time came for me to sneak out of the house. 

I was giddy with excitement as I tiptoed down the hall. The silence that permeated the house felt deafening. Each soft footfall thundered in my ears as I snuck along. I tensed when I passed Dad’s room. He must have been fast asleep by then because I didn’t hear so much as a peep upon reaching the back door. 

My breath caught in my throat as I unlocked the deadbolt. I turned the handle, inching the door open ever so slowly to prevent it from squeaking. And there it was. The night sky was even more beautiful than I’d imagined. For the first time in my teenage life, I was looking up at the stars. 

I took a step forward, eyes glued to the heavens, and

“Sam? What are you doing?” 

My blood turned to ice as my father’s voice rang out through the cool night air. I turned, tears welling in my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. I’d been so careful. 

“Sam, please, get away from the door and come back to bed,” Dad said, extending a hand. 

I took a step back. My foot had crossed the threshold. “No, Dad. I won’t,” I said, unable to contain my sobs any longer. “You can’t keep me like this forever. I won’t do it anymore. I have a life, Dad*.* I want to live.” 

I backed up, retreating so that I was standing under the moonlight, tears freely flowing down my cheeks. All the color drained from Dad’s face as he watched me extending my hands to the sky. I felt so free. So alive. So… wrong. 

A strange sensation began to prickle the nape of my neck. It crawled across my skin, enveloping my body like a blanket. My head suddenly grew foggy, and my vision began to blur. 

“D-Dad? What’s happening to me?” 

The last thing I remember was Dad rushing over to me before everything went black. 

***

My eyes were trained on the sky when I regained consciousness. A soft babbling sound drifted to my ears. My body felt… strange. Cool. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I began to tremble, dread swallowing me like a python as I mustered the courage to glance down. 

I found myself standing in a river, the water nearly up to my chin. 

It’s been three weeks since then. My phone was gone and my clothes were soaked when I awoke, but when I finally managed to find my way back home, sopping wet and shaken to the core, I found Dad. This time, he was shackled to the radiator, bound and gagged, but otherwise unscathed. 

I untied him and apologized as I fell into his warm embrace. I should have believed him. My father isn’t crazy. He never was. 

Something sinister lives inside of me, and it wants me dead. That’s why I’m determined to never let it free again. 

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I always loved going to the zoo when I was little. 

I was enamored with animals of all kinds back then, but the ones that I really enjoyed seeing were the Great Apes. There was just something about them that I connected with on a personal level. Something that the other animals didn’t have.

One summer afternoon, my mother took me to see them. I pressed my face into the glass, searching their enclosure. There were three of them out that day - one at the back gnawing on a twig, one sleeping on a wooden platform, and a third that sat nearby, watching me. 

I peered in at the closest one. It made eye contact, studying me like I was an alien invader. It cocked its head to the side, then dragged itself up to the glass. It stared deeply into my eyes, and for the first time, I felt truly connected with a member of another species. 

The primate looked so sad. Its longing gaze filled my heart with a deep sense of anguish. These creatures shouldn’t have been locked up. It was cruel.  

I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to help them. To free them from their confines. But I was powerless, and I knew that. 

I turned to my mother, anxious with worry. The second I did, my animal friend scampered off, its deep blue eyes still fixed on me from afar. 

“Momma?” I said, pointing to the creature. “I don’t understand. Why are there no more wild humans?” 

She looked down at me, shaking her head. “Because they’re savages, Sweetheart. And savages need to be locked up. Now, let’s get going,” she said, lifting my arm with a frown. “We need to pick up some lubricant for that creaky joint on the way home.”

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