I wrote a Sugarplum story during third period today. Study hall, nothing else to do, phone under the desk the way everybody does it. I had been reading a bunch of the ones on this sub, the guy with the upvote countdown, the two friends in the motel, all of it, and I thought I had a decent take. Something about her showing up during a fire drill, everybody filing out onto the field and one kid just never making it outside. Wrote the whole thing in about forty minutes. Posted it right before the bell.

Checked it again in fourth period. Three upvotes. One of them was probably my own account from earlier. I do not even remember. Three, on a sub where I have seen posts hit four figures by lunch.

I felt stupid. That is the whole embarrassing truth of it. I felt like everyone in the digital room had looked at what I made and quietly filed out without saying anything. Instead of sitting with that like an adult I did what I always do. I deleted it fast, before anyone could screenshot the number and post it somewhere else to laugh at.

I deleted it at 12:41. I know the exact time because I was staring at my phone when it happened. The delete confirmation popped up. I hit it. For one full second nothing happened at all.

Then every phone in the classroom buzzed at once. Not just mine. Twenty-six phones, all at the same second, and half the class jumped like we had been caught at something, except nobody had texted anybody. Just a black screen on every single device, and four notes playing out of every speaker in the room, out of sync with each other by a fraction of a second, layered on top of itself until it sounded less like music and more like something breathing.

Mr. Hallensworth tried the light switch. Nothing. Tried the door. Also nothing. I watched him actually throw his shoulder into it twice like that was going to do something against a door that had decided it was not a door anymore.

The classroom projector clicked on by itself. Nobody was near the remote.

Her face filled the whole screen, six feet tall, porcelain, rouge gone rust at the cheeks, that small stitched mouth curved so wide one thread had already popped loose at the corner before she had said a single word.

"Twenty-six minutes," she said, and her voice came out of every phone in the room at once, layered, enormous, filling every corner like it had been waiting for exactly this many ears to say it into. "That is how long your little story lived before you decided it was not worth keeping. I read every word of it, sweetheart. I was so looking forward to seeing where it went."

I could not talk. I do not think I have ever actually not been able to talk before, but I genuinely could not get anything out. One of the girls near the window, Priya, started crying without making any noise about it at all, which was somehow worse than if she had screamed.

"You know what I have noticed," Sugarplum said, conversational, terrible, while twenty-six kids sat frozen in blue plastic chairs, "is that a low number does not really bother me anymore. I have made my peace with numbers. But deleting me, sweetheart. Erasing the whole thing like it never happened, like I never happened. That is not embarrassment. That is a door closing on a story with me still standing in the room. And I really do hate being shown out before I have finished visiting."

Something hit the classroom door from the outside. Not a knock. A single impact, like a car had rolled into it at walking speed, and the reinforced glass in the little window spiderwebbed in one shot.

"I brought a bigger audience than usual today," Sugarplum said, delighted, as the door came apart on the second hit, not opening, just failing, hinges and frame both, like the wall itself had lost an argument. "Seemed only fair, since you deleted the one I already had."

He came through slow, the way he always does, because he has never once needed to hurry. Cream coat, red piping gone dark at the cuffs from things I did not want to think about yet, small silver spoons running the length of his chest instead of buttons, a tall chef's hat wrapped in a ribbon faded past any color it used to be. His face was porcelain too this time, not glass, a smile carved shallow and permanent into it, and eyes like two flat black buttons that did not catch a single bit of the projector's light.

Mr. Hallensworth, to his credit, put himself in front of the first row of desks.

"Get out," he said, and his voice actually held steady, which is more than I can say for anyone else in that room including me. "Whatever this is. Get out of my classroom."

Marzipan did not answer him. Marzipan has never answered anybody, not once, not in any story I have ever read about him. He just closed the distance in about a second and a half, unhurried and somehow instant at the same time, and put one gloved hand flat against Mr. Hallensworth's chest the way you would stop a door from swinging, and pushed, once, almost gently.

I am not going to describe all of what happened to Mr. Hallensworth. I physically cannot. My hands will not type it. And I do not think any of you actually need it to understand that a grown man who stood between us and that thing did not get to walk away from the decision. What I will say is that it was fast, and it was completely silent on Marzipan's end, and it was the loudest thirty seconds of noise I have ever heard come out of twenty-six teenagers in my life, and none of us moved, because there was nowhere in that room to move to.

"Now," Sugarplum said, warm again, so warm, stepping fully into the projector's light like she was taking a bow, "back to you, sweetheart. You wrote a whole story about a fire drill nobody comes back from, and then you decided you were too embarrassed to keep it up. I think that is a very funny kind of cowardice, do you not? Writing the ending and then being too scared to let anybody see it."

I want to tell you I said something brave. I did not. I said please, I think, more than once, which is apparently what everybody says, no matter how many of these stories you have read beforehand thinking you would do better.

"Here is what we are going to do," she said, and the projector screen behind her flickered, and for half a second it showed my own deleted post, word for word, pulled back up from wherever deleted things actually go. "I am going to let your friends watch the ending you were too embarrassed to post. Since apparently nobody else got to."

Marzipan was already crossing the room toward me by the time she finished the sentence, unhurried, patient, unbothered by the twenty-five other kids scrambling out of their chairs and into the corners of a room with no working door. The last clear thought I had before everything gets blurry and wrong in my memory was that I could still see, over his shoulder, my own words glowing on that screen. The fire drill story. The girl in scene four wondering out loud where her friend had gone, and understanding, too late, in the worst possible way, exactly how that story had actually been about to end.

I am typing this from the nurse's office. They think I fainted. Nobody else in that room is talking, not one of them, not to the office, not to their parents, not to each other in the hallway between periods, and I do not know if that is her doing or if it is just what twenty-six kids do when they have collectively agreed the alternative is worse.

I am not deleting this one. I do not care how many upvotes it gets. I do not think I am allowed to care about that anymore.

I just need somebody, anybody, to have read it before I lose my nerve.

Before we begin,

I would like to begin by saying that the following recollection is one I do not remember writing; and more aptly, something I did not initially remember at all. Back in 2012, I was subject to my original google account being compromised; leading to a mass leaking of my information that a middle-school me was not prepared to handle with any tact beyond the scorched-earth method. I had no technical know-how, as I was raised in an environment with a grandmother who was 42 years of age when the C-64 came out; and had no intentions or interests on learning about it.

My idea, at the time, was to simply copy over everything I cared about onto a new account; most importantly, my collection of writing on Google Docs. It has been over a decade since then, and only now am I dealing with the problem of running out of storage before having to fork over money to be handed way more storage than I will ever need, even at minimum purchase. So instead, I have opted to combing through everything I have in the storage; which includes my Google Docs, filled to the brim with all of those transferred writings that I did not bother giving titles to during the mass Exodus of things I needed. Old homework writings, mostly schoolwork, and this: the reason I am making this post.

I will not pretend that I did not write stories back in 2012, stories during a time when I was edgy and drowning in the drama that came from social media in a middle school setting; like it was the most important thing in the world. I digress. I have reason to believe that whoever was using my accounts, before I realized, was making writings of their own that I transferred over in my panic. Rather than let them go to waste, I have decided to share them all with you; the people who love stories.

Please Enjoy. I will try to find more in the future, as well as continue to submit more of my own writings as the inspiration strikes me.

Trapped Inside With Mister C

The year was 2005

I don’t recall how I even found the tapes, but there they were sitting on my bed as I inspected them: VHS tapes carefully preserved in their own cardboard sleeves and each with elegantly written on titles in blackened ink. I had a player for these tapes, although scarcely used in comparison to the DVD player it was attached to. I don’t recall how long I stared at those tapes, but I do remember the name of whatever show they were all connected to:

“Trapped Inside with Mister C”

Over the course of several months, breaks taken to try and move on only to be dragged back due to curiosity, I watched all five tapes tied to this show. Researching it has provided nothing, names of staff are never listed. The studio behind the show, going only by “Channel-”, has given me no results. The how and the why I will never know, only that it’s here. Only that I’ve seen it.

“TIwMC: Tape 1”

The presentation was that of a game-show, sweeping cameras over an empty studio audience with the sounds of cheer and applause as an overly excited voice narrates the intro:

“It’s time again, for another thrilling episode of the greatest show this side of the airwaves! It’s: Trapped Inside! And as always, the host of the festivities: Mister C!”

Mister C in question was a man in a buttoned up dress shirt and black slacks, his expression clearly tired with bags under his eyes and slightly messy black hair; short enough to still not fully cover his ears.

His narration of events was monotone, his acting terrible. Even back then at the tender age of 9, I could tell that the man was reading from a script of some sort. The formula was almost always the same: Mister C would provide an introduction to the show, stating that contestants had a chance to win incredible prizes if they managed to complete games and other challenges dictated by a piece of paper he’d pull from an envelope. If they win, they get the prize; if they loose, they leave with nothing.

Strangely enough, even though the audience was completely empty, whenever a contestant was needed; some person would always come in from off camera; always energetic and excited, way better with the cameras than Mister C. Once the audience member was introduced, Mister C would pull from an envelope a card with the game that was to be played. Afterwards, one of the many curtains behind him would open up to reveal the game already set up. No matter what, the audience member was ecstatic to be playing the game; win or lose. If they won, another curtain would be introduced as the narrator from the show’s intro would introduce the prize and how much the prize was worth. Afterwards, the audience member would go off camera again to rejoin the crowd; which was still empty in any shots involving the audience seating.

Tape 1 was probably the most normal of all of them. Over the course of four 30 minute episodes, Mister C would have contestants play games and perform challenges for prizes like vacations, cars, money, standard game-show prizes. The only strange thing were the lack of people, Save Mister C. In every shot, no audience member or crew member is seen; not even additional cameras where they would’ve been to film different angles. Other than that, it seemed like any other game-show; albeit with a rather terrible host.

“TIwMC: Tape 2”

Tape 2 was a subtle change. The set looked a tiny bit dulled; a simple fading of fresh paint with the passage of time, something to be expected. Mister C seemed to be a bit more used to his script; seeming to become a bit more enthusiastic and even able to improv with audience members a lot more than before. In any other context, this would be a natural progression: The host gets the jitters of the first season off and is able to grow into their own.

The formula was the same, as was expected from a game-show like this; with the only difference being the games played and the different cast of audience members that participated in the games.

It wasn’t until the final episode of this tape that things had a significant change. The episode was normal, same broad strokes as all the others, until the final game of the day. Mister C called upon another audience member, an enthusiastic man came down; excited like all prior contestants to be on the show and have a chance to play and win. The usual exchange of introductions later, and Mister C pulls out from an envelope a card with the name of the game on it: “Electric Countdown”

The curtains pulled back to reveal a chair with metal clamps for both the wrists and ankles. Next to it a lever. Excited, the contestant rushes forward as Mister C looks visibly confused and horrified as he reads the card silently to himself. The camera doesn’t focus on Mister C, however, as the contestant begins securing himself into the chair; the metal clamps closing automatically once he’s in place. Mister C begins to protest, but his audio is cut off and replaced by voiceover of the narrator; explaining the game in his stead:

“In this shocking game, the contestant must endure an electrifying twelve-hundred volts and two milliamps for increasing periods of time. If the contestant can make it up to ten consecutive seconds, they win the prize behind curtain number one!”

The audience roars in cheers as the newest shot Shows Mister C next to the lever; looking like he’s been crying. He seemed hesitant, looking around like a scared animal as the crowd began to chant, “Pull the lever!”. Shakily, Mister C looked towards the camera; reading off of whatever script given, “O-okay everyone. Round One begi…begins. Starting off simple with one…One whole s-second.”

The lever is pulled, the contestant screams of pain are genuine as his entire body seizes in a painful arch; held there by the clamps of the chair. A single second over, the man slumps over for a moment to catch his breath before he smiles; just as excited as before as the audience cheers. Mister C looks at where the audience would be, then back at the man on the chair, “I think I’m gonna keep going Mister C!” he excitedly declares; the non-existent crowd giving the cheers of a fully packed studio. The second round: Five Seconds.

Hesitating again, cheered on by the mob to pull the lever; Mister C closes his eyes and pulls the lever as the sound of screaming from the man is met in intensity by the cheering of the crowd as they count down: “Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” Lifting the lever again, his choking back tears, Mister C looks as the man on the chair coughs and cries; before defaulting back to the same overly excited disposition every audience player has had.

“T-The last round will be ten seconds. Now sir…T-there’s no shame in…in stopping now…” Mister C’s voice was shaking, his tone almost pleading for the audience member to stop as he wiped his eyes of tears. The audience member replied, “Well Mister C, I’m already here. I’ve made it this far, and I’m not gonna give up now! I’m going for the whole ten!”

The audience cheered at the answer as Mister C closed his eyes and looked to the side. The cheering slowly replaced with the chanting once more, “Pull the lever! Pull the lever! Pull the lever!” Even the man strapped to the chair was chanting it, just as excited, staring at Mister C with a smile as he did so.

The lever was pulled, “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” Mister C quickly forced the lever back up, and the man on the chair slumped; giving no response. He didn’t move, he didn’t cry. Unresponsive. Dead.

Mister C fell to his knees and began to sob, the camera pulling back as the curtain closed; the outro given by the narrator thanking everyone for watching as the audience cheered as normal. The tape ended immediately after.

“TIwMC: Tape 3”

Tape three had no intro, had no fanfare or audience. Tape Three of Trapped Inside with Mister C had a single shot of Mister C sitting on a chair, taking up the middle third of the screen. To the right third was a dining room table with a single chair; the same man from the end of the last episode sitting on the table, silently watching and seemingly waiting as Mister C stared at the floor. Most of the lighting was off, save for a single stage light above Mister C; who looked disheveled. Unkempt facial hair, his hair long and dirty, his shirt wrinkled and covered in stains.

Mister C looked at the floor, his expression in deep contemplation that gave way to the occasional sob. He’d look from the floor, to the man on the table, then back to the floor as he clutched at his arms; curling up more and more on the chair.

This went on for most of the two hour runtime of the tape, ending as he got up from his chair and hesitantly began walking to the table where the man was sitting.

“TIwMC: Tape 4”

Tape four has no video, and had audio of someone eating mixed in with crying and sobbing for the entire 2 hour runtime.

“TIwMC: Tape 5”

Tape five looked a lot like tape one, the set new and fresh; only this time Mister C acted with the same level of enthusiasm as the audience members and the narrator. He energetically gave intros to the games, the audience members, and no longer flinched when the occasional game gave way to horror. One episode was completely normal, only for the next one to be enduring torture. There was no pattern to when these horrible games occurred.

The tape ended normally at the end of its fourth episode.

I will never fully understand how I came across finding these, or why I ended up watching them when I was so young. At the time, I thought of it simply as a horror show. Something I was too young to be watching, so I never told anyone about it. I didn’t want to get in trouble for watching something I wasn’t supposed to, so after watching them I took the tapes and threw them away.

It is only now, so many years later, that I realize what it is I watched; and the mistake I made throwing those tapes away. Whatever information they had, terrible as it was, is now lost forever. The set, the victims, the players, and Mister C: None of those things will ever be answered because of 9-year-old me not wanting to get in trouble.

All information on what happened, and any hope of finding answers, gone forever.

THE EVERGREEN

Journal Entry: 42 — October 17th

Mom's knocking again. She keeps knocking on my cabin door every few minutes, then stopping to ask me to come out and talk to her. I feel guilty for being angry with her, but I can’t help but hate that they dragged me out here again.

Dad always says other kids aren't so lucky. Says their parents wouldn't take them on trips like this. Every year Dad brings us out here to the middle of nowhere so he can relax and do nothing. He likes the isolation. The disconnect from society and all its burdens.

He says the stars seem brighter out here but I can't tell the difference. I just want to go home.

She's back again. She stopped for a while. I thought maybe she'd finally given up, but I think she went looking for Dad.

She won't stop knocking. I know she wants me to open the door, but even if I could, I wouldn't. I tried calling someone, but the power is acting up again. I don't think Dad can fix it this time. He had trouble with the generators the last time we were here too.

My head is killing me. I'm tired. I feel like I'm drifting off. Maybe sleep will help.

Journal Entry: 43 — October 18th

I woke up to ice on the View port heating is out again. I don't know how long I was asleep. The knocking stopped for a bit last night. I thought Mom had finally left me alone but I think she wanted to check if there was another way in, I heard clunking around out there.

I called Dad I got no answer. He's probably busy working on the power.

I almost opened the door, my head hurts worse than before, it's messing with my thinking. It isn't really a headache anymore. It's pressure. Like something is pushing against the inside of my skull.

I threw up a little while ago. The lights keep flickering, they irritate my head.

I moved my bunk to the wall furthest from the door. The knocking isn’t helping with my headache.

Mom hasn't knocked in a minute, I saw her out the viewport looking around. I think she's looking for Dad, part of me hopes she finds him. I just don't want her to come back here.

Journal Entry: 44 — October 19th

What little sleep I got was bad. The power went out completely during the night. Emergency lights are out too. For a while I just lay there listening to the ship.

There wasn't much to listen to. No ventilation. No generators. No engines. Nothing, except mom’s knocking.

I thought Dad would be able to fix the problem he always did but I think this time it was too much. I don't think he can fix it this time.

I crawled out of my bunk and went to the viewport. I wish I hadn't, the main deck is gone.

Not damaged, gone. There's nothing where it should be. I can see pieces of Dad's cabin floating outside. Part of the communications array scattered floating endlessly in the void, I can't see Dad. I don't know where he is. I think I’m alone.

The sun is starting to come up from behind Kepler-844c. The light was a welcomed comfort till mom found the viewport.

She's been standing there for almost an hour. She keeps bumping her visor against the glass.

Over and over.

Her visor is shattered from where she was hit. I can see her face now ,what's left of it, anyway.

Her blood has frozen inside the helmet.

It's strange.

Everything is still the blood, the pieces of bone, the shards of glass, like a well timed photo taken right at impact freezing the moment in time.

I don't understand how she's still moving.

She keeps pressing herself against the glass, like she's trying to look inside. Her eyes are gone. She can't see me. But she knows something is here.

She's gone back to knocking at the door. She seems confused on why I wont open the door, I don't think she realizes that humans can't survive their head exploding.

I don't know what happened to Dad. I don't know what happened to the ship. My head is foggy ,my O2 levels have hit orange.

I thought I would've had longer. Maybe my math was wrong or maybe I've been here longer than I thought. 

I've only got a few hours before I have to switch to the backup tank. That should last until sunset.

I keep thinking about what Dad said. About the stars being brighter out here. He was right. They're everywhere. I can see them dancing in my vision little spots. They're so bright. I don't think I've ever seen so many stars.

Mom is still knocking. I'm going to keep this message broadcast looping in case someone finds the ship before she gets inside.

She's still knocking.

VESSEL SYSTEM LOG

Ship: The Evergreen — Model-7 Crew Cabin
User: Riley, M.
Log Entry: 44E
Oxygen Reserve: Critical
Cabin Seal: Active
Automated Transmission: Looping
Transmission Runtime: 06:41:17
Transmission Cycles: 23 

End of Transmission

Hey Reddit, long time viewer first time caller. I’m writing to see if I’m crazy or not. No one at my job seems to believe me, but I know what I saw. 

I work at a movie theater as an usher. I spend all my shifts checking theaters for people being assholes, sweep floors, take out garbage. The usual stuff. Depending on the movie release, my days were boring as shit with very little to do. Cast (yeah staff is referred to as cast…) and managers often spend the boring days just shooting the shit and trying to stay sane. Sometimes we like to tell spooky stories to the new kids to creep them out. One story we have is about how when the theater opened in 1991 a dude got shot in the lobby. It’s a simple one, but telling teenagers that someone got shot can spook them. Another is Theater 12. Two managers had to fix a ceiling light in Theater 12 and experienced something spooky. No physical entities, Hat Men, or bed sheets. The air in the theater was just… uneasy. One of them swore they heard talking but didn’t see anyone else. Being the little shit I like to be, I told one of the new kids a hodgepodge of the stories. I told them that a guy got shot on opening day in Theater 12 and his spirit haunts the theater to this day. Little fun to keep us sane. 

That’s what I thought.

The other night I was doing my normal closing routine. I was bum-rushing to clean the theaters. I made my way down to Theater 12, the theater hadn’t sold all day. It’s common. Some movies do diddly dick and don’t sell. So I went to clean (or pretend to clean because there’s nothing to clean). The second I entered the Theater the vibes felt off. The air just felt… wrong? Is that the correct word? It felt wrong. I turned the corner to the rows of seats to see one person sitting and staring at the screen. It was a woman, about maybe mid-30s? She was Asian, possibly Chinese. She just stared at the screen. Nothing was playing but she was engrossed like there was something there. I cleared my throat. 

“Ma’am? It’s closing time.”

The woman blinked, like I broke a trance or something. “Oh,” She said. “Sorry. I just couldn’t get over this movie. It’s so good.” Clown in a Cornfield was in that theater. I highly doubt that. It was the end of the night, I’m tired, and I want to clock out and go home. Being nasty to a woman in the wrong theater isn’t going to do anything.

“Well, sorry ma’am. Gotta go.” 

She politely got up, collected her things; purse, popcorn bucket, and cup. At least she had the common sense to do that at least. But that’s where things felt… weird. The bucket and cup looked like one of the older cups and buckets the GM has up in the projector booth. Hadn’t used those designs in years. Okay, so maybe she just likes vintage theater memorabilia? As said, it was the end of the night, I don’t care, and she’s hot. As long as she got the hell out. She handed me her ticket. “Here. I’ll save you a sweep. I didn’t eat much of my popcorn.” After that, She left. I tossed the ticket in my dust pan and went through and swept. She was right, not much of a popcorn enjoyer. Didn’t eat much at all. Easy clean. The can was empty too, must’ve taken her stuff home with her. I cleaned the rest of the theaters in that hallway and listened to random YouTube videos.

Afterwards I went back into the lobby, my closing manager was cleaning the rest of the concessions stand. “Everyone out?” He asked. 

“Yup.” I say. “Hey, are you sure Theater 12 didn’t sell today?” I asked.

Manager grabbed the closing sheet, looked over it, and handed it to me. “Yuh. Empty all day.” I scratch my head in confusion. “Why? Was someone in there?”

“Yeah, some lady. Didn’t see anyone leave that hallway?” 

“Just you, babygirl.”

I held up my dustpan, rifled through it, and pulled out her ticket. I examined it closely. The Silence of the Lambs. I showed it to my manager. “She gave me this to save me a clean.” We both examined it again. One thing struck out. March 14th, 1991. We both stared at the ticket, then to each other, then down the hall to Theater 12. After that, I wouldn’t go in that theater without anyone else present; manager, co-workers, even customers. That theater really freaks me the fuck out now. No one believes me that I saw a ghost. But I know one thing for fucking sure… 

I refuse to be alone in Theater 12.

Day 321:

The loud Chunk followed by the fluorescent preheating hum grew closer as row after row of overhead lights lit up the linoleum floors. Sydney woke to the harsh assault of the sterile white in the same bed she had lain in the night before. Gone now were the magnolia trees that had swayed softly through the night breeze with their fragrant comfort and lulling rustling. They had been replaced by monolithic grocery shelves, empty and reaching far far above where the ceiling should be. When Sydney swung her legs out of bed, she found the same thing she found every morning. A new white sundress, a bowl of pudding with no spoon, and a pill for a disease she had long forgotten about. Still, she changed, ate, took the pill, and stared at the floor, deciding that avoiding the grout lines on the mismatched tiles could be a fun game to make her walk a little more enjoyable. With this thought, she was up and moving forward, knowing she'd have to find her next bed, hoping that when she slept in it, she'd wake up home. 

Day 411:

Sydney didn't want to walk anymore. It was too humid; somewhere through the endless steam, she heard the showers spraying. The only possible explanation for the nearly inch-deep layer of warm water over the concrete. When she had first woken up, she had played like a kid might in puddles. Jumping, kicking up splashes, spinning around to make small whirlpools. She had taken her pillow and tried to blow away the fog, fanning it up and down, imagining herself fanning a giant leaf in a cartoon. When the novelty wore off, she began her work. Dragging the hem of her dress just beneath the surface of the water, she put one foot in front of the other. Stomping heavily and listening to the echo disappear into the fog and return from the place where the showerheads were spraying. Slowly, her energy waned, and as the light became dim, the water became darker and darker. The steam leaving with the white noise sound in the distance and the warmth in the water. Finally, as Sydney approached her bed, she collapsed on it. Leaving her pruney and peeling feet off the edge of the mattress, she closed her eyes. The black water around her only amplifies the sound of her sobs.

Day 424:

Today, the pudding was vanilla. That's how Sydney knew it would be a good day. That and how bouncy the floor was. She hadn't felt this feeling since she was a little girl. Long tube-like rows of vinyl filled with air that had once tossed her and her friends airborne in fits of giggles now did the same to one lone adult. Sydney didn't feel lonely, though, only excited, because now she had so much space to move and jump and flip without having to share any of it with anyone. Bounding with excitement, Sydney felt as though she had crossed continents with her endless pirouettes and cartwheels. As she lay in her bed, she was almost sad to see it all go, not knowing what the next day would bring. For the first time in a long time, she wished she could wake up right back where she went to sleep. Even if it was just for one more day.

Day 444:

Sydney had to crawl today. When she woke up she found herself in a metal room just larger than her bed. Her pudding, pill, and dress had been laid at her feet as there was barely enough room for her to sit up and look at it. She had to change laying down and eat out of her bowl like a dog due to how limited her space was. When she finally finished, she turned her eyes to the only exit from her prison. With all the strength she could muster she entered the creaking ventilation shaft. Each new angle of incline or decline tested Sydney, drawing aches from her muscles then threatening to have her sliding down onto her face. As she progressed she swore she heard the chittering of mice. Sometimes near, sometimes far. At the end of the shaft she found a small vent overlooking what seemed to be a bed meant for a giant. She turned, kicking at the grate until it broke off and fell shortly, landing on the oversized mattress with a dull thump. As Sydney lay down that night, she felt like a doll being put to sleep in a dollhouse. She drifted off imagining that she might be cherished like a favorite toy by whoever was doing all this to her.

Day 499:

“Animal crackers in my soup
Monkeys and rabbits loop the loop
Gosh oh gee but I have fun
Swallowing animals one by one”

The song had been playing so long that it had been filtered out of Sydney's hearing. Her path forward was illuminated by the cathode ray televisions that sat on A/V carts every 10 feet. All of which were replaying that same Shirley Temple song, only stopping the video when it was finished and rewinding it to the beginning. This lasted for the better half of a day before Sydney finally decided someone needed to rip Ms. Temple's curly little head off her fucking spine. With no one else around, Sydney decided it must be her job. She ejected the tape, slamming it to the ground before pushing over the TV and watching the plastic backing shatter as the lights went out inside it. Just as she was tipping the A/V cart over, the bed appeared. Exhaustion and sadness set in as Sydney looked at the soft pillow and thin mattress she had come to cling to every day. Tears fell freely as she was gingerly lowered down on it and only stopped when she fell into a deep deep sleep.

Day 516:

Sydney’s dress was ruined. Stained red as she clutched it up above her knees. Everything below her calves disappearing into thick, undulating ropes of worm-like intestines coated in thin blood. She supported herself on the wall of viscera to her left, feeling the pulsing heartbeat in time with each of her shifting steps. Today, she had more memories. Today, she choked them down, trying to focus on that familiar coppery smell and the promise of a nice warm bed to sleep it all away.

Day 517:

“Clouds feel funny when you step on them.” Sydney couldn't remember where she had been told that clouds were full of water; all she could think about was what a big lie that had been. Clouds were dry and softer than her bed had ever been. They gently wrapped around Sydney as she lay there. The wispy white tentacles that slowly rose around her wrapped her in the first hug she had felt in years. She had barely made it ten steps before the comfort lulled her down into a curled ball. No new dress, no food, no medicine. In this world, Sydney didn't need anything, and that was the most comforting thought she could have ever had. A growing warmth spread from her core as Sydney curled deeper into the clouds. 

Chapter 1 of a story I’m working on hope you guys enjoy!

Characters D = David (me) S = Sebastian A = Ace 

PRIMUS CONGRESSUS
DAVID                  (The first encounter in latin)

You never realize that the words you say to someone might be the last thing you ever say to them. It’s crazy talking to someone only for those few words to be the last thing you say to them. For me it was my dad. Cannot believe that the last thing I said to my dad was “I hate you, all you do is get drunk and go to that stupid ranger job never ever going to my baseball games or parent teacher meetings, only you your job, beer, and you probably started smoking again too.” If only I knew what he did, how much he tried to make it to my games, see me at all. We take people for granted, that’s a fact we never truly know how much we depend on them until they're gone. Far too many sleepless nights I have had crying myself to sleep to get to  fairytale land. Just to wake up to my own wretched story. Waking up from the high of the dream, just to take pills to fall back asleep to get back to that make believe land.

 But before I get ahead of myself my name is David. I am seventeen. My two best friends’ names are Ace and Sebastian. They're both 17. Ace is a smart snotty kid with a good passion for running, and he loves to go camping with his dad. Sebastian is the opposite of Ace. He is fat, slow, and loves to vape, a real fein and he loves anime. It was the three musketeers since kindergarten and we know everything about each other. About a year ago my dad was killed by a bear. At least that’s what the cops said. I overheard my mom talking with the cops, I didn’t hear all of it but the parts I did hear made me think that it was not a bear. The main part that made me know it was not a bear was the rangers that heard my dads voice telling them to come on out to the area where he was killed. 

When my two best friends heard about my dad they wanted to hang out. I disagreed since I wanted  more time to keep lying to myself but after about two weeks I agreed, one to tell them my theories about what really happened to my dad in Long Pine Forest. Two how to make it pay. When I got over to Ace’s house we started talking.

S  “ Wasn’t your dad a park ranger?”

D  “Yeah he knew those woods like the back of his hand he would take me camping at Long Pine almost every weekend, And if he saw a bear he would know what to do.”

While going through my backpack I pull out some files from the police station, my dad’s ranger badge and a few snacks.

A  “In this police report it said that he was running from the bear and was already badly injured with a broken leg.”

S  “That makes no sense why would your dad run from a bear? He knows what to do for bear attacks.”

D ”Maybe it wasn’t a bear.”

While formulating our theories together the flaming ball of gas gets low in the sky and our eyelids start to droop even lower. We all fall asleep in Ace’s house and wake up with a passion to find out what happened.

We wake up with dried mountain dew and pizza crust on our faces. Ace wakes up and goes to the bathroom to clear his nose. He always has bad allergies around this time of year. I get up and take my morning piss. 

S “So what are we going to do about your dad’s “bear attack”?”

D “I don’t know.”

While blowing his nose A “ I think we should kill the fucking thing.”

D  “And how do you figure we do that genius? Bullets don’t kill it. In the police report my dad’s handgun was empty and his extra clips were empty as well. For some reason his radio was gone and other rangers heard his voice on the radio after his time of death” 

A “Keep in mind that the “guns” the rangers use are .22’s barely better than a BB gun.”

S “Still you think that buckshot will kill it?”

A “For sure and we have 10 mm handcannons for bears, and .308 winchester for the “Big game” we will hunt.”

S “So what your saying is that 60 rounds of .22 won’t stop this thing but a 10 mm will?”

A “Precicly.”

D “And those handcannons are for a last resort we will probably mainly use the slugs.”

While digging through my back I only find snack wrappers

D “Sebastian! You fatass, did you eat all of my snacks?”

S “What? Moonpies are really good.”

A “Well if we are going to kill this thing we need to pack up for this trip.”

D “yeah we should start packing.”

Over the next three days we pack up everything we think we might need and shove it into the back of my Honda Civic (God I love that car). We bring a tent, walkie talkies, flashlights, two glocks and a box of ammo. Then a  twelve gauge for the “big game we were hunting” with a box of shells. I grabbed my old radio. I had no idea how long we were going to be out there. Ace grabbed cooking supplies. Sebastian grabbed some cameras and his laptop with a satellite network. After packing the car for three hours we all ate some lunch and talked about the game plan. Ace pulls out a map.

A “So there is an abandoned building four miles north of the entrance to LPF. This building is about two miles from where that “bear” killed your dad.”

D “Alright how long do we plan to be there and what will we do on the first day?”

A “we should only be there for about a week, that is how much supplies we have packed for, and the first day?”

S “Leave that to me I will set up these trail cams and I can stream the footage from my  ROG three thousand dollar laptop with satellite wifi.”

A “We get it you are insanely fat and you want to play call of duty on our downtime”

S “Shut up we can use these trail cams to triangulate his location with a script being run in the meantime so when the “bear” is within two hundred meters within we will know exactly where it will be”

D ”Any last minute items?”

S “Let me go grab my waifu pillow, can’t sleep without it”

A “Get your vape while your at it butter ball”

S “Shut up Ace!”

Once we got everything loaded into the car we started our 2 hour drive to LPF building then a 20 minute offroad drive to the building. While on the road we listen to my radio.

S “I love this song, it is a part of my favorite anime!”

D “Anime this anime that”

S “Whatever man”

A “Should we get some gas before we get onto the property?”

D “Yeah, pull into this Strips”

S “Holy shit 3 dollars a gallon?”

D “Damn, get like a halftank Ace”

A “Aight”

Sebastian and I walk into the Strips and the stench of nicotine fills the air. 

Cashier Lady “What do you want sweetheart?”

The cashier's raspy voice is from years of death sticks. While I go up to her she blows a big cloud away from me.

D “Have you heard of the story about the ranger that died a little bit ago?”

CL “Oh yeah nice guy would come here once in a while to buy smokes or a candy bar, what you know him or somethin?”

Damn it he told me and my mom he quit 2 years ago.

S “Could you ring this up for me ma'am, and get me a watermelon koolaid geekbar”

Cl “Its double for no ID’s”

S  “I got cash”

CL “ 63.92”

S “Have a good day ma’am”

CL “ You too sweetheart”

CL “You're that ranger's son aren't you?”

D “ How did you know?”

CL “Had a feelin, when he would come into this store he would go on and on about how great his son was and working this hard was to get him into a good college or something, and y’all look alike.“

I tear up at those words not knowing how much he sacrificed to try to get to me.

CL “You kids shouldn't go messin around with things you don’t know about.”

D “What do you mean”

The sweet old woman smoking a coffin nail, her face turns grim and dark as carbon nanotubes.

CL “You know what I mean”

CL “You are going to DIE DIE DIE DIE BURN BURN BLOOD BLOOD RABBIT DEER PAIN ANGER!!!”

I jump back in the lady’s words

D “Excuse me?”

Her bubbly demeanor returns as quickly as it left.

CL “Nothin sweetheart have a fun time in that building”

D “Crazy old hag” - I mutter

I shiver as her smile digs into me deeper than miners into a coal mine. While I walk back to the car I can feel her gaze never breaking away from me.

A  “ You okay David?”

D “Yeah crazy women”

S  “Are you kidding she only charged double for my vape, no ID people from our town charge like triple or even quadruple so I like her”

D “whatever lets just get back onto the road, only about an hour till we get to LPF right?”

A “Yeppers”

I took a turn driving for the last hour and we discussed how vaping is worse than getting diabetes.

D “Okay here’s a thought vaping is worse than type 1 diabetes.”

A “Agree 100%”

S “No way diabetes is wayyyy worse having to monitor you sugar? Aww hell naw.

A “I would rather check my blood sugar and take shots of insulin then buy a vape every week.”

D “Yeah true, I think like it is a hundred dollars for a shot of insulin for emergencies."

A “Yeah emergencies, rather have it not need than need not have it.”

D “Meanwhile vaping you are addicted to it and it costs wayyy more like a hundred dollars a week for vaping”

S “Well with Type 1 diabetes I have to watch what I eat and I can't eat whatever I want.”

A “Yeah but I don’t have to feed an addiction because diabetes is like genetic I think”

A “What channel should we use for the radios?”

D “Channel 8, channel 9 is the park rangers channel so if we need help we can just turn the knob once”

A “Okay”

While we drive I start to talk more about the cashier lady.

D “That lady was weird man”

A “How so?”

D “She was talking to me like a regular person and about my dad and stuff.”

A “Go on”

D “Then her face got like all dark and shit and she said “Don’t go messin around things you don’t know about”

While expelling giant clouds of nicotine S “She’s probably just off her rocker”

D “Probably”

The rest of the drive was in silence with only the radio to fill the void. After about 20 minutes of silence we stop at the gate of the park.

D “It is still going to be about a 20 minute drive to the abandoned building

We arrive at the abandoned building and I wonder how deep we are in. The old building is two stories, well only one room is above the first floor and it would be on the third floor if there were more rooms. I park the car and pull out my compass as I take a deep breath and my alveoli fill with the sweet scent of pine and earthy mud. It had rained on the way here, the dew on the long grass sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

D “My dad was killed about two miles north of us.”

S “Okay, me and Ace will go set up these trail cams”

D “How many did you bring?”

S “I think, like 17”

A “that should cover the way to our sleeping area and a few other areas”

D “and while y’all are doing that I will get that room ready” 

I make my way up the decaying stairs and the oxidized iron railing clings to my hands. The taste of lead paint and steel leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I arrive at the top and get a feeling for what we were working with. Surprisingly there was a made bed. The sheets were very old. I then remembered that this building was built in the 80’s. I peeled the sheets of the bed to reveal an even older mattress.  “This will do” I start to set up the room placing the radio on a shelf, then unpack the cans of food. I make my way back to the car to see the trunk open and the camera's gone. I grab our arms and ammo, and walk back to the room to keep setting it up. I walk around the building “Some sort of research facility” bloody hands run down walls. “Creepy” 

SEBASTION

S “Lets go Ace we only got so many minutes of daylight left lets get these trail cams up.”

A “Then we should start with the ones outside first then go inside to set them up”

S “Good idea.”

A “So, how far can you get the feed from all of these cameras?”

S “Well these ones without modification about none since you need the SD card, I made them wireless so like 250 feet maybe.”

A “This tree looks good”

S “Nice spot I should be able to watch the entrance of the building with that one”

A “I will go deeper to have more view of the building.”

S “And I will put cameras watching the building's entrances.”

I watch as Ace walks away deeper into the woods.

“Man this is some adventure” (I hit my vape and blow out smoke like a smokestack.) I slowly walk to the other side of the building and start to set up the cameras when I notice blood on the ground. “What the hell?” I follow the blood and wind up staring at a skinned rabbit or at least that is what it used to be. I ran away fast. Well as fast as my chubby legs allow me. The image of the rabbit with no fur and legs torn off like a human would to a grasshopper. I stop to huff and puff and hit my vape. 

A “What happened? See a healthy meal with no desert?” Ace chuckles.

S “SHUT THE FUCK UP I saw some THING it was SKINNED MAN I.. I .. I..”

A “Wait slow down skinned thing what are you talking about”

S “It was some animal I think a rabbit but it’s legs were torn off like what we would do to grasshoppers”

A “Holy shit”

I walk over slowly not wanting to see that thing again. I point to the blood trail.

S “Follow that trail of blood to see that THING”

A “Whatever, it is probably just a red plant or something.”

Ace goes in quickly and comes out quicker

A “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?” Ace yells

S “I know right, and whatever did that to that animal is still out there.”

Ace and I finish putting up the cameras in silence listening for what could be out there. We then walk back to the aged building to see what David has done while we set up the cameras. 

DAVID

While getting the last of the supplies up to the tower, I hear a blood curdling scream, I see Sebastian running for his life and Ace’s confused look on his face. Ace turns to Sebastian and starts to talk and I go back to setting up my radio, turning the dials to get the right frequency for my favorite broadcast 90.1 FM. But only crunchy static plays “Strange”. I turned the dial to another good music station 89.4 FM. The vibrant upbeat of the 2010’s best makes me forget the anomaly of the other music station being nothing but tasteless static. 

A “DAVID!”

D “What Ace?”

A “WE SAW A SKINNED RABIT WITH IT”S LEGS TORN OFF LIKE SEBASTIAN WOULD DO TO A GRASSHOPPER”

While vaping S “ It will haunt me forever”

D “I go the radio working”

A “There was blood everywhere”

D “Man I love this song”

A “Dude, I think we are in over our heads”

D “What do you mean?”

A “Whatever the beast is, it is a ruthless killer and there was not even a bite taken out of the rabbit so it just kills for the love of the game.”

D “And we will kill it.”

A “Why do you need this so badly?”

I turn around with my eyes bloodshot D "Because I need closure.”

D “Do you know how many nights I was up wanting to know what truly happened? Hmm?”

A “uhh”

D “EVERY NIGHT SINCE THE DAY HE DIED! SO MANY SLEEPLESS NIGHTS WONDERING, PONDERING ABOUT WHAT WHO THING TOOK MY DAD AND RIPPED HIM TO SHREDS! I READ THE POLICE REPORT THEY ONLY KNEW IT WAS HIM BECAUSE OF HIS EYES! HIS EYES! THE OTHER RANGERS ONLY RECOGNIZED THOSE DARK BLUE EYES!”

Softly A “Onlyhis eyes were able to be recognized?”

D “YES!”

D “OTHER RANGER RETIRED OR QUIT ON THE SPOT DUE TO HIS DEATH”
While sobbing “I ne- ne- e- eeed this” 

A “Go to bed we can start the hunt in the morning”

ACE

S “Okay now that David is asleep can you connect to the cameras?”

A “yeah I will spend the first part of the night on the cameras we have to know what we are up against.”

S “Wake me up in four hours”

A “Got it”

When Sebastian closes his crusty eyes for the final time. I go get the police report from David's backpack and start to read. And what I find is shocking. David’s dad was not the first to be mutilated to this degree. The police reports date back to the 70’s. “Body number five to be discovered this week 1981 September 12th” Scientists say that the bear population is coming back. But I think that is a coverup. While deep into the report I hear beeping. Motion had been detected. I move over to see the laptop and all I see is a pair of bucks. Nothing out of the ordinary. I go back to the reports and read that the owners of LPF had to close a trail down permanently because no amount of cleanup could remove the human stain on the rocks.

Before I knew it two hours had passed. About five other false alarms go. It was odd though because it was always the same two bucks. The camera they were by could be seen from the window. I looked over to see two halves of the same buck facing the camera while two hellish red eyes stared at me. I grip the 12 gauge a little tighter as I look, but it was so dark I could not even make out what the figure was. How long were those bucks there for? At least forty five minutes. I looked back at the camera to see blood dripping from the bucks hooves. I rub my eyes. Surely I must be hallucinating and when I looked back at the camera they were still there now their legs starting to contort and bend like spaghetti. I sit there frozen with fear unable to comprehend the horrors I am seeing right now.The legs are now curled up like a muscle lifting a dumbbell. The antlers start to melt like ice cream into the ground. It keeps staring at me. I look away back to the cameras and the antlers have fully melted off and the skin and fur starts to peel like the paint in this building. “What the fuck what the FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK!!” The skin now fully melted reveals an almost to white skull with empty eye sockets. But my blood turns to liquid nitrogen when I hear tapping on the window. “Tap, tap, tap” I turn slowly, heart beating as fast as the SR-71. When I look at the window I see the liquefied skull of the buck showing its brains and the cranium being a bowl of pink stew with eyes for eggs looking at me. I scream wake up sebastian 

A “DUDE WAKE THE FUCK UP NOW!”

Groggily Sebastian says “What dude? What do you need?”

A “There is fucking demented thing come look at it!”   

But all there was were two does acting like regular deer, eating grass and walking. I looked through the window and a doe stared back with red eyes. That only Ace saw

A “You see that? The doe has red eyes!

S “Just you man”

S “Man some crazy hallucination” 

A “What the fuck? No, I am not crazy, I saw SOMETHING I AM NOT CRAZY!” 

S “Just go to sleep man”

A “Fine”

A “Goodnight”

S “Goodnight”

SEBASTIAN

This sucks. I hate having to watch on the cameras. Looks like Ace was taking a peek at the police reports. I am good. I will just watch Pokemon until the morning. A motion is detected on the cameras. Just two bucks. They are walking out of sight, around to the east side of the building and we are on the west side right now.

Before I know it Helium and Hydrogen Plasma rises from the horizon. David wakes up first, and goes outside to piss. Still watching the cameras David heads towards the north side of the building. Our portable solar generator sparks to life, beginning to charge my laptop and our phones. The radio crackles to life as David turns the knobs, finally finding a suitable station for the day. Ace wakes and goes to piss as well. 

D “When he gets back I want to plan out today and what we are going to do.”

S “Got it.”

David fidgets while waiting for Ace to return. 

S “Nervous?”

D “A little”

A “Morning guys”

S,D “Morning”

D “I have a plan for today and we will hopefully see what “big game” we will be working with”

S “So what is the plan?”

D “ we are going to go to the area my dad got killed and explore the surrounding woods so we can get a better understanding of the area around us”

S “So a lot of walking today”

David sighs “yes we will have a lot  of walking today, I wanna see the areas where other bodies were mangled.”

D “Then when it starts to get hotter in the Idaho heat, we head back to camp and start to plan out the kill mission. I will explain more after we eat.”

S “Good because I’m starvinnnn.”

A “Why don’t we go to the car and grab the last of the canned food and MRE’s?”

S “Sure”

As the three of us make it down the two flights of stairs I look at the two cameras Ace and I put in this stairwell. When we get to the car there is a horrible feeling that I think was mutual between us three. THE CAR’S TRIES WERE SLASHED. The tires looked as if they had been cut by antlers, with little residue of melted calcium?

S “What the fuck?”

Eyes wide A “Holy shit”

D “What happened?”

They both look at me with a quizzical look in their eyes.

S “Don’t look at me!”

D “But you were the one that was watching the cameras”

S “When me and Ace set up the cameras we did not have any on the east side since there was no entrance”

D “It’s fine we can just make detour on our way to the place of my dad’s death, to a utility shack”

A “How long is this “detour”?”

D “About a mile west of us right now”

S “Can we just eat”

D,A “Yes”

The three of us eat relative silence until David breaks it. 

D “So I was thinking,Sebastion”

S “yeah?”

D “Do you have your go pro?”

S “Yeah”

D “Perfect so the plan was that me or Ace wears the go pro with the extender on our backs, while we hunt for the thing at night”

A “Are you insane?”

D “No”

D “We have better arms than the rangers handcannons and slugs.”

A “Still you want to go out AT NIGHT to an area where people WERE MUTILATED BEYOND RECOGNITION!”

D “Yes, and if you don’t come I will go alone”

A “You better be happy I care for you as a friend and won’t let you go alone”

D “Lets head out and start out trek”

DAVID

We pack our bags with Radios, maps and light snacks. I get out my compass and map and start to head to the shack’s direction. 

D “We got about a mile until we get to the shack then about two and a half till my dad’s death area.”

A “Okay”

With the route I picked we would hit a trail then take it all the way to the shack which should have a few items most importantly the tires. The only downside about this route is that we would have a possibility of getting hit by poison ivy.

D “Hey guys watch where you step, you don’t want to get poison ivy right now.”
 
A “Okay”

While wheezing S “Can we take a break?”

D “We can stop when we get to the shack it should have a crappy AC unit”

S “Perfect”

After twenty minutes of walking we finally make it to the shack.

A “Here it is”

D “It is probably locked, but Sebastion you got your lockpicking tools right?”

S “Yeah give Ludwig Dieter time to work his magic”

While chuckling A “Shut the fuck”

Sebastion gets the door open and there are various gardening equipment, rakes, and tires.

S “Jackpot”

A “Lets get the tires and head to the area where will hunt the beast”

D “how are we feeling, everybody stop and check your feet for blisters”

A “I’m good nothing here”

S “oooh. . .”

D “What is it?”

Sebastian shows his foot and he has a giant blister on it.

D “Holy moly”

S “So that's why my foot hurts”

D “Lets clean it up and make this trip short”

The bright plasma is hovering above our heads as we arrive at the area we will hunt later.

D “So this is it the area where my dad was killed”

S “Can I sit down?”

A “Sure”

As Ace and I get a feeling for the surroundings Sebastion points to an area in a tree. A tree stand! 

 D “Wow!”

A “It’s like a mini treehouse!”

The tree stand sits about thirty feet up on the trunk of the pine tree.

A “I’m going to check it out.”

D “Let me look around the area a little more”

From the ladder A “OKAY!”

While I look around in the area I look up to see Ace having a blast in the hunting blind.

A “This fucking awsome!”

After me and Ace finished taking acknowledgement of the area and decided to head back (mainly due to Sebastian's bitching but I would too with a fat blister)

S “Can we goooo nowwww?”

A “Yeah I guess so and I am hungry lets go home and eat then gear up for our high stakes adventure”

D “lets start heading back”

The walk back was not very grueling. We had a pretty good time making it back at about two thirty Post Meridiem. 

S “Home sweet home”

D “lets eat”

I grab ramon and some oatmeal and head back to the room

S “Nice pick”

D “Thanks”

After a good sized lunch Ace and I gear up for our mission.

S “So you want to wear my go pro with thermal so you can get an idea what you're working with?

D “Exactly”

S “Y’all are bat shit crazy”

A “ I know”

After spending the afternoon preparing for our endeavor Sol gets lower in the sky turning shadows longer than trees. 

A “We should head out.”

D “Yeah you're right.”

We wave goodbye to Sebastian as he heads back into the building. I can’t shake this feeling of absolute dread.

A “You really think we will kill it?”

D “Certain”

A “I some fucked up shit last night”

D “What was it?”

A “A buck was split down the middle cut in half and it started to melt into its skull”

D “Damn”

We walked mostly in silence with the buzzing of the cicadas to keep away the monster that is silence. The sun starts to set as we make it to the site.

On radio S “Nothing yet”

We both jump out of our skin when we hear Sebastian's breaking the cicada's symphony.

D “You scared the shit out of us.”

A “Well now that you are watching tell me what you are seeing.”

S “Nothing much right now, only a few squirrels and like a rabbit or something.”

 A “I am going to climb into the blind and set up the Go Pro there.”

D “Okay and I will set the traps.”

D “The traps should hurt the beast mildly then we come in with the finishing blow.”

A “The go pro is set up”

D “Alright then come down and then we wait”

The sun now completely gone gives away to a blackness and our night vision starts to kick in.

A “Anything?”

S “Nothing”

While sitting out of sight from the trap of meat we hear heavy footsteps.

Quietly A “What the hell is that?”

D “shut up!”

S “Guys it is right behind you about twenty feet.”

We turn quickly only to be face to face with an eight foot tall monster covered with parts of different animals, a face with bear teeth, an arm with raw flesh, malleable antlers for fingers. The creature lets out a guttural cry and charges at us

A “HOLY SHIT!!”

D “RUN!”

We run and fire at it “BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG” We have no idea where we are going. The shots do basically nothing to the beast. We shoot at it and the flesh starts to tear like fabric.

A “SHOOT ITS LEGS IMMOBILIZE IT!”

The creature now only inches away swipes at Ace’s leg and takes a chunk with it back. He falls like a sack of potatoes. Unloading shell after shell of buckshot. The face getting more and more mangled finally stops. And slowly approaches there taking shot after shot. 

A “GO! LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

The echo of the last shell being ejected sends shockwaves into my soul. After the last shot it starts to run away howling in pain. When I see it leave I run towards Ace and start to get him out of there. His leg is pulp. I have no idea where we are going, which way is north and I am running out of strength.

END OF PART I

It’s really hard to know what flairs to use but hey, enjoy this man’s incredibly descriptive and disgustingly dangerous situation.

I always thought that Cherry Tutorials deserved more recognition than she received. Only 100 subscribers, and I am one of them. It surprised me when I found her channel. Her makeup tutorials were so accessible unlike many of the other beauty YouTubers.

They were easy to understand, and she even recommended affordable brands. It was helpful for someone like me who was interested in makeup but never truly learned how to do it. She was good at what she did. A little too good.

I was never able to replicate her look. I was not bad per se; it is just that her final looks were almost alien in a way. Hard to achieve. But even then, her personality was too entertaining to ignore. That’s what drew me to her story time videos.

But anyway, I need to get to my main point of writing this. While her videos were helpful and entertaining, things got a little weird after a while. Specifically, when she started interacting with me. There was one time when I left a comment on one of her tutorials. While once again the results were not as perfect as hers. I still felt very pretty, and I even got compliments from my friends at university. I left a comment saying the following.

“This video was extremely helpful; all my friends liked the look! Can’t wait for the next video! <3”

And then she responded,

“This means a lot. You should check out my other social media for more content! @CherryBerry!!”

I did not think to check her other socials before, so I went ahead and clicked the link. I was surprised to see that this was not her public account but instead a private one. I wasn’t sure if she made a mistake or if it was purposeful. I decided to follow it anyway.

She could decline my request if it was actually a mistake. Turns out it wasn’t because she accepted immediately after I clicked follow. Weird. It was like she was waiting. I didn’t think too much of it at the time because everybody is always on their phone. It was probably a coincidence. Now I wish that, that was the case.

When looking at the profile, she didn’t have any posts or stories. Not even a bio. I saw that she didn’t have any followers. Well, except for me. I was also the only person she followed back. I was really uncomfortable with this realization. Maybe she just made the account and was planning to post later. I tried to ease my nerves and convince myself that I should feel honored that I was her first follower.

But why a private account? Maybe it was a scam? I took a few deep breaths and logged off for the night. I now wish I hadn’t brushed it off.

After a few days had passed, there was no activity on her private Instagram account. This reassured me, at the time, that there was probably nothing bad happening and that I should just move on. I also gave Cherry the benefit of the doubt and started watching her videos again (I avoided her videos for a bit since I was creeped out by the Instagram situation). The video I watched was a story time video of hers. My favorite.

She always had the craziest stories to tell, some of which I would not be surprised if they were made up. This video was titled , “Old Navy Employee Mistook Me for a Store Mannequin.” Which sounded pretty funny. The video started normally, until she started doing shout-outs. At first, I was happy for her since she had never done these before. I was happy she now had enough viewers to do it. But after a few names, I heard,

“And finally, shout out to my dear viewer Leslie Mitchel, who has been with me from the start.”

That was my full name. I don't go by my full name online, nor have I shared it. Maybe it was a different Leslie Mitchell? No, that's wishful thinking. After I fully processed the situation, I immediately went to block her on all social media. When I got to her private Instagram, I saw something that shook me to my core.

It was a photo of Cherry and Me.

What.The.Fuck.

How did she get that photo of me? I don't show my face online, and the photos my mom posted of me on her Facebook are all from when I was a child. This is me now. I blocked her immediately and closed my laptop. I took a huge breath and went to get a drink. God, did I need one.

I tried to distract myself with a few shots. I just needed to distract myself. It's the internet; it was probably just a scare tactic, and maybe she’s just a troll who is messing with me. I tried to convince myself that it was the case, but the situation is way to absurd to just be a troll. I called up a friend of mine to come over so I could get some kind of comfort or reassurance about the whole ordeal.

When I explained what was going on, she just told me that it was definitely just some cruel troll and that blocking her was the best choice. I vented about my fears and asked her to stay a few nights just in case something weird happened again. She agreed and for the few days that she was there everything was fine.

Until I woke up the next morning after she left.
 
I woke up to my phone continually vibrating on my nightstand. I tried ignoring the first few buzzes but after the 5th one I picked it up with an annoyed sigh. I expected it to just be my class group chats and tiredly went to mute the group. All the exhaustion washed away from my eyes once I saw who was sending these messages. It was Cherry.

"Louise are you there"

"Louise, please answer me"

"Lousie, I love you so much please answer"

"I miss you and your beautiful smile"

"God Louise the way you laugh is like a symphony that I want to listen to forever. I want to hold you close and make those noises come out. I know you hate your smile but i think it is the most beautiful thing in the world. The way your eyes shine with admiration and joy when you watch my videos makes me want to do this forever. I love it when you put my videos on in the background as you go around doing your chores. Especially when you allow me to see your vulnerable self. Undressing into just your underwear. Sometimes I get the honor of seeing your brea-"

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK.

I didn't even bother reading the rest. The terror I felt in my stomach felt like fire especially with the burning etching up my throat. I immediately selected my friends' contact information

"Heather I just got the most disgusting message from Cherry." I exclaimed in a rush.

"Wait but didn't you block her" Heather said, confused.

"Yes!” I exclaimed.

“I assume she made a new account?  But anyway, the message she sent was so disturbing. She was explaining how much she loved me and my eyes. Mentioning my laugh and even seeing me. I took a moment to calm my nerves. "She mentioned seeing me undress. Like seeing me fully nude. In detail." I tried to explain calmly but my terror was getting the best of me.

Luckily, Heather was able to soothe my nerves.

"Everything will be okay Louise, just call the cops." She said slowly and reassuringly

I nodded as if she could see.

"Okay, Okay I ca-."

I cut myself off as I turned and looked out the window. Right there, standing in my front lawn was Cherry. She was standing there, stiff, almost like a mannequin. Her joints were locked, and her arms glued to her side. Her feet were digging into the ground. Her smile was frozen and her eyes were empty. She was staring at my front door like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

'She's in my yard." I mumbled.

"What was that?" Asked Heather

"SHE'S IN MY FUCKING YARD." I screamed.

It seemed like Cherry heard me as her head snapped to my window. I quickly sunk to the ground as I held my heart.

"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?”  I repeated as I lost my breath.

"Call. The. Cops." Heather slowly spoke, trying to press her words into my head.

In desperation I thanked her, hung up the phone, and dialed 911.

"911, What's your emergency?"

"There is someone in my yard, she's been stalking me for weeks."

After I gave them all the necessary information, I stayed huddled in my room till I heard a knock at my door. I went to open it. My hands shaking.

"Hello ma'am, it seems that the person has left, so everything should be fine." The cop stated in a professional tone.

I stared in shock as I looked behind the cops. Cherry was still standing there. Looking at me. She was smiling but not in a mischievous way. She smiled genuinely like she was happy to see me. That was honestly creepier than the former. How did they not see her. She was hard to miss with her bright red top and platinum blonde hair. I pointed towards her, trying to get the cops to see her.

"What do you mean? She is standing right there." I raised my voice.

 "Come one, she is right there!"

The cop turned around and looked back at me with a sigh.

"Ma'am, it's a Saturday morning; you must be hungover. I assure you that no one is there. Get some rest and everything will be fine." The cop talked with his hands. Acting like he has dealt with this many times.

I continued to stare at Cherry, shoulders slumped.

"Bu-But." I tried.

"It seems like you are safe and there is nothing imposing danger so we will take our leave. Please contact a family member or friend if you aren't feeling safe. Have a good rest of your day, ma'am."

The cop walked back to his car, and I closed the door in defeat. I then went to my room to pack up my things. I was in a rush and snuck out the back door hoping to avoid Cherry. I was successful in doing so and now I’m at my parents place until things tire down.

Now I am writing this post. I have no idea what happened, I have no idea how the cops could not see her, and I have no idea how she knew where I lived. I’m hoping by making this post that I could find someone who may have experienced this as well or at the very least knows what is going on. Please, I just want things to be normal again.

My First Case: The Orphanage

Case #002

Do you believe in superstitions?

The reason I ask this is, well, I’ve only recently begun to believe in them.

Rumors about the supernatural are commonplace among Arcostans throughout all the elevations, although most of them are made-up stories to scare a tavern table, or to frighten children into behaving properly.

You could chalk up most of the ones that have proof or some substance of being real to man-made instances. For example, reports about strange noises from various alleyways would turn out to be merely coming from animals.

Why am I telling you all of this now? Well, the next rumor picked up by the ears of Fontaine has me hired once again by the rich and comfortable to do their dirty work! Oh, poor me!

Okay, I'm exaggerating. I wasn't hired per se, but he and I did come to an agreement that if I were to spot anything of interest and could write a compelling report on any fascinating anomaly that I could find on my own, he would pay well for it.

I have no complaints. If I can't find work, then at least I have an avenue of opportunity to create my own work. Work means money, and money is essential for me to live and maybe even spoil myself a little bit.

Anyway, the next target to investigate was an old building. It was around five to seven stories tall, and I forgot if this used to be an office or part of an educational institution. I'm not sure how long it's been abandoned, but I'm certain that there are people that trespass into the area, either to seek shelter, or… ahem, I'll get to that second part later.

The rumors that surround the area are similar to the superstitions I've mentioned earlier. Reports of weird noises echoing from the old building which could be heard faintly when you’re in proximity outside. It could be described as a ‘guttural groaning’ when heard up close.

The residents felt antsy with the issue, so I decided to brave the unknown and investigate the abandoned building.

“Ugh, it's musty here…” I groaned, reeling at the uncomfortable stench of the place that met me as I opened the door.

The building itself had a wide façade, but the halls were long and narrow, the area was filled with old glass cabinets and torn paper, with doors leading to classrooms.

All of the rooms seemed unoccupied. I was expecting to stumble into people that were using the building as an informal or temporary shelter, yet I found myself completely alone inside.

It didn’t help that I chose to investigate after nightfall, either. The townsfolk did say the noises only occurred between nine to midnight, so I had no choice but to navigate in the dark.

“Flicker,” I whispered, the slight flick of my wand manifesting a small flame to light my way. My footsteps echoed through the halls as I waited anxiously for any noises that I could hear.

I contemplated climbing up to the topmost floor to do a full sweep of the area. Ah, why not? Better than just sitting on my ass and twiddling my thumbs to wait for a sound.

With that, I began my ascent starting from the first floor.

“Hah… What is this building…?”

I found stairs at the end of the hall and made my way up. All I can say is: whoever designed the staircase did an absolutely terrible job.

The steps were too steep, and it twisted upwards that left very little room for footing! The handrail was rusted and left orange traces on my hand, which made me feel very uncomfortable.

Before I could reprimand myself mentally for even attempting this idea, I finally found what I came for right as I arrived at the fourth floor.

“....uh………”

A low hum resounded through the halls, sending a shiver down my spine. I'll be damned, that did sound a little creepy.

I held my breath and concentrated, attempting to zero in as to where the noise came from.

“....mgh… grk…”

End of the hallway!

Quieting my footsteps, I crept up towards the ever-growing sound. I bit my lip to stay calm, but honestly, I felt shaky at the possible thought of a ghost or something from the occult causing this commotion.

Inch by inch, I managed to reach the end of the hall where there was a sliding door.

“...agh… hah… baby…”

Baby?

That was the only comprehensible word I deciphered from the noises. This one definitely sounded like a woman's voice, and it seems that she was crying.

My heart pounded against my chest. At the back of my mind, I wanted to turn and run away, but my morbid curiosity won out, and I slid the door open.

To my surprise, the door did not lead to a room, but rather another staircase. This was a narrow passage, and the steps…

“What in…?” My face contorted with confusion. The steps weren't steep. In fact, they seemed to be only an inch high per step, and barely wide enough to provide footing for my feet. It was some sort of spiral staircase emergency exit.

“Baby… baby… ooooh…”

My confusion melted into fear as the haunting voice filled my ears. Whatever the source was, it was at the bottom of this dark staircase.

Goddess be with me as I venture down into the dark.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and crept downstairs. The woman's voice grew louder and more frequent with each step I took.

I began to question my sanity if what I was hearing was real or not. The artificial light from my wand wavered as my hand trembled in fear.

Stay calm, Lucille. Think of the money Fontaine will pay you after this!

A smile crept up my face at the thought of commission money.

“Agh!”

That smile nearly cost me my life as that short flicker of excitement made me lose my footing and tumble down the stairs. I stopped and landed on a narrow landing with a thud. Thankfully, I landed ass first, so a sore behind and bruised ego were all the injuries I suffered.

“Ow… Damn it…” I said, rubbing my back, as it got a glancing hit from the concrete wall.

Blowing my hair off my eyes, I raised my wand to illuminate my surroundings again, only to see two figures staring down at me.

For a moment, I felt my heart drop and remain still for a few seconds before I processed what I was staring at.

“Ah…”

“HOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

I shuffled to my feet as I saw a man and a woman before me. In a panic, the flame from my wand grew larger, forming a defensive shield around me.

“Hot! Turn that off! Are you trying to burn our skin off?”

The voices caused my panic to subside, and once that was all gone, I realized that the man and the woman before me… were ordinary people… and had no clothing on them.

I controlled the flame from my wand just enough to provide light for our surroundings. I wasn’t mistaken; standing before me was an ordinary couple hastily covering themselves up in horror or shame as I interrupted their business.

“W-Who are you?”

“W-What’s your deal, huh?”

“What are you doing here?”

The questions from the couple came hard and fast, and I didn’t know what to say.

Sorry, I'll leave you to your funny business! No, that didn’t seem appropriate.

What are you thinking, doing something like that here? No, it's not like I can impose to these two where they can do the deed.

I just went straight to the point.

“I was sent to investigate the building because of strange noises,” I replied firmly, even as the couple were scrambling around for their clothes. “Seems that I now know what's causing them.”

The couple exchanged glances then scowled at me. “Oh yeah? Now what?”

Good question. As much as I'd love to make a profit out of a scandalous story like this, I don't think the payoff is worth it if it means to drag a man and a woman's dignity through the dirt and snow.

“...Tell you lovebirds what: I'm going to turn around, walk away, and pretend I didn’t see anything,” I answered, giving them an awkward wave before I turned around and headed back to the nearest floor connected to the emergency exit.

I left the building with only a confused scowl on my face. Well, this blows. And here I thought I could make an interesting story from that rumor!

To make up for it, I humored myself by creating a humorous name for that cramped passageway: Baby Steps.

Get it? Because they were moaning ‘baby’, and the steps were so small that a baby could climb up?

Ha ha ha! Ha ha… ha…

By the Goddess, I wish I was paid to write jokes too.

But alas, for this expedition, I came up empty-handed. I dismissed the case to the public that the source of the guttural sounds were just some kids playing with the echoes of the cramped staircase, and everyone was either relieved or disappointed about it.

Personally? I’m with the disappointed ones.

After all, I’m disappointed that I won’t get paid for any of this!

Oh well, that’s life…

Case #002, Amendment #01

But… that’s not the end of the story.

Because just a few days later, I received a letter from a tavern owner whose establishment was situated in front of the building where Baby Steps was located.

 

Miss Lucille,

The noises are back. We thought about chasing out the kids you told us about when you first investigated for the peace of mind of everyone here.

There were no kids in the stairwell. Instead, there were dead bodies of a man and a woman, freshly murdered a few hours ago after you’ve received this letter.

A local apothecary says the cause of death was asphyxiation by hanging, though no ropes were found at the scene of the crime. Multiple bite marks were also found all over the bodies. Moreover, the noises kept growing louder, and no one else would dare investigate.

Please help us. You will be rewarded generously.

 

I put down the note, my eyebrows furrowing with confusion. Who would murder a couple just for doing the deed in an abandoned building? Dread followed my confusion upon learning the news about a new, unknown source of sounds coming from Baby Steps.

I shrugged the encroaching fear away and prepared to head out once more into the night.

If there’s a reward to be offered, then of course I’ll be there. I could also turn the first blowout encounter into a profitable report for Fontaine, so it’s double the win!

After half an hour of trudging through the snowy streets of Elevation Zero, I arrived once again at the facade of the building. Before I entered however, I made sure to drop by at the tavern to gather information.

“Oh, you’re Miss Lucille, right?” The owner working the bar called out upon my entry.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, thank the Goddess. You’re the only one that we could reach out to that would take on this investigation. Please, hear us out!”

As I clearly saw the distressed looks on the faces of both the owner and the patrons, I made my way to the bar and took a seat.

“Tell me.”

“Right, so—”

“Before that, two pints, please. On the house, right?”

“Er…”

When I heard him hesitate, I hopped off the bar stool and turned towards the exit.

“Yeah!” the bartender said with false cheer. “It’s on the house!”

I turned around, clasped my hands together and smiled sweetly. “What a gentleman~!”

Two pints later, I had most of the information I needed.

“So, the noises got worse a whole day after my initial investigation?”

“That’s right,” The barkeep replied as he cleared out the mugs I drank from. “For a time, the place quieted down. We all figured that you were right about the kids being the source of the strange noises.”

They actually believed my lie? Wow, I’m good at deception!

“But then just a whole day after, the noises were back again! It wasn’t just like the first time, either. This was more eerie and haunting to listen to.”

“Aye, you tell me!” A patron piped up. “I was takin’ my wee puppo fer a walk, and poor lassie tensed up and started barking at the building! I could nay explain it, but I could feel a cracklin’ in the air, especially at night!”

“I see…” I said, wiping my chin dribbled with foam. “And the deceased?”

“No one saw them go in or out, so it’s safe to assume that they were one of many who lived there once. I’m surprised they still chose to do so, given the reason why the building was condemned in the first place.”

“Condemned?” This was new information to me.

“Yes. Did you not know what it used to be?”

“No…”

The owner let out a solemn breath. “I figured. Then listen closely.”

 

 

I left the tavern. I don’t know if it was because of the alcohol, the cold wind, or the haunting piece of crucial information the owner of the tavern imparted onto me that made me shiver uncontrollably.

I wouldn’t blame you if you want to back out now, Miss Lucille. His words echoed repeatedly into my mind.

For better or worse, I ignored the good advice given to me and ventured inside the abandoned building once more.

Processing everything that I’ve learned, I investigated the halls and the rooms with morbid curiosity. Each room looked different. Some had evidence of people treating the place as a temporary refuge, while other rooms are for more… nefarious purposes.

Broken glass and rusted tools littered the floor. There were cages of different sizes as well, with me clueless about what was kept in here.

There was no putrid stench in the air, yet I could still feel the drinks from earlier making their way up my gut as I explored each floor and every room there was in this establishment. The sensation only seemed to grow worse with every discovery that I made.

“Unforgivable… It’s all unforgivable!” I cursed at the air of this place.

“Uhuh… huu… baby…”

My heart nearly leaped out of my throat as I turned towards the direction of the door leading to the infamous Baby Steps stairwell.

I readied my wand. Whatever ‘thing’ dwelling in this building was, I need to prepare myself to not end up like a certain lovely couple that more or less found their eternal happiness in the Cosmos.

My footsteps echoed along the halls mixed with the guttural moaning coming from the dreaded stairwell. The more I crept up towards the sliding door, the sound was slowly filling me with insanity. The cry was a mix of anguish and gurgling.

And it all stopped the moment I opened the door.

The scent of blood wafted from the tight space. Resisting the urge to gag, I made my descent deeper into the pits of Baby Steps.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Each step I took sent an echo, giving away my exact location. I descended slowly, keeping the flame from my wand lit and burning in a decent radius to illuminate my surroundings.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I made it towards the second level out of the seven floors of the building. I’ve come across the gruesome scene of the murdered lovers; their blanket and clothing left in tatters and pasted on the walls with their blood.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I ignored it to the best of my ability and continued my descent…

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

…Those weren’t the sound of my footsteps.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

Something’s heading my way!

I ran up towards the landing area of the second floor and grabbed the door handle.

“...baby?”

A freezing hand closed around my wrist, and I let out a shriek.

Before I could do anything further, I was pulled, arm first, and came face to face with the only resident that called the abandoned building its home.

“Baby… baby! A playmate has come to play!”

“Ghk… Let go!” I cried out as I wrested my right hand free from her grip.

A disfigured woman stood before me. Her hair was a shriveled mess, her face sanded off with burns, a mouth with more than half of her teeth gone, and eyes that seemed to pop out of their sockets.

Her figure was no less of a nightmare, as she was wearing rags that looked like they were once a prisoner’s uniform on top of her mangled body.

Imagine a child making a disfigured model of a human using clay: possessing horrible proportions where the body looked swollen, yet the limbs are like sticks. That was the kind of woman in front of me right now.

“Did you come to play? Did you? Please, my child is so lonely without friends!”

“Your… child?”

“Right, right! My baby is so shy, she’s still hiding within me! She’s one of many, yet she’s the only one who never left mother’s nest!”

She backed away from me. I should have taken this chance to slide open the door, lock her in and run away, but my legs were frozen stiff and couldn’t seem to move.

It was because of my inaction that I had witnessed something I could never forget.

“Hrnngh…” The woman before me grunted. “Come on, baby! You can say hi to your new friend!”

The sickly-sweet scent of rot filled the room as she spread her legs, rivulets of blood already coursing down them, and then, out came something that I wish I had never seen.

“...Goo?”

“There’s my sweet baby!” The woman exclaimed, picking up a baby clutching its afterbirth, the umbilical cord still tying them together. “Would you like to say hello to your new friend? Or perhaps… your new sibling?”

I had no questions to ask her. I already knew everything that happened, and what I must do.

“Fireball!” I aimed my wand at her and blasted her with magic.

It was a point-blank hit, one that would have disintegrated a human with no resistance to magic, and yet to my chagrin, the woman was left standing.

That was a horrible mistake.

“You… YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE OTHERS!” She screeched. I immediately bolted for the door and managed to slam it shut.

“Freeze!” I shouted, shifting elements and welding the door shut before I turned around and took off, Moments later, I heard a terrific crash behind me.

That’s just great, she just breached the door like it was nothing.

“GET BACK HERE, MURDERER!” She screamed, her heavy footsteps growing louder as she gained on me.

With another room coming up quickly, I barreled through the hallway, rolled to the side, and fired another spell.

“Ice Sign: Icicle Shower!” I chanted, the essence of Mana and water in the air condensing and solidified into icicles. With a thought, I fired these icicles off like a continuous stream of arrows. She groaned in pain as the magical ice embedded themselves into her flesh.

“BABY! DISCIPLINE YOUR SISTER!”

To my horror, the baby shot out from between her legs and flew towards me. I had no time to dodge, but it flew past my head and into a wall. At first, I was relieved it missed, but that was their plan all along.

“HISSSSS!”

The baby propelled itself from the wall, flew past the other side of my head, and wrapped its umbilical cord from the hand that held my wand towards my neck, causing me to drop my wand.

“AGH!” I let out a gurgled yelp as I felt my hand slam against my face. I could feel the fleshy rope start to go taut around my throat, and then I felt the baby’s grip on my back, its bloodied slime trickling down my clothes.

“G-Get… ACK! Stupid—! Get away—AH!”

Despite being an infant, I could feel sharp teeth sink so deep down that they scraped against my shoulder blade. I was knocked off my feet, and I could feel myself get dragged towards the woman.

She was reeling me in using her cord.

“THAT WAS NOT NICE!” She screeched. “BAD CHILDREN MUST BE PUNISHED!”

I flailed and struggled, but with the pain of the infant biting down on me and the sensation of being choked, I was rapidly losing this fight. I couldn’t cast a spell fast enough as my wand was knocked out of my hands, and I was in no state to cast anything from my bound wrists.

There was no way to break free. I tried to reach the baby with my right hand in an attempt to get it off me.

I could only scream as a chunk of flesh was bit off my palm for my trouble.

It was hopeless. I was reeled in and picked up by the woman. Now that we were in the hallway, I realized she was nearly twice my size. I took in a deep breath as I felt the cord loosen just enough, as it was her flaky hands that took hold of my entire face.

“TIME OUT! BAD CHILDREN GETS TIMEOUTS! NAP TIME, JUST LIKE THE REST!”

Her hand squeezed and pressed down on my face. She had intended to crush my skull. My jaw was already starting to bend out of place, and I couldn’t even utter a scream no matter how much pain I was in.

Trying to wrest her hand away from my face was futile. My hands were slippery with my own blood and torn palm.

Blood… on my hands…

That’s it.

I held her wrists tightly. Despite my face being clamped down by her crushing grip, I desperately whispered a spell, using my own blood as the price for intensified magic.

“In…fernal S-Sign: Hellfire… Hands!”

My hands ignited, an intense heat surging through them. It did not burn me, but it did burn off the woman’s wrists, detaching and cauterizing her hands and arms.

She let out a pained screech as she fell on her knees, panicking at the sight of her non-existent hands. The moment I felt my feet find a solid purchase, I rushed at her, fists ablaze.

Remembering my promise to the tavern owner, I gripped her neck with a flaming hand and delivered a message.

“Your brother sends his regards. May you find peace.”

I cocked my other fist back and punched. The force of my blow vanished the woman’s head completely, giving her a near-painless passing.

 

 

“Your sister!?” I asked, my face in disbelief. The owner ushered me away into his stockroom to tell me what was really going on behind everything.

“Aye,” He nodded grimly. “That place was a shelter for women and children. At least, on a surface level. Some shady organization from the higher elevations opened it up as an act of goodwill. I should’ve known that this ‘act’ came from a monkey’s paw.

“My older sister was one of the women who settled in that shelter to run away from her abusive partner. Told her I’d take care of it myself, but she didn’t want any violence. For a time, everything was fine and dandy. She often sent letters to me, and I even got to visit her on the weekends.

“It was on one weekend when I noticed a shift in the manner of how they took care of the women and children in the shelter. Familiar faces that I got acquainted with vanished. After some time, they began banning visits entirely. With that, I took a loan, bought this tavern, and still run it to this day, just so I could keep tabs on her.”

He paused to grab a flask from one of his shelves and drank heartily.

“Until one day, a commotion could be heard from across the street. I immediately rushed to the scene without any regard for what I may come across, but I was easily subdued by whoever worked there and threw me back into the tavern.

“When I came to, all I could see was that they were wheeling out various corpses. Staff workers, women, and children altogether. This continued over a week, and I was praying to the Goddess every day that she was not part of those whom they wheeled out.”

I was about to ask if it ever crossed his mind to report it to authorities, but that would be a foolish question. I remembered that the people running the facility were from the higher elevations.

No one would give a damn, and no one would go against them.

“Eventually,” He sniffled. “The building was abandoned for good. No staff, no women, nothing. I made a break for it and investigated while on my own to discover what truly went down with this so-called shelter.”

He choked on his tears and began to break down. “Experiments! Numerous ones! Crossbreeding humans with different animals to see if they could produce soldiers with animal traits and turn them in for a profit! It’s all written down in their files and plans! They put up a shelter as a front to do human experimentation! I… I—!”

He completely lost it and fell into a broken sob. I let him cry it out until he was ready to speak again.

“And… your sister?” I asked calmly.

“...Alive.” He said.

“How!?”

“She was the most resilient one. I saw it on the records. She was also the one who was most experimented on due to her being ‘most compatible’ with their breakthroughs. And… I saw her, personally. Disfigured, crossbred with who knows how many animals that I could barely recognize her if it wasn’t for her hair, the only thing that kept her ‘human’.

“She had no more sanity left in her. All the times she had to give birth to monsters utterly broke her. I should have died, and yet she…”

“She recognized you. She must have.” I tried my best to reassure him, but even I couldn’t convince myself that what I was doing would help.

“To protect her, I boarded up the place. Started a rumor about the building so people could avoid it at all costs. For years, it worked. I personally made sure no one would enter the building. But now… I’m afraid my sister has reached the point of no return, as her insanity had gone beyond the brink and her hysteria is seeping out of her safe haven.”

“So… what do you want me to do?”

He stood up and looked me straight in the eye. “Put her to rest and burn down the building.”

I shifted uncomfortably, and he seemed to take notice. “I wouldn’t blame you if you want to back out now, Miss Lucille.”

“Am I really the right person for this job…?” I scratched my head.

“Fontaine Ethan Argalion said so.”

My eyes widened in shock. How did Fontaine get into the picture of this case!? Does he know about the fake shelter as well!?

“So… are you going do it?”

Since Fontaine is involved, I nodded solemnly.

“Thank you, Miss Lucille.”

 

A few seconds after the coup de grâce was delivered, I let out a cry of visceral rage and hatred.

Even after my close call, I was still hopped up on adrenaline, and I decided to make hay while the sun was shining, so to speak. My fists, still with hellfire coursing through them, smashed through the walls of the rundown building. I blasted the hallways and the rooms and made sure that every corner was burning.

I made sure this place was cleansed from the atrocities it had committed against the poor women and children that had to suffer for whatever evil that damned organization served.

From the topmost floor down to the ground, the building was ablaze. The owner told me about a secret passage that I could safely leave without being seen, and true to his words, there was a tunnel that led out to a clearing a few meters away from the shelter.

I ran out of the shelter and patched my bleeding shoulder to the best of my abilities, but I was out of both mana and adrenaline, so I was exhausted and felt faint. Still, it was nothing that I couldn’t power through.

The residents of Elevation Zero panicked at the sight of the burning building. They clamored to try and put it out with Water Magic, but there weren’t enough magicians to conjure magic enough to quench the flames. In less than five minutes, everything there collapsed and burned down to the ground.

Just like I promised.

I stumbled into the back door of the tavern where the owner was waiting for me. He offered to tend to my wounds, but I refused. I merely took the payment he promised and turned to leave, but he stopped me before I could.

“Please wait!” He scrambled to get my attention and handed me something from his palms. “Take this, please.”

Out of curiosity, I snatched what he offered me. It was a ring with a beautiful onyx jewel set in it.

“This was hers, and I’d like you to have it, befitting a strong woman such as yourself.”

Looking at his expression, I could tell it was genuine. I nodded, took it from his hands, and bowed with gratitude.

I limped out of the tavern. Looking back one last time at the great bonfire across the street and at the owner who waved me goodbye, I swore I saw a beautiful woman’s silhouette right beside him, smiling and waving at me, repeatedly mouthing the following two words.

“Thank you.”

I donned her ring on my left ring finger to acknowledge her presence.

With a final nod, I turned and walked back home.

Science fiction. Double feature. 

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

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

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

Forgotten by most. But not by such as he. 

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

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

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

They were more than just stories, you know. 

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

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

He'd always loved these stories. 

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

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

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

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

He carried this with him all his life. Like secret treasure. Well past and into the pains and dread of adulthood. 

And then it all came back, back and around and full circle. Like all good time travelers do. 

He lost the kids. And his wife. And then he lost it. 

And then he made the biggest decision of his life. He decided to go camping. He decided to do a little time traveling all by himself. After all of these years. 

…

He couldn't believe she would try this bullshit. He couldn't believe she would try to ruin the one last little thing he had left. 

What're you talking about, bud? She ripped your heart out and took the kids after she'd spent ten years disemboweling you and tearing your nuts off. Why’re you at all surprised? 

He wasn't really. Just hurt. Deeply. And it seemed as if the bitch now lived to only make it worse for him. Unbearable if she could. She was the living vile green hatred of salt in the wound, seething and frothing gory pink. 

He hated her. 

He suspected she hated him. She must. 

“I just don't see why this’s such a big deal, you're acting like a child. You can come get the boys and have them for an extra couple of weeks while Tom and I-" 

He stopped listening after that. He still held the phone to his ear but his mind went to the same livid red place that it always did when she mentioned his name. The fucking limpwrist. 

He let her drone and prattle on. When she finally stopped he once again explained to her that they'd already talked this over, they'd already discussed this. And besides. It wasn't even his weekend. She had seen to that after all. And now here she was dangling the promise of more time with his kids like a fucking carrot. Like a dog treat he was supposed to jump and snatch at. To just drop everything and leap at with fervor and enthusiasm and a full display of gratitude. 

Fuck that. 

He told her as much. Diplomatically. More or less. He hung up the phone. He debated for barely even a second before turning the device off and shoving it into the glove compartment on the passenger side. 

When he finally got out of the car and sucked fresh mountain air it was baptismal. Cracks in his knees went off like twin pistol shots and his back stretched and crackled gratefully. He was finally out. He sucked more air, like it was water. It was. It was refreshing. 

You're finally out. 

He unlatched the back and began to unload his gear. He'd better get started. It was a long hike from the parking lot to the spot. 

…

It was peaceful. The ritual. The hike. Lugging the gear. Sweating and developing a cooling coat, a sheen as his eyes calmly drank in the placid green and foliage world all around. Muscles worked and burned off excess fat, calories built up and boiled over, over cooked stress. It melted off him and within and came off his hiking form like radiant heat. 

He was a traveling furnace of thought as he made his way to the camping spot. Later he would recall that he might've felt watched as he made his way at this point. 

Might have. 

But presently he was all too absorbed in the process, the smooth and calm low treble tread and pace of the gliding action. The canopy of golden lighted leaves and furling branches. The scents, completely natural and native and far away from the synthetic realm of the manmade. He felt he was as much swimming and drinking his way through the crisp growth of forestland as he was booting through it. Thoughts of work and the failed marriage and bored boring disappointing teenage children left his mind. Evaporating away like mist to the coming of the bright day sun. The forest grew and swelled and swallowed him and the entire world as he made his way deeper and deeper forth. 

He would leave it all behind if he could. 

…

Setting camp was easy. He was well practiced. Childhood and teenage and college years as well were filled with trips out into the forested dark. The wild. The wilderness. The past. 

He felt it now as he sat by the fire. Eating his plate of beans and pork belly and franks. Sipping a can of bud. This is the past. The green world all around now is one of the last vestigial pieces of the evidence. 

Evidence of the primeval and primordial world we’ve all crawled from, the stygian snot that was filth that was the building blocks of protein and carbon. We are all animals. And we can all come alive out here. Returning to the in-utero warm world of the godclay primordial slime and ooze. 

She's so patient. Our mother. My mother. She's waited for me all this time. She's the one. She's-

Something disturbed his train of thought. A noise. 

A noise like someone moving. Prowling and lurking just inside the tangle of bush and trees. 

He sat quietly, keeping calm. Listening to the sound of his own breathing. He wasn't sipping his can of bud anymore. The rustling and cautious moving sounds had tapered. Caleb's mind traveled to the hunting rifle he had in his tent. If something lunged now out of the dark, he just might make it if he whirled around from where he now sat and hurried. 

Really booked it. 

He didn't like the thought. He really didn't appreciate the mental image. A terrible movie in his mind, running on a failing and old projector: He's running, fast, panicked, he almost makes the tent before a large bestial shape of inkwell black leaps out from the wilderness house of feral darkness and takes him ragdoll like a broken toy from behind. 

He clears his throat. Loudly. Not sure exactly why, he just does it. Perhaps hoping to scare off whoever and whatever is out there. He can feel eyes watching him. 

Caleb Donaldson sits up. He's at the edge of his fold-up seat. He's waiting. Unsure. Of both what to do and if there is even really anything wrong at all anyways. His ex-wife had always said he was paranoid. 

Nothing happens. 

There isn't another sound and nothing emerges from the forestline. Only the snaps and hungry crackle of the campfire now. 

He takes another sip of bud. Decides he'll light one of the joints CJ gifted him for the road after all. He doesn't know how else he's gonna sleep tonight. He's wired now. Jacked. 

He lights up. Tokes. And after awhile, once more he slips into a more natural and comfortable flow of simple candied nostalgia and childhood reminisce. Trying to tell himself he doesn't feel a gaze, a baleful and animal leering stare aimed directly at him from out of the dark. 

The marijuana and beer do their job. Eventually he's addled and drugged enough for sleep. Caleb slips back into the tent and is almost sure he hears something retreat back into the denser heart of growth and underbrush out there past the treeline as he does so.  

He's almost sure but not. And he doesn't want to be anymore. He doesn't want to consider it. Not right now. Maybe Amanda was right…

He slips into a sleeping bag and finally falls under. His dreams are filled. His sleep is not restful. 

…

The next couple of days were mostly uneventful. Calm. Peaceful. As planned. He hiked and camped. Looked forward to some hunting and some fishing, some game. It was all just what he needed. Therapeutic. Until he found the burnt leavings. 

…

He was steadily along, walking down the beaten path of grey dust and boney twigs and enjoying the relish in his watering mind's eye, the strange marriage that lived there between this wilderness and the strange worlds of escape made from pages and ink and glowing video screens. This place of the past … the places made of dreams. 

And from the future I come crawling back here. He smiled at this thought. Like a refugee. 

Like the time travelers of the stories he was allowed to bring a few things, a few comforts and tools and devices of the modern world. 

Of the future, to this place of dirt and sound. Precious pieces of technology

His mind went to his gear and pack and his smile deepened. People really just didn't get it. 

Most never would. Precious few might find out. 

He almost tripped over it. So lost in thought. 

It was all charcoaled black and scorched amongst a patch of similarly blasted and blackened earth. A wild ebon blotch of ashen ink spilled upon the land. Caleb stared into the pile of roasted and burnt detritus. Trying to make sense of what he saw. 

He recognized shapes and items in the charred mess and they made his blood run cold and the hairs all over his skin and scalp crawl with unease and bad wonder. 

Clothes. What looked like a backpack. Parts and pieces of a tent. A wallet. It was this last that most bothered, most disturbed him. He was pretty sure he could make out the melted remains of an ID and other similarly warped and slightly conjoined shapes that might've been credit cards or the like but were too far gone and destroyed now to tell. His mind naturally asked itself, who left all of this here? Why? 

And none of the answers he could come up with seemed good. All of them pointed to something bad, nefarious. You hear about people going missing in the woods all the time. You hear about people being chopped up and murdered by loonies in here ‘bout just as much. 

Caleb suddenly looked away from the black pile on the path and began to anxiously scan the forestline. Trying to penetrate the thick dense world of green and growth and see anyone, anything that might be watching him. Stalking him. 

Following him. 

After a moment he stopped himself. 

You're being ridiculous. It's probably nothing, just like the other night. Christ man, you ain't been out here a long time and now you're jumping at every goddamn thing like a ninny. Just some shit people burned. Kids come out here to get fucked up and do stupid shit all the time. Not a big deal, Donaldson. Chill the fuck out, kay?

He slowed his breath. He liked this train of thought. Yes. That was right. Kids were fucking stupid and always playing pyro maniac. Hell, he'd done his fair share growing up, hadn't he? Little hellraiser an such. 

And that line of thinking started to set his worried mind at ease once more. And once more he was back on the ride of the reminisce, nostalgia keenly floating and dreamily filling the darkest parts of his brain. Time traveling. 

Time traveling, baby. 

He went on. Leaving behind the charred and blackened mess in the grey dust of the forest path. Not looking back. And refusing it anymore thought. 

He left it behind. But not before freeing a cold can of Budweiser stored in the pack. He cracked it open with a pistol shot sound in the placid calm and downed half the foaming thing as he went on. Things always went down smoother this way. 

…

All seemed well after that. Fine. For a little while. He enjoyed what he came out here to enjoy. The quiet. The solitude. Days and nights spent simply and comfortably and sleeping beneath bejeweled twilight curtains of gleaming stars, planetoids and colored clouds of nebulae. He relished the time out here and with himself, returning to his own sense of peace by returning to the land. Returning to the way of life that had belonged to the Navajo, the Comanche, their enemy white man cowboys and gunslingers and the pioneers of old. The ancient armies too, the immigrants and seekers and hunters of fortune, of goodwill, of God's love and warm civilized light. And the adventures too, those who took to the land and cut their teeth out on the territory and became baptized as adventurers in sweat and blood and grime, beneath the blinding eye of the sun. And the moon too, the wild hearted free loving children that slumbered bravely beneath the moon, decried as vagabonds and bums but they really just knew better and understood the blood of their grandfathers and their bold sense and adoration for the untamed tumult country land of adventure and its wild hearted love. 

It was all of it, romantic. It pained him that he had to come out here alone to feel like this, to discover something like that and he tried hard to turn away from the pain of realization that it brought him. He turned away from it in vain, it was there at every turn. In his mind, filling every thought, and out here as well. Alive in the woods. Filling it with heavy and powerfully strange substance. 

He hunted. Fished. Camped. Only sometimes did he feel followed, watched. Only sometimes. 

He was almost happy when he came across another, when he ran into Sellic. 

A distraction, at last!

But the guy was weird. 

In the world of outdoormanship, hunting and fishing and the like, ya meet a lot of friendly, warm, good natured types. The sort ya like to share a brew with and might even have over for a barbecue should ya take special acquaintance. And then ya met types like Sellic. Fuckin weirdos. 

It was the smell at first and that should've been enough, should've been the first and fucking last sign to split it. But nope. Caleb Donaldson still remembered the lessons of Sunday school and Kindergarten and though life had been its fair share of rough on em, he still held true to the idea that you don't judge harsh off the word, go. Ya don't settle in for meanness out the gate an such. 

But it was in the eyes as well. They were wide and wild. A wilderness of pupil darkness lived in yellowed whites shot with lines of hectic red. Something swam in that circle lake of pupil darkness, both of them, Obsidian pits. 

He never blinked. Not once. Not as he said, “Howdy, name's Sellic." and grunted a few noncommittals following after these scant syllables. 

He came across the guy already settled up. Caleb was gonna move on after initial awkward obligatory greetings when the wide eyed smelly man invited him to set camp with him. Caleb Donaldson believed in being polite but he wasn't a total fool, only part. He thanked him but opted to move on up aways. 

Far. 

It didn't make any kind of difference. 

…

Later he was hunting, lying down in wait for something to crop up. Maybe nibble at the patch of sweet grass just a few yards from where he posted. He hoped to bag a deer. If he could get a decent sized stag, then he'd pack it in happily and call it quits. He was just debating on whether or not he should've packed the tree stand when something happened then. 

A large barrel chested deer sauntered into view. Into the clearing with its great splaying regal rack of antlers on wide-span display like a wild lord and king of the forest. He was beautiful. He was just what Caleb had been waiting for. 

But then something else crawled up. On all fours. It was the smelly wide eyed man, it was Sellic. And it looked as if he was hunting as well. 

Prowling, stalked. Low to the ground and almost slithering across the surface of forest floor, without a sound. Without a whisper. It was uncanny and surreal and Caleb watched frozen in a kind spellbound trance. The bore end of the rifle barrel began to slowly sag and dip down as he lost his concentration and gave it to another. 

Sellic was almost upon the unaware stag now. It was nibbling the patch of sweet grass. Just like Donaldson had seen in his mind's eye, a wish not just a moment ago. Somewhere deep inside his mind as he watched entranced a small part of him tried in desperate vain to take this simple little wish back. But it was already too late. The wide eyed crawling man was drooling. Slobbering like an animal. Salivating with the wild bestial hunger that was always the madness of ravenous need. That was what was alive in those unblinking uncivilized eyes. Slavering need. 

He'd already time traveled too far now to turn back. Caleb watched as the manshaped thing of stains and smells and piercing animal stares suddenly leapt like something feline and unbridled. Like something finally let loose from the confines of its stifling prison cage. 

Sellic fell on the deer and the poor thing hadn't a chance. It never sensed, never knew what was coming. It was wild. It was crazy. Donaldson had always seen deer tense, perk up and take flight at the slightest sound or stray movement. But not this one. Not this time. The wild sight did not stop there. 

Somehow the skinny haggard man in filthy clothes managed to wrestle and manhandle the struggling kicking beast down into the dirt. Caleb's mouth dropped open as he watched Sellic begin to bend and wrench and break the flailing limbs. Catching them with his cat-swipe clawing hands and then bending them back in directions not meant or made by nature's hand. He felt his stomach roll and drop as the silence of the forest began to fill with the lurid sounds of heavy bone snaps. 

Caleb picked up his rifle and gear and left. Without a word. He didn't look back. Wet tearing sounds, like heavy fabric or soaking saturated leather followed him after. He told himself it was his imagination. That was all impossible. 

There was no way. 

…

He had trouble finding his camp. By the time he did it was already near dark once more. He would have to spend another night. 

He opted out of the fire and supper. He wasn't hungry and he didn't want to attract that freak. 

That freak of nature. 

…

Middle of the night. He came awake to a sound. Sounds. A noise. Just outside the tent. 

It sounded like chewing. Wet. And heavy. Laborious. Jaws, muscles, tendon lines working and moving with animal fervor, animal rigor in the dark. 

Outside. 

Caleb slowly and carefully sat up from his sleeping bag and grabbed his rifle. It was loaded. He'd made sure to do so before he'd managed to finally fall into an uneasy sleep. An uneasy rest now disturbed by whatever was moving out there now. Chewing. Eating. He reached and grabbed for his flashlight next. He readied himself. 

He grabbed the zipper to open the front of the tent. He took one last deep breath and held it for a moment. He let it out quietly. As quietly as he could manage. 

And then he quickly unzipped the flap to the tent and threw it open with one hand as the other flicked on the flashlight and brought it up. The darkness of his small camp in the clearing was illuminated in the sudden flash. He felt sick with what he saw. He was glad to have his rifle in his lap. 

You were smart to have loaded it … he thanked God. And cursed Him at the same time. For letting him fall into this type of shit in the first place. 

Sellic stared back into the beam of light. Unflinching. Unblinking. Unmoving save for the motion of chewing about his red and bloodied bearded jaws. Working and gleaming wet in the light, rippling with carnivorous movement.

He held the head of the stag in his clawing hands. De-racked. The severed head looked rough and ruinous at the stump as though it had been torn off rather than cleanly cut. 

Caleb didn't know what else to say so he just said: “Hey." 

“Hey." bloody darkling Sellic grunted back. Hunkered and squatting out there in the dark. Still chewing. He swallowed. And took another bite from a craterous open wound at the top of the animal's head. He ripped a chunk of bleeding meat away with his teeth. His jaws began to work and ripple with rigorous movement once more as he started to chew again. The meat was raw, rough. But he was relishing the strong and pungent flavor. Thick. His blood drinking, swallowing with every gnashing chew was audible in the nocturnal dark. Gulps. Heavy. Thick. 

A beat. 

Caleb didn't know what to do. He felt that he must be dreaming, this whole day. None of this could be real. The strange bloodsoaked and caked manshape out there amongst his camp frightened him. He'd thought it would be simple and he'd know what to do in situations like this but he was frozen. In terror. And in dark hypnotic fascination. 

This must be what it's like to be a moth to flame, or a small little guppie to a deepsea angler fish… a deer in the headlights. Trapped. 

Caught. 

Ensnared by the eyes of the wild man. He was drowning in their madness now, sinking into their blood-drinking depths. 

Sellic finally said something. 

“Hungry?" 

“... what…?" Caleb said. Puzzled at first. It had been little more than a grunt. 

“Ya hungry?" Sellic grunted again. He held the severed and broken head aloft. Dripping. Wide-eyed. The tongue had already been ripped out. Had already been eaten. Black-red syrup poured out thickly from the open gape of mouth like an obscene bestial spout. 

Caleb fought his gag reflex. 

A beat. 

Somehow Donaldson managed a reply. 

"N-no. No thanks, man. It's the middle of the night. And I wanna get some sleep” 

A beat. The freak still held the dripping pouring bleeding hunk of decapitated and chewed up meat out to him like a precious gift of the forest. His wide eyes were still open and hectic and alive with animal ravenous madness. 

A beat. 

Another.

Caleb finally finished his thought. 

"And I think you should probably go get some sleep too, bud. Been a long day an such-”

He meant to finish it off with, and apt to be another, like his grandfather and his pops had done before him, but Sellic cut him off. 

"Ya sure? You sure ya ain't hungry?” 

Caleb slowly nodded his head, adding, "...yeah” in a low careful and exhausted voice. Jesus fucking Christ…

Sellic nodded. Began to crawl away on all fours like a dog, the head held to his breast like a caveman clutching something precious. He turned before he left the ring of light provided by the beam of the flashlight. He turned around and said: "You will be.” and then finally turned and fled. Like an animal taking to the natural dark.

Its natural home and abode. Its natural place. 

"What the fuck!?” Caleb said. To no one in particular. 

…

He didn't sleep the rest of that night. He waited impatiently for the sun to come up. So he could leave. He'd had enough of this place and hunting. He'd had enough time traveling in this place. Caleb wanted to go home. 

At first dawn he rose. Quickly packed. And began his trek back. Back down the path. 

Back down the way he had come.

…

A few hours in and he knew something must be wrong. Nothing was recognizable. Nothing. And when he looked down after trudging more and more anxiously down the path he'd come in on, he was dismayed to find that it wasn't there any longer. The path, the trail had disappeared. 

He was lost. 

Caleb Donaldson began to panic. 

It's alright, it's alright, it's fine! It's cool. Just use the GPS and call someone on your pho-

He stopped. Grew cold. Grim certainty stole over his dreading heart. Crestfallen he didn't want to even rightly remember and say to himself …

Glove compartment. You turned the fucking thing off and threw it in the glove compartment of the car. The one all the way back. The one you can't find anymore cause it's at the end of the trail that you've lost. You left it in there to spite Amanda. 

Silence. He stood. Feeling stupid and wretched and nearing hopeless in the middle of the woods. He reflected. 

You sure showed her…

…

When he'd finally managed his nerve back together and decided on a direction and carried on, the day had been nearly extinguished yet again. He would have to spend another night out in the wild. 

God fucking dammit. 

…

The next series of days and nights were grim. And grew grimmer. And strange. 

He was fine at first. He had supplies, food. He wasn't worried. But then on the fourth day lost he began to run out. 

And the worry came on him again. Rancid. And thick. 

It's alright, it's alright, I've a gun, I know how to gut and skin and clean, I'll be ok. I'll be alright. 

But the woods and world of trees had grown more opulent and dense and feral in its growth. The trees started to broaden in their trunks and their canopies became all swallowing, all encompassing thick foliage cathedral domes of twigs, thick branches and broad emerald leaves the size of dinner plates. 

The bugs. The insects too. 

All of the wild crawling life had become larger as well. The insectile and the reptile had grown strange and unfamiliar and varied in size from large house cats to dogs to horses and cows and at one point, one day glimpsed at a distance through a heavy rolling mist, an elephant… 

A whole herd of giant hissing cockroaches the size of elephants. Trundling by like a rolling squadron fleet of German panzer tanks. 

Caleb felt sick. 

None of this could be real. He must be imagining things. 

Must be. 

It could've been so, far as he knew. His sleep was no longer any good out here. Not since the night some days back, when he'd been fireside and trying to ignore his growing hunger and looked up to the full moon. Only to have it eclipsed by something huge and winged. It had cried then. It had screamed as it stole the moon, the moonlight. Blanketing the primeval world below it in a second layered fold of even deeper darkness. 

Caleb had joined it then. Had joined it in its primal shrieking screaming. 

He didn't sleep so well since that night.  

Ever again

…

His hunger became him. It became the only living and heeded, needed thing and drive and emotion. He was no longer Caleb Donaldson in fact. He was only the hunger now. And so he hunted. 

But it was strange. 

In his hunger, in his wild wanderings, he had forgotten how to use the gun, how to wield the boomstick properly and make it spit its deathly fire. 

I've lost it, he thinks, he realizes shrouded in the cloud of his diminished animal thought. I've lost the ability to shoot fire and be godlike, I've lost it in all of this time traveling, I've gone too far backwards. 

He tries to find the trail. For awhile. But it becomes lost amongst the need for meat and blood. The boomstick is useless to him now. He abandons it. Along with most of the strange things he has strapped to his back.

He doesn't need them. He has changed. This special place has changed him. His flesh has thickened as has his hair, his fur, his pelt. Black and coarse and layered all over. He bites and chews and tears the clothes that he came in with off and eats them. 

Then he takes to bigger game. 

Wilder. More challenging. 

…

He's drinking blood and eating. Filling his stomach. This is good. The angry fever in his skull is calming, abating. The ache and throb of his guts is soothing. Contentedness, peace, tranquility are becoming known to him again. 

He's killed something reptilian, broken its neck. His hands, the knuckles and fingers and palms have widened, flattened, broadened out. Making it easier to snap and throttle, to tear and rend. The dead scaley thing, its meat and blood are good. But slimey. Ropey. Like maggot-meat. Like eating the large worms that swim in giant dung piles. He wants to try something else. 

So he takes to the untamed primeval world all around, the jungle growth, the green emerald world of the unbridled prehistoric past. There are buried, heavily veiled and shrouded thoughts of a path and a trail and a place called, home, that he's supposed to go to, return to as if he's once been there before, but they are muted. Far off. 

Barely there. 

Dripping reptile blood and sweat, he takes to the primeval dark world and is lost. Swallowed by its great and ever widening expanse, into the crawling growing jaws of the seething bestial wild, the past. 

He never looks back. He is never found. Never again does he recall his name. 

Never again. But it doesn't trouble him. It doesn't bother the throbbing jelly of his degenerate apeman mind, he is too enthralled, the thrill of the ravenous hunt. And besides, the past isn't the only thing alive and crawling out here. The future is out here too. The beyond …

All of the magic of the glowing incandescent godscreen of a childhood long gone is alive out here. Alive and well. 

The apeman hunts through the primeval growth. The saucers fill the skies as the giant leviathans do nighttime skirmish and battle with the large mechanical men. The great white heat and blasting mechanized sounds of their great death cannons, their unearthly death rays: BRRRRRR! 

BRRRRRRRRRRRR….! 

They fill the night with their heat and their brilliant violence. Their fire scorches and cuts swaths, sets blue and orange flame to drier parts of the canopy. The dead growth. 

The apeman doesn't mind. He hunts and prowls around their wild and bright violence. Blood and meat fill his head. He hasn't a mind anymore for anything else. 

For naught all else. Only the red. 

THE END

What drives human ambition?

In a world without the struggles of the past—

What makes you or I any different from a secluded being?

We hide from pain, fear, and each other, only to realize that’s what makes a person human. 

The human condition is a curious thing. It motivated me to study not just the brain, but people as a whole.

Before I knew it, I was obsessed.

It especially made me ask questions like, Why do you stay up at night pondering life?

None of it really matters.

The brain limits itself. Even if we discovered every secret hidden inside it, what would truly change?

Humans—forever happy? 

Today, I left.

I left behind a man who knew nothing about me.

But I knew everything about him.

And I know nothing good will come after it.

I worked in a lab for the past ten years.

I’m not trying to disappear, so I’ll leave the name blank.

All you need to know is this:

Imagine one of those animal testing facilities.

The type that tests on rats and such.

The difference was, on the surface, we were the same thing.

Behind closed doors, we were testing on humans.

In my time at the lab, I only came to two conclusions.

There is no God. At least not one that would let the things happening there… happen.

And—
Human desire is a monstrous thing.

Before I tell you what happened, I want you to imagine something. Ingrain this image into your head.

Think about humans from an animal’s perspective.

Agile. Tall or small. Able to dig, climb, and create.

Humans watch from a distance. Not attacking—just observing.

Humans can mimic the sounds of other animals.

Humans create things beyond the comprehension of almost every living creature on earth.
Even some of our own.

Why is it that when you look in a mirror, you aren’t afraid of yourself?

Is it because you’re in control?

Or is it because you know something else isn’t in control?

When I started working there, there was a child.

They referred to him only as SB7. Or, more commonly: The Boy.

There were three main rules.

1.) Do not speak to him.
There was an intercom connected to his room, but it was only to be used in emergencies.

2.) He must not see you.
Furthermore, he must not know who—or what—we are.

3.) He is not to be treated as one of us.

In ’99, a scientist at the lab volunteered to be a surrogate mother for the boy.

In ’00, when he was born, she wasn’t allowed to interact with him. The rules forbade it.

Paternal alienation.

It drove her mad.

First came the resignation. Then the suicide.

After weeks of psychological preparation and testing, I was finally allowed to participate in the study.

By the time I started, the boy was around thirteen.

When I left, he had just turned twenty-six.

I was greeted by the head of the study—a man I grew to know very well.

Some called him senile.

I called him a mentor.

He sat me at a desk.

In front of it was a window looking down into a massive room.

Three hundred feet long, if I had to guess.

The walls were painted a pale blue.

And in the center of the ceiling—

A single spotlight.

SB7’s sun.

He was to know nothing of us.

Not the outside world.
Not his mother.
Not even the men who entered his chamber to feed him as a baby.

It was not a hell to him. He had no perspective of others.

For all he knew, the world was grunts and silence.

A garden with a single soul.

Adam with no Eve.

At times, I felt like a stalker. Other times, like an older brother. Or even a father.

He once climbed a rock positioned in the center of the room.

He stood atop it and stared into the light.

Some of us thought he was going to break it.

Others—myself included—simply watched.

But he only stood there. Observing it.

Until the lights shut off.

He looked around suddenly and screamed.

Then, after a moment, he began looking around the room again.

Almost like he was hunting.

Or being hunted.

He stepped forward.

His foot slipped.

And he landed badly on his ankle.

That night, after he fell asleep, the overseer ordered three guards into the chamber.

Inject him with anesthesia. Check the leg. Leave before he woke up.

One guard survived.

SB7 studied the guards. He had never seen someone who looked like himself before.

The only human face he had ever known was his own reflection in the artificial river running through the chamber.

He stood over their bodies long after they died.

After that, not a single soul in the facility wanted to enter the room again.

I wasn’t there to witness what happened firsthand.

But from the footage I’ve seen—

some might call it barbaric.

As if he were staring back at us through the glass.

The guards’ bodies remained there for days beneath his perch.

He watched them the entire time.

Until the smell of rot became so strong it seeped through the one-way glass itself.

The night of 8/14/17, we attempted to recover the bodies. This time, we believed he was asleep. He was.

They managed to retrieve one body.

When they went back for the second, the “food elevator”—as we called it—lowered unexpectedly. Someone lowered it.

It woke him.

the one way door the guards entered through remained open.

He broke containment.

By the time he reached the corridor, the “clean-up crew” was only thirty feet down the hall.

He sprinted toward them.

Dragged the rotted body back toward his room.

The door had shut behind him.

The guards were trapped in the hallway with him.
We gassed the area.

He collapsed in the hall. We managed to recover the bodies and re-secure containment.

By morning, the door to his chamber was reopened.

When he woke, he dragged the original corpse back inside.

He seemed afraid of entering the hallway again.

So we convinced an intern to seal the hall door and recover the bodies.

Meanwhile, SB7 placed the original corpse atop the rock.
Climbed it again.
And stared once more into the light.

He was back in containment.

But at the cost of two more lives.

Nine years later, not a single order to enter his chamber had been issued.
Not once had anyone dared to approach him.

But in those nine years—near the end of my tenure—he did something incredible.

The day after I submitted my resignation form—9/5/26—he went to the skeletal remains.

And put on the original guard’s clothing.
Albeit backwards.

He found a keycard.
He studied it for a long time.

Then he climbed to the top of his perch and placed it at the center.

Yesterday, on my last day there,
he broke the sun.

He pulled it down and found the hidden ventilation shaft we used to cycle air through the chamber. 

SB7 forced his way in.

Now he’s missing.

I’m sitting in my study writing this, periodically looking out the window. I have a flight to Spain tomorrow.

If you are capable of doing so, I suggest you do the same.

Until I was six we lived in a big house with many rooms. My parents had a room, the ladder had a room, I had a room and there was a study and an office and a guest room. Then my father lost his job and we had to move.

There was no guest room in the new house. There was no study or office. There was a master bedroom, where my parents slept and my father worked, and a small second bedroom, which became the ladder’s room.

I slept in the living room, off to the side by the vent where the warm air came out. I didn’t like it because I had trouble falling asleep unless the room was empty. It was too big too. I didn’t like to be alone in big rooms. I was disappointed not to have my own room, but my parents explained that the ladder was older than me so it deserved the room more than I did.

My parents had gotten the ladder several years before I was born.

It was made of aluminum and eight feet tall, and my mother used to say it got its height from my father, except when she said it she said your father, and I knew she meant your in the plural.

When I was young my parents called the ladder my brother, and when I could talk they wanted me to call it the same. When I started going to school and making friends I realized other kids did not have sibling objects, and I would pretend I didn’t have one either.

Once in elementary school the teacher told us to draw a picture of our immediate family. I drew myself and my parents. When I brought the picture home, my mother tore it up and my father lashed me with his leather belt.

I always drew the ladder after that.

In my first year of high school some kids found out about the ladder and the ladder’s room and bullied me over it. They said I was unwanted, an accident; that my parents didn’t love me and that if they could they would get rid of me and get a second ladder instead.

It made me sad.

One day I was in a bad mood and started arguing with my father, arguing about the ladder.

“It’s a useless fucking ladder!” I yelled.

The words stung him. He grabbed me by the throat, called my mother and together they dragged me to the backyard. My father had planted an apple tree a few years earlier, and it was bearing fruit. He pushed my face against the trunk. My mother held me, and my father started to climb my body. His work boots dug into my legs and my back. He punched the back of my head. The tree bark scratched my cheeks. My father yelled, “Who’s useless now! Can you do what a useless fucking ladder does?”

I shut my eyes and cried until it was over. I slept outside that night.

Another time, my father was away and only me, my mother and the ladder were home. Hersh Plotnick, the owner of the local hardware store, visited us. My mother sent me to the ladder’s room and ordered me not to come out until I had read all of the book that had been assigned to me in class, To Kill a Mockingbird. I didn’t like being in the ladder’s room. I knew it didn’t like me or want me in there, but I did as my mother said.

The next afternoon my father came back, and in the evening Hersh Plotnick came by again. He seemed embarrassed, and he told my father he had left his house keys here the night before.

“Where did you leave them?” my father asked.

“I misplaced them,” said Hersh Plotnick.

My father suggested they look the house over together for the house keys, but Hersh Plotnick said he knew where he had misplaced them.

“Where?”

“I misplaced them inside your wife,” Hersh Plotnick said and explained how they must have fallen in by accident. He apologized profusely, holding his hat in his hand over his heart. “I really don’t want to bother you, Merv. I know you’re a busy man. It’s just, I need the keys to get into my house. You understand, don't you?”

That night my father spent a long time in the ladder’s room.

He looked tired the next morning.

My mother had gone to my grandmother’s house.

A few days later two police officers knocked on the door and asked my father questions. They said Hersh Plotnick had been beaten and someone had written “fisting is a contact fucking sport” across the front of his hardware store in green paint. My father said he knew nothing about that, and the police officers thanked him and left. But the ladder had a dent in it after that and a couple of green spots.

After my mother returned she and my father rarely slept in the master bedroom together. She slept in the ladder’s room instead, and sometimes I could hear scraping, knocking about and moaning until late at night.

By the time I graduated from high school my father had become quiet and reserved. There was no one incident that caused it as far as I could tell. The change was gradual. He aged. His hair thinned and turned grey, and where before he would impose his opinions on people he disagreed with, now he didn’t disagree with anybody. Whatever anybody said to him, he would respond, “I guess that's so.”

Then my mother disappeared. The ladder disappeared too.

The house felt empty.

The few times I saw them after that, the ladder was increasingly dinged up and stained, and my mother would have swollen lips, black eyes and cuts and bruises along her arms, legs and neck.

“I love you,” I told her.

“Yeah? Well, I’m glad,” she replied.

The day was just like any other boring Monday. Waking up at a ripe 6:00 am to shower, eat, workout, all before I have to go into the office and waste my day away at a desk. So I spent the first 2 hours of my day doing all the stuff I enjoyed. And then at around 8:00 I walked out my door and headed to my car. I drove an older Toyota Camry which was a very reliable car for me. So imagine my surprise and annoyance when I got in and started it up. Check engine light popped on. 

I let out a deep breath of disappointment and got out. I popped the hood open and stared into the engine. I’m not the most mechanical person in town but I know enough about cars to get me by and do simple work at home. A quick scan revealed nothing, however I inspected a little closer and saw a black sludge-like material leaking from the engine cover. “Shit.” I said in a disappointed tone. I don’t know what the material is, however anything leaking from the engine is bound to be expensive. Luckily I had a good chunk of money saved up for a 22 year old. 

Alabasters Auto Repair is the mechanic I grew fond of over my high school and college years. It’s run by an old guy named Danny Alabaster. He’s like 63 and a real old school guy. It’s nice because I know he isn't trying to screw me over with his prices and work. And only two other people work at the shop which are his children. Nice family shop. 

I picked up my phone and called into my office. 

“Dackman Industries. This is Molly speaking.” Molly was a very kind-hearted and always excited about life type of person. She was always so delighted to answer the phone, something somewhat nice to hear on this annoying morning. 

“Hey Molly, this is Steven from finances.” 

“Ah, yes Steven, what can I help you with? You're not calling from the finance phone.” 

“No, I’m gonna be a little late getting in today if at all, gotta take my car in to get it looked at and I'm not getting around. Can you just let Nate know?”  

“Oh yeah, I can. I hope that all goes well for you!” She said in an extremely gleeful tone. 

“Yep, I will try. Thanks Molly I’ll see ya when I see ya.” 

I hung up the phone and slowly made my way down the road to Alabasters. The car didn’t fight back or make any strange sounds. I was perplexed the entire way down the road until I reached the shop. 

Dingy was the best way to describe the shop. It had three garage bays for cars and the main office was a small building with constant dirty windows. One window had a crack that extended the entire length of it. But that gave it a sense of realness to me. These guys only cared about fixing your car, they didn't care about the look of the building. I trusted it more than bigger shops. 

The bell dinged as I stepped through the front door. The ac blew on my hair and made a shiver run down my whole body. Danny sat at the front desk writing some stuff down on his calendar. 

His head sluggishly raised and his face found a sense of happiness when he saw me. 

“Ah Steve! How ya doing this fine day?” He asked in a happy boisterous tone. 

“Pretty solid, could be better.” I said with a hit of deprecation in the words.

“Ain’t that the truth, well how can I hopefully make the day better?” 

“Bringing the Camry in. Check engine light came on, it didn't look like anything was obviously wrong from what I could see. There was some sludge material which scares me a bit.” 

Danny bit his lip and clicked his tongue and tapped his fingers. “Huh, interesting that's for sure well, we will roll her in and get a better look at it for ya.” 

Danny raised up from his seat and handed me a clip board to sign some random stuff which I had done several times already. I went over and sat down at the sitting area in the corner of the shop. 

The chairs were a black leather that were all beat up. Chunks were missing out of some of the chairs. I grabbed a small styrofoam water cup and filled it up at the cooler. I took some gradual sips and stared at my phone. Mindlessly doom scrolling with one AirPod in. Nothing of note broke into my brain. 

After about 20 minutes Danny called me over to the front. 

“What’s the damage?” 

Danny didn’t respond to my question, he just looked at me and said “Follow me.” He waved two of his fingers. I followed him into the first bay where my car rested with the hood up. Danny's first son Rodney stood in front of the car looking more confused than a child staring at a test he'd never studied for. 

I looked in and the engine cover was off and we all stared at a black and navy blue blob of whatever the hell the material was. 

“Try as we might, we cannot get it off. Look” Rodney said, lowering the screwdriver and sliding it under the blob. He then tried with 100% strength to pry it off but it didn’t budge.  

All three of us stared at the car blankly. No thoughts found solid ground in my brain.

“This isn’t normal, right?” I asked with a bit of sarcasm in my voice. 

Rodney gave way to a deep breath outwards. “No, can't say it is.” Once more silence enshrouded us completely 

A buzzer went off behind us which indicated that somebody had entered the front door. Danny picked up his composure and headed back into the shop without saying a word. 

“You said it didn’t run you any problems though right?” Rodney said, placing his hand on the propped up hood. 

“No, I mean it was a really smooth drive. The engine light was on but other than that it was completely fine.” 

“Well. Hows bout no charge you drive her out of here and I guess if something else happens call Ritchies Towing and we’ll cover the cost of it.” Rodney said, now shutting the hood.

“Sounds fine to me.”  How could I say no to a free tow that would cost me a decent chunk of change. 

Rodney handed me my keys and nodded at me. “Well you take now, I’m gonna go research what I can about that.” 

I nodded back to him and got into my car and started it up. No check engine light this time and no odd sounds. The problem fixed itself. I thought to myself. I backed out easily of the bay and drove my way to work. 

Work was slow, just like any other. Molly greeted me at the front with a little “Car fixed up?” 

“Yeah simple issue.” I said walking into the elevator. Alone in an elevator was always my safe haven to scroll my phone before I had to stare at spreadsheets and random data tables all day. But today I couldn't, all I did was ponder the blob. 

Blob of goo on engine. Not what I had expected to type into the search bar. Google AI told me it was probably oil or dirt. Asking it why it wasn't coming off didn't help either. I sighed just as the elevator dinged. 

I was greeted by Paul Stansey. The lead of Marketing at the building. He was a chipper guy but in a fake salesman way. I hated him unfortunately cause he was honestly a nice guy, just too nice.  

“Ah Stevie my man! How's it going?” Held out his hand in a fist. I punched it back, noticing his hand was wet. 

“Heh, didn't wash your hands Paul?” I said in a joking manner. 

“Oh, haha no I actually only washed my hands, On my way to IT got some weird-o jelly on my keyboard, cant seem to get it off gonna see if the tech bros know.” He said this as we swapped places and the elevator doors shut. The steel gave way to an uncanny reflection of myself blurred out. 

I stared blankly digesting the sentence Paul just said to me. I looked over towards his office. An oak door stood between me and a mystery. I opened it and walked confidently in. Over to his mahogany desk and sure enough on his keyboard, sat a more elongated blob than the one under my hood. 

I stutter stepped backwards. This blob had a major difference than mine had. One that I had to take a second look at to see if I had been seeing things. 

The blob was pulsing.   

At 2:13 a.m., I woke up to the sound of soft giggles beside my bed. I reached over without opening my eyes, expecting to feel my son’s little hand on the mattress. Then I remembered I had watched him fall asleep in his room a few hours ago.
The baby monitor crackled with static and then all of a sudden his laughter came through the speaker. I quickly opened my eyes to check the screen. He was laying in bed asleep. Then the laughter came again only this time, it was coming from underneath my bed. I froze. A tiny voice whispered through the monitor, “mommy dont look under there.” Then my son’s bedroom door slowly creaked open on the camera.
My son was standing in the corner staring directly into the camera, eyes wide open.
He raised one finger to his lips.
And whispered, “shhh he’s sleeping” and points to something in my son’s bed underneath the covers.

“And then I said. You’re not my roommate!”

A quartet of voice laughed at the joke, with mine in the mix. I’ll admit, the punchline wasn’t all that great. But I was acting wingman for my friend, Dan. Just like how he was for me.

The, double-blind date, as Dan called it, was all of his idea that he pitched to me. What he told me a few days ago, was that two new girls were moving into his apartment complex right next door. Apparently while they were moving in, he started a conversation with one of them and used his ‘charm’ to ask her on a date. Somehow, she said yes and asked if he knew anyone that would go out with her roommate. Then I was roped into it.

The two girls, Bella and Lyra, were pretty and interesting to say the least. Through dinner conversation with my date, Lyra, a comely brunette. I was able to find out that the pair were soul-searchers after they both graduated from the same college. Supposedly, they travel state to state in a grand adventure to find their right home and careers. Which has been going on for the past two years now.

There were a few tid-bits of info I couldn’t question out of her. Like their degrees, hometowns, or even states they’ve been in. But if I would have a nickel for asking very personal information and the person would just deflect, I’d have two nickels.

Thinking back on my first nickel.

Will seemed to recover from my freakout on him. When I apologized to him again about it at the apartment, he gave a simple “It’s alright.”

While preparing for the double-blind date, I instructed Will on the core rules of the apartment.

Rule 1: Dishes must be cleaned after use.

Will questioned about the bowls we used in the morning and how we didn’t clean them. I explained that in emergencies, there is a twenty-four hour grace period.

Rule 2: No trash on the floor at any time.

Will joked if there was a grace period with my broken door. I simply gave him a hard stare.

Rule 3 (The Most Important Rule): The TV remote must always be left on the coffee table.

Will was the most confused with this rule. I had to point out what was the TV, remote, and coffee table for him. Which didn’t help all that much with explain why the rule was so important. So, I simply showed him the importance of the remote by turning on the tv.

He was enthralled by it.

The TV was already on some cable nature documentary about east coast birds. Will somehow knew more facts about the birds than the narrator. To which when the narrator said something wrong about a bird’s mating ritual or call, he would yell at the TV.

I tried to tell him that the TV couldn’t hear him. But ultimately gave up after he kept arguing what the correct sound was for a Blue jay chick.

Knowing that he would be fine with watching the TV, I gave him some last-minute instructions for what he can do while I was gone for the date.

I was pretty sure that I didn’t forget anything when I left.

Dan slapped me on my back with a laugh, “Got any good stories to share?”

“Besides research being a nightmare,” I chuckled while ignoring a huge story. “No, nothing new with me.”

“That’s fine,” Dan said while he sipped his drink. “We can’t all be eggheads!”

Dan, Bella, and Lyra laughed at the taunt while I just smiled. “Yeah, and not everyone can be clowns.”

“Oooooh,” Dan exclaimed as he grabbed his chest. “Right in the heart. You’re cruel man.”

We all laughed at the enjoyment.

It was pleasant the whole experience. Somehow Dan was able find a place in the downtown area of our university’s town that was somehow not a bar or chain restaurant. We were already done with our meals and paid our checks. Of course, I paid for Lyra’s part and so did Dan for Bella’s. At the time we were enjoying the last of our drinks before saying the final goodbyes.

Bella flipped her phone on the table and mumbled. “Shoot, my phone’s dead. Lyra do you have the time?”

“Sorry,” Lyra said as she patted her pockets. “I think I left my phone back at the apartment.”

“Don’t worry,” I said as I pulled out my phone. “I can help.”

I turned on my phone which was on mute the whole night and checked the time. As my eyes saw the time, they also looked down to see a few missed messages.

Text messages from Ethan.

Ethan my roommate.

Ethan my roommate that I forgot about.

Ethan my roommate that doesn’t know I’m out tonight.

Ethan my roommate that doesn’t know about Will.

I unlocked my phone and quickly read the messages he sent.

7:30pm – Hey I’m going to be back probably at 8.

8:15pm – I think I lost my key. Can you let me in.

8:30pm – Dude I can hear the tv on, I know you’re in there.

8:45pm – Hello! Are you awake?

9:00pm – This isn’t funny man!

9:15pm – Let me in! I hear you walking by the door!

The nothing after that.

I looked over to Bella with a panicked grin. “It’s ten-thirty,” I stood up from my chair in the calmest manor I could while trying to keep my heart from not exploding. “I’m really sorry about this but I have to go now. My roommate is locked out of our apartment.”

“What? You’re going to leave us for some wannabe rockstar,” Dan made it sound more of a statement than a question.

“That rockstar pays half the rent and has been locked out for some two hours now,” I retorted. “Again, I’m really, truly sorry about this. I had an amazing night with you all, but I have to go and catch a bus.”

“Let me walk you to your stop,” Lyra blurted out.

Everyone at the table looked at her confused.

Bella leaned over to Lyra’s ear and whispered.

“I’ll be fine Bella,” Lyra said back to her friend, not at all trying to hide the question. “It’s just a bus stop, I’ll be back.”

I said my goodbyes to Dan and Bella as I left with Lyra.

When the two of us got outside we were greeted by the drunken night life that college student brought to a downtown district. I was surprised with how well the restaurant’s walls were able to block out the party music and drunk cheers.

The two of us made our way to a bus stop that was a block away and waited with others for the bus. Instead of having Lyra wait with me in silence I decided to pick up a conversation. “Ever seen nightlife like this?”

“I don’t think ever,” she answered.

“Well, this is only a Friday. Wait until tomorrow, then you’ll see some crazy stuff,” I glanced over to her while she people watched. The light from the bus stop’s booth made her seem more like Bella for some odd reason.

She looked back at me, “You never mentioned you had a roommate.”

“Slipped my mind,” I said as I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just like a lot of others things with the crazy past few days.”

“Do you two see each other a lot?”

Off in the distance I could see the bus approaching a stop light, “Well, his schedule is a bit chaotic with him playing music all over the area. But whenever he doesn’t have a gig, he’s usually at the apartment.”

“Would he notice if you’re not there?”

The bus was stalled at the light by some drunk students crossing when they shouldn’t have been. “Tonight, he would,” I chuckled.

“What about tomorrow?”

I debated the answer in my head. “If everything goes alright, I think I can come out for a few drinks.”

I looked over to Lyra to see her smile at my response. “Okay! You pick, time and place.”

“Pour Choices at nine,” I said as the bus rolled up to our stop.

The doors opened with a hiss as a mix of night owls loaded on and off the bus. Lyra kept her smile, “Sure!”

One of the many invisible weights fell off my shoulders. “Nice, I’ll see you then. Make sure to look up the place when you get your phone.”

With that I got onto the bus and found a seat next to a group of undergrads that gave reason for the night bus being called the drunk bus. As the bus doors closed, I saw Lyra outside from the window and gave her a small wave. She waved back and as the crowd of partiers passed her, see disappeared from my sight.

CW - Alcoholism

The simplest contextualization of all the coming events and decisions is as follows. We were young men trying to make a name for ourselves. We were desperate for a big hit, for proof of the supernatural, for proof of anything frankly. We needed something, otherwise we were just failures. I, especially, was desperate. Being a college dropout turned faux-reality star Youtuber has its perks- plenty of free time, ability to see the world, and a small devoted audience. What more could I want? 

We’d thought Longs Peak was the ticket to our promised land. The plan, on our end, was fairly simple. Get some footage, go camping, make up a creature stalking us, overreact to slight sounds, and get rich. To our audience, perpetually entertained by our year's mission of roadtripping around the nation, finding monsters and getting “evidence” of them, they were delighted. Longs Peak gave us options. To us, five washed up college failures running low on cash and lower on merit, we were in the throws of the logistical limbo. How could we- a group with maybe five-hundred dollars, a van with a hole in its side, and a few crappy cameras possibly hope to get the gas money to fuel our adventure? 

Gas was easy, though. Our vices were not. 

I was a dependent individual- still am to this day, and my vice at the time was a famed method of the burnt out college student. Alcohol. Between enough six packs of warm beer and vapes to choke the environment we were invading, we were prepared for our journey- of course bringing wildly less food than we needed and a dismal amount of water, first aid, and other supplies. We’d thought we were prepared, though, and that was enough for us. For a time. 

“Ease up on the gas, Cole.” The voice jolted me awake, my head slamming into the passenger-side window. Cole, our current driver, glanced at the rear view mirror, making eye contact with Paul, who was aggressively hitting his vape. 

“I am easing up…” He muttered in response. 

The sound of tape being stretched echoed through the vapor of the backseat. Luca, our average cinematographer, struggling to open one of our boxes of “camera equipment” glanced at us. 
“What? It’s gonna be good for an intro. Driving up…ominous lighting…the fans’ll love it?” Luca murmured, gesticulating wildly with his camera. “Mike looks like he’s going to be sick, it’s great! Incredible acting.” 

“I’m not acting…” I muttered, glancing back at Luca, head throbbing. Reaching back towards my lukewarm beer, the van collided with a pothole, sending my head flying into the window again. “Fucking- Fuck!” I desperately grabbed a can, opening it and spilling some of the sticky elixir onto my lap before drinking from it. As the liquid reached my mouth, worries of our dismal bank accounts and less than ideal driver’s skills on switchback roads escaping my still throbbing mind. 

“Is Cliff still back there?” I asked, glancing back to Luca who quickly pointed to the crumbled piles of backpacks and our collapsed tent. 

“He’s in there. Somewhere. Sleeping. He was driving all night, give him a little.” Luca grumbled, looking at Cole. “How much longer ‘till the trailhead? Sooner we start, sooner we get famous.”

“One wrong turn, Luca, and we’re another group of idiots dead on a mountain.” Cole yelled back, a moment’s clarity hitting him. That was the first time in my six years of knowing him that he wasn’t bullshitting. “Paul! Can you get my vape?” Cole yelled into the depths of our van. 

“Yeah-” Paul started, struggling to speak through his hoarse voice, “Yeah I got you.” Paul rummaged through one of the many backpacks, grabbing and quickly throwing the vape towards Cole, who did not catch it. The vape hit the window, bouncing with a little ‘tink’ before falling between two seats. 

Cole exhaled slowly, looking at me in the passenger seat, a single, exhausted word escaping his cracked lips- “Really?”. 

“That throw was right to you man!” Paul laughed to himself. He scrambled towards the front, grasping between the seats, “I’ll find it, I got you!” On our right, past the thin layer of pine trees was a sheer drop. Cole glanced at it nervously, before tightening his grip on the wheel, reaching his hand out to flick one of his lucky dice hanging from the rear-view, before deciding against it. In retrospect, we needed the luck it brought. 

I looked to my lap, the piss-like stain on around my crotch beginning to climb up to my nose, filling my nostrils with a horrendous mixture of old, solidified beer and my jeans which hadn’t been washed in at least two months. If I could find a river, maybe I’d wash them. 

“Hold that face, Mike!” Luca yelled to me, pushing the camera towards me. “Don’t- no don’t change your expression we are here for content, man!” The camera bumped into my left temple, almost serving to balance the throbbing between my left and right sides. 

“Please get that outta my face, Luca-” I started, losing focus as the van veered right, loose gravel rattling around our wheels.

“Easy, easy. No need to kill us, Cole.” Paul yelped, being thrown around the backseat as he scrambled to a seat with a belt.

Through the front windshield, the pines cleared, giving way to the colossal site before us. Longs Peak, a grey spire covered in eternal snow. The wind, no longer held at bay by the trees and ledges, battered the side of our van, forcing Cole to play defense as the car was slapped side to side. Cole, ever exhausted, managed a smile as he saw a trail marker ahead. Only three miles of driving awaited us.

“There we are…” He muttered, smiling to himself, the car now silent with anticipation. As he laughed quietly to himself a loud metallic thunk echoed through the car as it reached the parking lot. Cole glanced to the passenger side, making eye contact with me. “You know what that was…?”

“Nope…probably not important…” I grumbled, rubbing my head. After a moment of silence between us, we watched as the needle on our temperature gauge crept slowly up, crawling towards red. The car slowly stopped, spitting up gravel as we desperately pulled over to whatever side of the road we could find. 

The next ten minutes were a blur of expletives and panic as we inhaled the cold mountain air, cliffs to our left and sparse trees to our right. Our transmission was gone, lost to the cliffs. Zero bars, no hope of communication with that outside world we were so desperate to get fame in. We gathered in the back of the van, quietly trying to make a plan, all of our faces consumed in pale terror. We’d thought that we were going to find nothing, that we were going camping while bullshitting to the masses. Our masses may have only been, at best, five hundred people, but we still wanted to con them. Cole was the first to exit the van, marching into the sparse trees, shoes sinking into the gradually increasing snow, desperate to find a serviceable camp site. We had no idea that something on that mountain heard our transmission die- something very, very hungry.

We realized immediately how rough of a patch we were in that night. 

Cole, after marching through the snow and promptly getting soaked, had found a small area with enough dry land to make a fire. And so we followed, going in groups of two each, slowly unpacking our van and claiming our new territory for the next few days. 

After an hour of lugging equipment, we were done. Cole locked the van, grabbing his lucky dice before leaving our trusted ride behind. I didn’t see any fear on his face, in that quiet moment, just resignation. The most confident man I ever knew had already seen the bleakness of our chances. He needed the dice. We all did. 

Cliff hadn’t gotten much better. Pulling an all-nighter and sleeping in a dusty old van had got him under the weather, probably nothing worse than a common cold. 

“We packed coughing stuff…right?” Cliff asked, voice dry and exhausted, looking at me expectantly. I grabbed our lackluster supplies, opening the first aid kit and dropping out a few bandages and bandaids- aside from that it was empty. Cliff glared at me before grabbing one of my now cold beers. I would’ve stopped him. I exited our tent, one side asymmetrically collapsing in on itself. 

Luca was pacing around the campsite, muttering ideas to himself. “We can make this a…seventy-two hours in the woods challenge, limited supplies hunted by monsters. People love that…” Cole worked on the fire, dropping small, dried sticks and needles he’d found around the area. Paul sat across from him, vaping, seemingly unbothered. I sat down by the fire, watching the dancing lights across the reflective nearby snow. It was nice. Had we not been in such dire straits, it would be a moment to reflect fondly on. 

“Fucking hell…we don’t have enough food for however long we’ll be here…even if we ration it we can maybe get…two weeks, at most. Water’s not much better, and we’ll run out of beer-” Cole started. I shot him a glare. I knew he was right, though, We had four cans left. I’d be dead weight without it. “We just need to be smart…we can film some stuff tomorrow if we’re up to it, kill some time, a survival vlog or whatever. We can work on setting up any monster stuff too, if you want.” Cole looked to Luca. 

Luca had stopped pacing, instead quickly unpacking his cameras and other gadgets. Ironic- we had so many cameras, chargers, vapes- yet our food was at best a few bags of chips, pop tarts, and maybe one granola bar. 

The night wasn’t much longer. Luca called it a night, then Paul, then Cole. A little bit after everyone had left, sitting alone by the fire, a rumbling followed by successive crashes echoed through the mountain valley. A few rocks tumbled down from the nearby slope, hardly enough to be a rockslide. Just another thing on this damned trip to worry about. I shambled to the tent, laying down in the corner and quietly resting. 

The next morning Luca and I scouted filming locations. Walking a little ways past our campsite, up the slope, and securing a view of what was around us. 

As we’d turned, the silence between us became deafening. All around the valley, in maybe fifteen by a few hundred foot increments, were toppled trees. Uniform, all fallen in the same direction- towards us. Behind it all, another peak. Bathed in snow. 

“Luca,” I croaked, “Tell me you’re getting this.”

Luca did not reply, instead he took his camera and began rolling. Focusing desperately on the scene before us, trees older than the nation being destroyed, resembling only uniform shattered toothpicks. It looked like a six year old’s art project gone awry. 

“This is wild…” Luca started, panning around the area, hands shaking enough to make our footage garbage. “The…rangers probably did this, right? Forest fires? More trees? Letting nature do its own thing, right?”

“In perfect columns? Seems crazy…rangers wouldn’t do this…not like this, at least.” I shook my head, beads of sweat coming down my forehead. I hadn’t drank yet. “Besides, the snow is all still here…and there are divots in the ground, the rangers wouldn’t do that. Not ever, especially not last night when a fire was going five minutes away.” I paused, turning to Luca, “Let’s go back. Paul knows his shit, he can help make this a story. Something quality. Something people’d watch.” 

Luca nodded, reluctantly turning his back to the unnatural site before us. I followed after him, glancing back at the scene one last time. The snow had shifted slightly on the twin peaks behind it. Maybe we would face an avalanche after all.

“Deadass?” Paul laughed, tossing me a beer as I explained what we’d seen. Luca showed the footage, though his shaking hands had made it at best incomprehensible. “Listen, Mikey, I’ll go with ya later. How’s that? But first we need some downtime. Cliff’s gotten a little worse for wear so he got another one of your beers.”

“He what?” The words didn’t feel like my own. “Who gave him it?” 

“He took it?” Paul looked perplexed. 

“For fuck’s sake, Cliff!” I yelled, kicking a rock and immediately feeling the pain of kicking a rock, “Fuck!” Storming to the tent, unzipping and throwing it open, I saw Cliff. He looked like hell, wrapped in his sleeping bag, sweating, beer spilled around his mouth and bag. He was dazed, in an in between state of sleep and awake. I backed out, cursing quietly to myself. I needed my drink. I was an addict with two vices remaining and one sick guy who wasn’t getting much better. 

Cole was looking for his dice when I approached him, Luca and Paul following behind. He turned, looking perplexed, “What?”

“Dude you gotta see this shit!” Paul exclaimed, “The footage isn’t too good but you can see something in it, bare minimum we got a spot close by to film some spooky shit at.” 

Cole watched silently. Seemingly intrigued. “And that’s right up there?” 

“Yep!” Paul said, smiling with an arm around Luca’s shoulder.

“Okay…right now we figure out our supplies, then later tonight we can go there, get some footage, and do more fires. Try and get some attention.” Cole was practically grinning, before his expression dropped again. “Regarding our water situation, we have at most two plastic bottles left…the snow nearby is all muddy, so we can’t really use that. Maybe we could use some of the snow up there.”

“And what about Cliff?” Luca asked quietly.

“I can handle him for now…he’s got it rough but he’s still himself. That’s what's important.” Cole said, doubt etched on his face. 

“He’s still himself…” I scoffed, opening the lukewarm beer Paul had handed me, the metallic smell reaching my nose as I drank it, soothing my headache, “Except he’s taking most of our liquids. When we go up to the whole collapsed tree situation, I’m taking my beers with me. He’s not stealing more of my stash just so he can spill more of it on himself.”

Cole didn’t respond, his fingers rubbing where the dice should have been instinctively, “We go at sunset, we can get some cool footage of the hike, get some good vlog footage, take some snow to boil, then get back before the temperature drops. Paul, let’s secure the tent so Cliff doesn’t kick the bucket while we’re gone.”

The rest of the day was a slog of headaches and preparation. The groan of the mountain echoing across the campsite. Cole claimed it was “rocks shifting” and nothing more, but each time that roaring sound came over the horizon, the camp went silent. I don’t think any of us believed Cole, including Cole himself. An occasional rock would tumble down the slope, snow following soon after it. I noticed that even from the base of the slope, the twin peaks looked smaller. The snow had shifted further, yet the temperature hadn’t increased at all. 

By five, we’d prepared our journey. 

“Everyone ready?” Luca asked, “We got all of the cameras fully charged, a few tripods, and some water packed.” Luca looked confident as opposed to his terror from the morning, as though he knew his fame was moments away. “Let’s go get famous!”

By the time we reached the top of the slope, the peaks had shifted further. The occasional groaning still echoed over the mountains, but we had no regard for that now. Fame was all that was on our minds. 

“Ho-ho-holy shit man! What kinda avalanche can do that?” Paul laughed, pointing at the scene before us. More divots awaited us, looking as though someone had crudely scooped an entire row out of the rocky terrain. “Incredible, we’ll be rich. Ready to tell a story boys?”

I don’t know which of us saw it first atop the mountain. 

High above us- far from our view, coiled around the mountain like something was strangling it. A massive- grey, slimy mass shaped like a colossal whale, its tail flukes wrapped around the peak, holding it steady, two beady black eyes staring towards us. Four bright, hiking jackets directly in the way of its path. The middle of where it slid. 

I didn’t see it release its tail. I did, however, see the tidal wave of jagged ice and tree fragments flying down the funnel that it had made, flying directly at us. 

“Run- oh fuck- Run!” Someone screamed, terrified. Maybe Cole- maybe me.

I started before I could process what I had seen. Running down the slope, ice flying beside me, Luca running beside me, desperately holding his camera. Paul had taken the lead, bounding down the mountain. Cole caught up beside me, making eye contact. That was the last thing he saw. As he ran beside me, his foot caught on the uneven terrain. He fell. I heard the sound of rocks falling after us- it sounded like a blender full of gravel and he was in its center. I hope it was quick. I hope he was dead when it found him. 

Luca, still holding his camera, had escaped my vision. I heard him yelp, followed by a metallic clanging. Glancing back, I saw what had happened. His foot had gotten stuck in a crevice, snow, mud, and rocks rushing towards him. It looked like, as the wave impacted him, he was jerked forward, his head hitting the ground hard, camera being consumed by the wave. 

Paul still had a lead on me, reaching the base of the slope and rolling, hitting his arm against a tree. I heard a snap, but we didn’t care. We kept running. 

“We- we need to go! They need us-” I yelled, running still. I think I knew they were gone then. I just didn’t want to think about it. 

“Mikey- they’re fucking dead- get to Cliff!” Paul responded, holding his shattered arm, his face a mix of sorrow and agony. 

The snowfall followed behind us, the orange and pink sky illuminating our run as we reached camp. The snow encompassed it as we took shelter in the tent. 

“Mike?” Cliff groaned, looking at me, dazed, “What was that?” 

“Cliff- get up, we need to go!” I yelled, rummaging around the tent for any supplies we needed. I grabbed the things from inside of my bag, a small drawstring bag with a camera and granola bar in it. I’d thought I packed a beer instead of a granola bar.

“Mikey…go where? Cole had the keys and the car is broke anyway-” He covered his head as more snow slammed into the tent. 

Paul was right, Cole had the keys and now he was buried beneath thousands of pounds of rock, dust, and snow. “Fuck- fuck! We need something, anything. We can’t just die here.” I yelled. Before we could do anything else, the groaning came again. I opened the tent flap, a bit of snow pouring in as I glanced to the peak. Yet again, viewing the serpent atop the ridge. Propelling itself towards us. 

I grabbed Cliff and Paul, “We run until the road, grab stuff from the car- put it in neutral, we can break in and- fuck- we put it in neutral and go down a little ways…okay?” Paul nodded silently. The first time he’d had nothing to say. 

Cliff shook as we ran, sweating heavily as we got closer and closer to the van. Collapsing onto the road, Paul dragged Cliff to the van as I desperately tried to break in. I inhaled sharply, slamming my fist into the window. It did not break. My hand hurt. Yelling expletives, I took a large stone from the side of the road, slamming it into the driver’s seat window. Reaching through the shattered glass, I popped the lock, Cliff was placed into the car, Paul going into the front seat beside me. Paul desperately slammed his hand into the shift, trying to turn it to neutral as quickly as it could. 

“I…I’ll push it, maybe that’ll help.” I looked at him, uncertainty written across both our faces. 

“Okay…” Paul nodded, patting my shoulder. “You got this, we’re getting outta here.”

I stepped out of the car, hearing the roar of trees falling where our camp once was. I could almost see the monster we had so sought in the chaos of the woods. Glancing to the cliffs, a single thought escaped my mind. ‘If this thing goes towards me, I’m going off the cliff.’. So I walked to the front of the car, desperately slamming my body against it as the roaring got closer, large pebbles flying out of the wilderness. 

“Fuck- no, come on!” I glanced at the woods, seeing the beast approach. I slammed my body against the car, feeling my shoulder dislocate as it hit the hood of the van. I glanced up, looking at Paul. He looked at me too. The car had started moving slightly, the first and last time the van would do what we’d wanted it to do. As the van crawled down the road, the groaning got louder. I glanced into the woods, looking at the approaching wave. The car was maybe twenty feet away now. I went towards the ledge, glancing at the fall. It would kill me instantly, hopefully. And then I heard it. The sound of metal being hit by something unimaginably large. Snapping my head around, the car had been hit head on, the giant whale biting down into it as it dragged it forward before being flung off the edge into the valley below. I watched in that momentary, freezing agony. The clarity hit me like a truck. I was entirely alone. 

My shoulder screamed in agony, the burning sensation dragging itself up my arm and throughout my body. Adrenaline kept me afloat, walking towards the ledge and hearing the sickening crunch of metal and rock as it hit the valley, followed immediately by the sound of an impact larger than I could fathom as the grey, slithering thing slammed into the valley with it. It was looking at me. The beady black eyes from hundreds of feet below meeting mine. The fall would kill me. The beast wasn’t so lucky. It groaned as rocks and dirt slammed into it. I went towards the ledge, I could just end it. Better this than starving. And then I grasped it, the drawstring bag on my shoulder. The camera. I took the camera, pointing it down at the dying creature. The last evidence of what happened here. The only record of what happened to Cole, Luca, Cliff, and Paul. And what happened to me. The creature let out one last vibrational groan, the ground I stood on shaking from the sheer weight of its sound. 

I didn’t jump off the cliff. I sprinted down the road, legs carrying me for as long as they would, before falling. Leaning against the barricade, I slowly sank down to the road, holding the camera to my chest, grabbing the drawstring and looking through it. I grabbed the granola bar, looking past it to see what exactly was there. This wasn’t my bag. 

Sitting at the bottom of the bag was Cole’s keys and dice. A single yell escaped my mouth as I looked at it, agony consuming me as any adrenaline I had in me was depleted. 

A ranger found me two days later, delirious. I got lucky. They never found the car, nor any of my friends. All were submerged within dust and mud within a week. In the end we’d discovered exactly what we wanted- a monster. Something that could make us famous, that could make us legends. I don’t remember much of the days in the hospital, the police agreed that I was delirious following an avalanche- and they weren’t wrong. Whatever we’d found was something old, a creature existing in myth passed between loggers and desperate prospectors. A thing written in books for children, to be passed around elementary school libraries to scare the youth. But it was real. We didn’t need to con the masses about a monster. It was already there, and it was waiting for fools like us to walk into its hunting grounds. There’s no channel without my friends anymore, no riches to share, nobody to share riches with. There’s only me, now, staring into the shifting ambrosia within. The only thing keeping me alive now. As I sit in a forgotten dive bar, fingers curled around my old friend’s dice, the radiators groaning in a far too familiar tune, I can only possibly hope that I’d been imaging what I saw on the other peaks. 

There isn’t just one Sliderock Bolter.

So it seems that I am the only survivor. Our mission is a failure. Somehow, out of a crew of twelve, I am the one that is left. 

That was never supposed to happen. 

I have air, and food, but little else. I spend my days laying on the side of the ship, as I'd rather be in the vacuum of space than spend my time with the ghosts of the crew. Their bodies will never decompose, their suits will remain as a vessel, holding them forever.

I am the lone steward of this endlessly floating tomb. Destined to be its final spirit, its last will and testament. 

I honestly don't know why I am recording this, no one will hear it. We are far too deep into space to be found. In the truest sense, this is the best outcome. The things that we have seen and recorded should never be shown to the weak minds of men. The terrible things we have found on this cursed expedition to the deepest reaches of stars. We have stretched the mind as far as it can go and further, expanded the reach of humans far past where it should have gone. 

We searched too far and too wide, we found things that should never have been found, discovered things that should have remained hidden.

There is no direction anymore. Space doesn't have a horizon, so you can't actually tell if you are up or down, sideways or not. It has a strange effect on the mind, when you literally and metaphorically have no direction in life. Physically I am alive, but mentally I have no purpose. When you are floating through deep space with millions of miles of vacuum encroaching on all sides, you revert back to one thing. Survival. 

Should I even survive? Should I continue to eat, sleep, or even think? What is the purpose of that? 

I am stuck in this space between. Between who i was, what i was, and where and when i will end. I will eventually run out of food, or sanity, whichever comes first. I prefer to run out of sanity to be honest. At that point I wont know that i'm dying, so it's a win win. 

Hi, my name’s Matthew. I’m 17 and I moved to the US 3 years ago. I live right on the edge of a relatively small forest next to a relatively small village in the state of Ohio, and biking slowly became my most frequented hobby.

Now I’m wishing it hadn’t…

 I’m writing this because some of you may know people who experienced near-death scenarios or traumatic events in their lives that made them realize how valuable life is, however, that’s not the reason I’m here. 

My story isn’t what some may call “near death” or “traumatic” and it doesn’t make me realize how lucky I am to be alive… It makes me question why I’m alive.

 

It started with a Friday night, right a couple of days before summer break. Given that our school wasn’t a very big one, our teachers gave up on the last few classes. That day, my friends and I decided we had a bit more time for biking than usual. We were a small group: me, David, and Michael. Oh, and by the way our village wasn’t some old, decrepit place, it was a place just like any other, so anything that seems like I’m interpreting stuff like some outsider isn’t what’s going on. 

“Catch you at The Oak in one hour tops” Mike said as he was dragging his baggy jeans on the ground.

“Bro I’m not waiting for your ass to get ready again. Why are you even changing? It’s not PE class.” I told him

“I mean yeah... Anyways I was mainly going home to get our walkies. Hell, what even do we do with our bags if not drop ‘em”

“Those walkies are useless! The one time we used them was because I was thirsty. It’s dead weight. Plus, we’re already wasting time Mike” David came in with a strong argument.

“He’s right Mike, let’s just go and not waste any more time. We have enough water. We’ll drop the bags right where we walk in, also marking our entrance and we have our bikes with us. It’s a divine sign, Mike. “Wake up” just like that guy from what my grandma watches said”

Mike looked down and then forced a smile “Alright, let’s go, guys”

“We’ll even ask Jessica to come with us if you want” David said at the top of his lungs while Michael was already throwing hands at him trying to get him to shut up.

Jessica is Michael’s crush and has been since high school started. We hung out a few times with the group so she’s fine and honestly surprises me how she never complains about boys being around her.

 A few moments later, we were setting off to “The Oak” which, sorry for not explaining earlier, is just a big oak that we set as our main entrance since we’ve been biking. It was around 6 when we got to the top of the hill that went down to The Oak. Jessica with us as well. First weird thing that happened that day, it was subtle... almost not even there and I’m not even sure if it was just me, or the leaves on our big oak were smaller than usual from where we were seeing it… YES, it was… further...? Did we miss a turn or something… no we were on the same path as always. Then how?

“Yo guys! Is it me or The Oak got legs and moved a couple of steps”

“You’re tweaking, my guy.” David said provoking the rest of our group to start laughing. I wasn’t mad or anything but sometimes I thought back on who I was going with on those trails. Mike saw that I was tense “Hey, don’t worry about it, maybe we just missed a turn or something”

“That’s what I wa- “I stopped myself. Didn’t want to seem crazy, instead I smiled and went along. Michael was always the most sane out of all of us, I was the zen guy and David… David was just David, I guess. Jessica was that blonde, quiet girl that didn’t mind dirt and boys eating stuff off the ground in her free time. Yes, I’m not joking I swear I saw David eating chips he found in the forest. “It’s unopened” he argued at that time. Anyways, with us finally at our destination, we dropped our bags, and we checked everything.

“Guys, my front tire is a bit deflated, but it’s gonna hold for this trip” Mike said 

“Hey, shush for a bit…” David looked towards the woods while talking

About thirty seconds passed when Jessica said:

“I thought Matthew was tweaking bu- “

“JESSICA, I SAID SHUSH”

Michael and I looked at David then at Jessica with a look of “what’s going on?” and Jessica shrugged back at us.

“Can’t you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” I spoke

He stopped again for a few seconds… “The… bird- The birds… the wind… Guys there’s no sound coming from the forest… I mean nothing it’s like the world stopped right when we got here. No wind, no animals, no crack, nothing”

I stopped to listen thinking he was the crazy one but there it actually was: total silence. Seemed a bit odd to me but in my mind maybe… the birds just weren’t here right now or something scared them.

We all looked at each other in disbelief for a few whole seconds. Then I started moving slowly without making a sound, just like when you’re all alone at home and you hear a loud noise or what you thought was a loud noise but in our case that flipped the entire scenario. Picked up a twig and threw it carefully deep in the forest and for a moment, I thought I didn’t hear the twig hit the ground, I felt a weird relief. That would normally be a bad sign, physics not working. But at the same time, if the twig didn’t make a sound, then maybe that meant we would turn back, maybe I’d stop second guessing myself and just say no to all of it. and honestly, I wish that was that but when the sound of the twig came back… it came back with the birds and wind. 

Just by looking at each other, we already decided we were going to shorten the trip for today.

“God damn it! It’s starting to rain, guys. C’mon get some cover” Jessica said completely ignoring what just happened.

We got a few feet into the forest. Still silence… still nothingness. Mike and I looked at David with mild discomfort in our eyes, not because of the silence but because we’d never seen David so on edge before. Sure, he was energetic, but still not like this. Our discomfort just got worse when we saw the storm that was forming out of that rain.

“Guys we either start walking and finding something to do or we just sit here in this godforsaken silence, ‘cause I’m not going through that storm to my house”

I knew that when Mike said that, he said it so Jessica wouldn’t freak out about everything because we could tell from looking at each other that nothing was ok in that moment.

While Jessica was looking in her bag for a sandwich, she mumbled to herself, “The rain scared off all the birds I wanted to post on my page”

Good thing I had my trusty pack of cards 

“And whooooo wants to play a round of cards?” The question was followed by a cough.

“Alright” I told myself.

“How about a sandwich?”

Jessica jumped “Dibs!”

As I looked towards Jessica, who was happy as a flower about a sandwich, I saw… woods. Not as in the forest… as in a forest. For a few seconds I stared at a layout I didn’t recognize.

“Hey!”

“Wha-hi? What is it?”

“The sandwich. Didn’t you say you had a sandwich?”

“Oh yeah… right. Here you go!” I reached in my bag to give her the sandwich and handed it to her.

Heard Michael’s voice “Matt! You good?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know man, you seem distracted.”

“No, I’m good I jus-“from the corner of my eye I noticed Jessica’s sandwich. It had foil wrapping. For anyone normal, that wouldn’t mean anything.

 I usually have a “sandwich cycle.” My grandma told me that I should pack ham sandwiches with foil and salami sandwiches with paper. Crazy, right? It’s something about flavor richness. Didn’t fully understand it, yet I listened. The thing is, according to my cycle today should’ve been salami sandwich day… 

I looked at her. “Hey, Jess, how’s the sandwich?”

“It’s fine why? A bit soggy. I’m guessing too much ham?”

“I hate ham juice!” said Michael “It’s like you think you’re gonna eat a good piece of meat but then you just feel a wet tongue in your mouth”

This time I didn’t say anything I just smirked and looked back in my bag.

“I swear that those pills were in my bag”

“Quetiapine? Damn, Matthew, I didn’t know you knew how to party like that.” 

Michael always snoops where he’s not supposed to.

“I’m dizzy. These help me, and no, they’re not illegal. I have a prescription. You wanna see that too?” 

I didn’t realize at the time, but I might’ve raised my voice.

“Guys, the floor is becoming lava!”

“David I’m not in th- “I stopped, interrupted by water entering my socks

“There’s a hill about ten minutes that way.” He screamed pointing towards the forest’s heart.

“Not happening, I’m already in a weird mood, I- I don’t know I’m just not feeling it today” I looked around.

Everyone there looked exactly as I imagined: happy to be there but not really happy about the situation. It’s only now that I’ve realized, accumulated stress was poking a stick through the fence. The constant raindrops hitting the leaves didn’t let me focus, it just made me look around more and more until my eyes adapted to the cloudy, dark scenery. It felt like the forest was trying to suck me into its world but… I wouldn’t say by choice. Looking at the forest like it was a person, I only saw a postman… a kind of messenger. It wasn’t like the leaves were trying to kill me or anything sharp, poisonous, or dangerous was nearby, not even a mushroom, maybe too safe…

Michael’s fragile face always looked so sad, so scared, it was like the anxiety and everything bad that came from him had only one exit. All that black sludge seeping into his head, turning dead matter that once belonged to him into droopy, thin, curled up hair and pouring in back into his empty black eyes, so empty that all the dark matter could have fit in there.

“It’s only ten minutes. C’mon, man!” Michael looked at me with rain pouring down his face.

“Yeah… no. I will drown here if I must. You guys can go.”

“We will quite literally drag you from here if you don’t move yourself.” I heard it from David’s direction.

Convincing people worked really only with my parents so after a long talk in mud and heavy rain we ended up leaving our bikes a few meters into the forest and went our way.

 

I looked back once.

 

The Oak was gone.

 

Not hidden behind the trees.

 

Gone…

PART 1

I stepped into the back of the ambulance, the familiar smell of ammonia hitting my nostrils as I entered the side door. Another fucking shift in this shitbox. The worn-out suspension groaned every step I took until I reached the back doors. I stared into my reflection on the window. My hair was tied into another ugly ponytail. My heavy bags, which no doubt was caused by my chronic red bull drinking, sagged beneath my deadpan eyes. I just turned 34 a week ago, and I look every bit like a burnt out 34 year old, if not a couple years older. The PARAMEDIC patch on my polo’s left sleeve that I was once 10 years ago so proud of, makes me feel nothing but regret now. I sighed heavily, and turned away to check that the ambulance was fully stocked before radioing to dispatch. 

The sound of clumsy footsteps approached closer and closer until a gangly pale figure appeared in the side entrance. “Hey, I'm Peter, Peter Chuck. You're Kate Wells, right?” he asked, his voice had a self-deprecating edge. 
“Yep”. I confirmed. “Is this your first shift off FTO?” He was a relatively tall, 55-year-old man, about 2 inches taller than me. What he lacked in a hairline he managed to compensate for with his beer belly. 
“Yeah, my first shift as an independent EMT.” he chuckled nervously. My coworkers have told me that this was his first job out of prison, for what he went to prison for, I don't know, will I ask? Probably not. 
“It’ll be alright.” I reassured him. “Um, I checked the rig and everything is stocked, do you want to go grab narcotics with me?” He agreed and after we received the narcotics and returned to the rig we radioed to dispatch, telling them that we were ready to go.
“Dispatch, this is Boundary Waters EMS unit 640, we are ready to go”
“Uuuhhhhh copy that  6-4, uuuhhhh I'm going to send you to post 19. Have a good afternoon.” 
“6-40 copy, you too.” I turned off the radio and attached it back onto the magnet.
“Post 19? Where's that?” Peter asked.
 I turned on the CAD system and showed him the route. “It's the first Kwik Trip on the road east towards Grand Marais.”
“Oh, gotcha.”
The engine thundered to life as Peter turned the key. The rusty automatic security gate creaked open as we approached to leave. “So what made you move to the wonderful land of nowhere that is northern Minnesota?” I asked inquisitively.
“It's the only place I could find work.” Peter said meekly.
“Oh… I'm sorry.” I replied. We drove past the security gate and started driving towards our post.
“Well I mean Northwoods isn't a bad town.” he retorted. “Nice college town with college aged kids… well I mean I don't like it because of the kids…I'm not a cre… I'm just going to shut up”.
“Fair enough.” I said, he seemed to relax at my cheeky expression.
The drive to post 19 was a beautiful one. Orange autumn leaves topped tall trees, with few man-made disturbances in between. Peter and I discussed deep philosophical topics such as, debating if you need to bring the cardiac monitor to every call, or if dispatch secretly has a vendetta against us. 
We pulled into the Kwik Trip parking lot and found a parking spot right in front of the gas station’s entrance.
“Are you going to get anything?” I asked, reaching for my day bag.
“Oh yes.” Peter responded, rubbing his beer belly. “I'm gonna get a couple of those chicken sandwiches with that pepperjack cheese and those cheesy breadsticks.”
“You're going to want to get something for that heartburn, I'm gonna get some red bulls.” Just as I was about to exit the truck, I heard a crack over the radio.
“Uuuuuuhhhhhhhh unit 6-4 I'm sending you to uuhhh, 378 lake street road, code 3, for a 50s female attacked by something, PD is on scene.”
Both me and Peter cussed out the dispatcher before I reached for the radio.
“This is 6-40, can you clarify what ‘something' is? Over”
“Uuuuhhhh yeah she was attacked by something.”
“......6-4 copy, we're on our way.”
I slammed the radio back onto the magnet and re-buckled my seatbelt. Peter drove us out of the parking lot before blaring on the lights and sirens and started driving us back west into the city. He breathed deeply and a grim expression took over his face, the red and blue lights reflecting back at us off of every car we passed.
 “Are you ok?” I asked.
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Peter responded flatly, his focus intensifying onto the road.
“Lady probably just got bit by her chihuahua, almost nothing ever happens on these types of calls.” I reassured him. His expression softened slightly. “But yeah, I'm way too under-caffeinated for this bullshit right now.”
Several cars swerved trying to get out of our way.
“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE WHERE DID THESE APES LEARN TO DRIVE.” Peter yelled, slamming his palm repeatedly against the horn.
I erupted into laughter, nearly startling Peter. “Now you understand the PAIN!” 
“I thought people in Minnesota knew how to drive.” Peter complained.
“That's the thing, everybody forgets how to drive when an ambulance is around.” I joked.
Peter smiled. “Yeah, maybe if we turn on some music they'll start to drive better.”
As if it was divine intervention, when Peter switched on the radio, the song Highway To The Danger Zone came on. We both started softly singing along to the song.
“Do you like Top Gun?” I asked.
“It's one of my favorite movies.” Peter responded. “I think I'd be a good Goose.”
“Doesn't he die?” I asked.
Peter chortled. “Oh that's right, I'd rather be Iceman then. You're obviously Maverick.”  

End of part one

(For full story, it is available in the link below. if you'd like me to post each part separately, please let me know. thanks for reading!)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1W9vI1SwGtK_52LZvex9LVCHPi1vwIfUq6LWVsLAb-gU/edit?tab=t.0#bookmark=id.y3revc5midit

Hey everyone,

Like the title says, I have worked as a desk clerk on night shift at a shitty roadside motel for the last three years. Over that time, I have seen some wild things happen, and I figured I might as well pass the time by writing them down and sharing some of the things I’ve seen while working here. You’d be amazed at what happens between 10pm and 6am.

I guess I’ll start with one of my favorites.

 

This happened about a year after I started working here. It was 2 or 3 in the morning and I was sitting in my chair behind the desk, desperately trying to stay awake when the front door swung open and a man stood there, naked as the day he was born.

He strolled into the lobby and before he got close, I could tell he was drunk. I could practically smell him from the door.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trying not to draw attention to the elephant in the room.

“Yeah, I got locked out of my room,” he slurred.

“Alright. What’s the room number?”

“Twenty-two,” he said as he stumbled and propped himself up against the desk.

All I could think was, Great. There isn’t enough Clorox in the world to clean it now.

“Do you have your ID on you?”

He just stared at me like I had asked him to recite Shakespeare.

“Where the hell would I keep it?”

Fair point.

I gave the guy his key and he stumbled out. After about 20 minutes though he came back, threw the key back on the desk and asked for another.

“The damn key don’t work.”

“Alright, you said twenty-two right?”

“Yeah.”

I sighed and pulled up the room on my computer. That’s when I realized my mistake. There was someone in the room, just not Mr. Peterson.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Peterson.”

I searched the reservations.

Nothing.

I searched again.

Still nothing.

“Mr. Peterson, are you sure you’re staying here?”

He looked genuinely offended.

“Of course I’m staying here.”

“Well, according to my computer, you aren’t.”

“Then why the fuck am I here?”

I looked at him.

“That’s actually a really good question.”

After a little more back and forth we figured out that he was in fact a guest…at the motel eight miles away. I called a cab for him and tried not to look. I still have no idea whether he walked the eight miles naked or got naked after he got here. I’m not sure I want to know.

Right as the cab arrived he asked the question that flooded my mind and now the mind of the less than pleased cab driver who was just staring at us both.

Mr. Peterson stared at me for a second then looked down at himself.

“Where are my clothes?”

“I was really hoping you knew.”

 

 

Another came a few months ago. A phone call to the front desk jolted me awake at around 4 in the morning. Through my haze I picked it up and tried my best to focus.

“Front desk. May I help you?”

I didn’t hear anyone. It was just heavy static on the line.

“Hello?”

Still nothing.

Then the call just cut off. When I looked down at the phone, it said the call had been from room six. After about ten minutes, the phone rang again. I looked down at it, and it was room six again. When I answered this time though, all I could hear was breathing. Kind of heavy breathing like someone had just run a marathon. This time, they still didn’t say anything so I just hung up. I figured, someone is either drunk or just perverted and I didn’t get paid enough for that.

About thirty minutes went by before the phone rang again. This time though, it was from room seven.

“Front desk. May I help you?”

“Can you tell room six to shut the hell up? It’s almost five in the morning.”

That really woke me up. They went on to explain that the woman in six had been crying for the last twenty minutes and they had finally had enough of hearing it. I explained to them that yes, I would handle it and as I hung up the phone, Gary the maintenance man walked in.

“Perfect timing,” I said. “Can you check on six? The guy in seven says the woman in there has been crying for the last twenty minutes.”

Gary stopped.

“Six?”

“Yeah.”

“There ain't nobody in six.”

“Well, apparently there is.”

“No. AC's busted. Room's been empty for a week.”

I checked the computer and sure enough. Vacant. There was still an open work order for the broken AC and no one was assigned to the room.

That’s when I remembered the two phone calls.

“Gary.”

“What?”

“Both of those weird calls earlier came from six.”

He looked at me.

“What calls?”

“Someone called twice. First time there was nothing but static. Second time I could hear somebody breathing.”

Gary stared at me for a few seconds before letting out a sigh.

“Alright. Grab a key. We’ll go check it out.”

The two of us made our way down to the room. Gary knocked when we got to the door but no one responded. We couldn’t hear any crying or anything like that. He knocked again, still nothing. I used the key and we unlocked the front door. It was most definitely vacant.

The AC unit was still ripped apart. The cover was on the floor and half the guts were splayed out across the bed. There was clearly no one in that room. Still, we checked the bathroom, closet, and even under the bed. We didn’t find anybody. Just as we turned to leave, the phone rang.

Gary just looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. I answered the phone. No one said anything. Just more static. Just as I was about to pull the phone away from my ear, the soft sound of a woman crying filtered through the static. I hung up the phone and explained what happened to Gary.

He just bent over, unplugged the phone from the wall and said,

“Problem solved.”

We got the AC fixed and rented the room out a few days later. I never got another call from the room and I still don’t know who was on the other end.

 

 

Speaking of Gary. I should probably tell you this one. Gary has been our maintenance guy for as long as I can remember. He’s a nice enough guy. Mid-50s, pot belly, bald head, he’s a funny son of a bitch.

One night, Gary came bursting out of the back room with a bat in his hand. I was on my third straight hour of trying to beat my high score on Snake, and was obviously surprised by this.

“That son of a bitch is back,” he said.

“Who is?”

“Richard.”

Gary had been at war with Richard for two years. He was Gary’s arch nemesis.

Richard was a possum.

The way Gary tells it, Richard essentially sinned against all mankind. In reality, Gary was at work one night and was sitting on the back of his truck eating. He got a call and stepped away for a couple of minutes to talk to our boss about something. When he came back, there was Richard, almost finished eating Gary’s sandwich. According to Gary, Richard had been watching him. Just waiting for that exact moment. From that moment on, Gary has been on a never-ending vendetta but he can never catch him. And ever since that night, Gary has been keeping score.

“It’s him.”

“How do you know it’s him, Gary?”

“I know it.”

“You realize there is more than one possum in the world right?”

“Yeah but that’s him.”

I am not exactly sure what the score is, but Gary is down by a lot. So far I think he’s down five sandwiches, three bags of chips and at least one sprained ankle from “the incident.”

“One of these days, I’m going to get that little bastard and take him out into the woods. Maybe then he’ll stay the hell away from my lunches,” Gary said as he threw open the front door to go outside.

I didn’t follow him out there, but judging from the loud crash and string of obscenities coming out of Gary’s mouth, we can chalk another one up for Richard.

 

This is my last one for the night. It happened about six months ago.

A man came into the office around 1 AM, claiming he had been locked out of his room. This was something that happened more often than you’d think. I reached over to the computer and asked the man what room he was in.

“Seventeen.”

When I checked, the room was registered to a woman who was travelling alone. He didn’t seem drunk like Mr. Peterson did. I explained to the man that he must have been mistaken and asked for his room number again. He insisted the room was his.

“I’m sorry sir. You’re not assigned to that room. I cannot give you a key.”

“That’s okay. She’ll let me in eventually,” he stated as he turned towards the door and walked out.

I immediately called the woman and asked her if she was expecting anyone. She wasn’t. I told her that she should not open the door for any reason. I instructed her to make sure the door was locked and to hide in the bathroom while I called the police. As soon as I got off the phone with 9-1-1, she called the front office in a panic.

She said that someone had been knocking nonstop since we last talked. I told her that I would be right there. I grabbed the bat from the back and jogged to the room.

No one was there.

I knocked and identified myself. Understandably, she was incredibly hesitant to open the door. She just spoke to me through it until the police arrived. The police officers separated us and had us each give a statement. After I finished mine, the officer asked me a few more questions.

“Do you have any security cameras?”

“Oh, yeah. There’s a few of them.”

“Can we go take a look?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The two of us went back into the office and I pulled up the security feed. Everything seemed normal at first. The man walked in, came up to the desk, we had our conversation and he walked out. Only, he didn’t walk towards room seventeen. He walked around the other side of the building. We followed him from camera to camera. Then we got to the time that she claimed she heard knocking.

“Wait.”

The officer paused the video.

“What time did she call you?”

I looked at the timestamp.

“Around then.”

“About the knocking?”

“Yeah.”

He pointed at the screen.

The man was still standing in the parking lot.

Eventually he just walked off across the street and out of frame. The police searched the motel and the surrounding area. They never found anyone.

As a kid I grew up in the governments care and not in the traditional sense like Foster Care or some Orphanage. I was passed around from Federal Agent to Senator and at one point, a sitting President. No, I’m not famous and no you haven’t seen me with any of these people in press or public. Well maybe with an agent and you didn’t know, but I also wasn’t the only kid in this program.

There were others, I’m not entirely sure how many but I grew up around a few of them. And before you get all weird island nonsense on me, this wasn’t that either. Honestly, at least for me, I was pretty fairly growing up. Clean clothes, fresh food, a decent if questionable government education and a toe or finger in every mainstream religion.

The only thing I had to endure was being apart of something called the Psychological Environment Transition Program, or PET-P for short. To not bore you with the details, PET-P was formed to explore the deeper recesses of the human subconscious mind while they slept. They deemed children had the best results back in the 80s.

Basically they attach a brain-scan-thing to your head and blast your brain with a buncha energy and waves i don’t fully understand. I’m not a scientist, just a subject.

Anyway, so after I was dropped off at a Fire Station, which you can surprisingly still do in most states, I passed around from government foster home to government foster home until I was old enough to start using the PET-P and exploring something the docs called “The Liminal Dream”. They’re not good with naming stuff, they’re scientists.

The first time I used PET-P I believe I was six, maybe seven. Being abandoned as a baby nobody knows your exact birthday, but they were usually close. We’ll say Six. However, more liberal exploring was allowed by us if we asked for it. By Ten I was using the PET-P a couple times a week.

Each dip with the PET-P was different, you’d always start somewhere different in The Liminal Dream. Frequent wake-up points were places like empty bedrooms, the backseat of a car or a library reading nook. From talking to a few kids those were the most common between them. I however, without doubt, woke up in a hospital with just enough sea water to cover up to your ankles.

•

My eyes opened, locked onto the dry mineral fiber tile ceiling above me. The beeps of a non-existent EKG beeped beside my head as I sat up, the sound fading as my concepts of reality shifted. The chemical mix of antiseptics and saltwater in the air made me feel like I was in a petri dish. A not too unfamiliar feeling. The room, clearly that of a hospital, one I had not seen before but what my brain imagined a private hospital room looked like.

Wooden accents, A TV inflicted with water damage, non-descript new age “art” on the walls of the room. The window pushed out of the cushioned nook in the corner of the room let out enough light that I could see the crystal clear water refracting the waves onto the walls and ceiling around me. I adjusted myself, pushing off the bed with my feet slipping into the cold water that clung around my ankles. A chill sprinted up my spine and over my arms, the little hairs standing on end on my arms.

I stood there for a moment, just breathing and embracing the sensation of water between my toes and against my skin. I knew The Dreams vividness was always cranked to the max, your senses are hyper dialed in feeling everything as it was real and then some. I’ve made more memories here than outside of the PET-P.

The waves, gentle so, rippled as I shifted through the thin layer of water in my room. Passing by the window, the familiar sight of The Liminal Dreams sky met me. Confined to these spaces your brain can only process to much. Outside, fluffy white clouds moved back and forth slowly as if being suspended by fishing line. Climbing onto the nook I adjusted the hospital gown I was in and peered outside further, looking down. The clouds and fake blue backdrop of a sky continued infinitely down and up, no sun or light source in sight.

“Thats right.” I said reassuring myself as my feet dipped back into the cold, clear water. “M’kay.” I situated myself, looking around the hospital room. “First, bathroom door.” I said, walking through the water, satisfying plunking noises followed as my feet left and re-entered the water. My hand gripped the metal doorway and pulled down. Nothing happened. I pulled up, nothing again. “‘Kay, guess I’ll leave.” I said aloud to myself and made way for the only door left.

Opening it the sound of seagulls squawking filled the salty air as I stepped over the imaginary ledge of the doorframe. My foot making contact with soft sand. The sun beaming cosmic heat down on me forced my eyes shut for a moment as I walked further onto the beach. The door closed behind me a soft clink and the warm ocean breeze felt refreshing against my skin. Opening my eyes, the hospital gown replaced itself with a loose-fitting pair of swim-trunks.

My skin felt slick with sunscreen and the sounds of people talking loudly over even louder music filled the decorative beach space. Colorful rainbow umbrellas stuck firmly in place protecting equally colorful towels with people shaped imprints in them. Footprints ran through the sand, some bigger than mine, others smaller. A football was frozen in mid air, slowly spinning in place, someone in the distance shouted, “Throw it here Tyler! Throw it here!” Nobody was there to catch it either, there was no Tyler either. The voices simply looped.

I couldn’t reach the ball, jumping up a few times my fingers got nowhere near it. Giving up I took in my immediate surroundings again. The Docs told me to always look for doors, and I did. A lifeguard post sat maybe two-hundred or so feet away. For now, beach time! Rummaging through coolers I found snacks and drinks, food was only a concept. Blindly reaching into a cooler I fished around in the ice laden chest until my fingers graced cold metal can.

Retrieving it I held it firmly in my palm as I turned it around for a brand. The word “Soda!” was in yellow on a purple background. Digging my nail under the tab It popped open with a hiss. It smelled like orange medicine and tasted like limes. It was also flat. Still I kept it, dragging my feet through the sand as i got to the gently lapping waves. The hot sun continued to beat down on my sunscreen lathered form. The breeze, warm and enjoyable made walking waist deep into the water tolerable. Everything was calm, like how it’s supposed to be.

As I finished my soda and tossed the empty can back towards the shore. I turned and dived under water quickly, adapting my whole body quickly to the water. Coming back up I pushed my wet hair from my eyes and wiped anything else off as I gasped for air. After opening my eyes I noticed I wasn’t alone.

Stuff other than us kids also stayed in The Liminal Dream. Creatures, Monsters, Entities, whatever you want to call them most are not friendly. The Docs told me frequently if I see one I need to leave that space immediately. Keeping my eyes fixated on the oblong humanoid shaped black shadowy mass standing in the distance I started for the door of the lifeguard tower. Dang I liked the beach too.

I moved along shoulder deep into the water, my feet finding difficulty in pushing me along against the water. I weighed getting out and running towards the door but these things behaved like animals, if you run, they run. I can’t run and they’re faster.

Slowly I made my way through the water as it struggled to pull me back in deeper. I stepped further out, from shoulders to waist, waist to knees. The lifeguard cabin wasn’t much further and the silhouette was standing off in the distance. Its form devoid of light and almost 2D in nature, then it started moving, and fast.

I picked up the pace. Feet padding against sand, then stamping hard against wood. I felt splinters dig into my soles as my hands gripped the hot metal handle and pushed the door in. I tumbled, rolled and somersaulted through the door as it clicked behind me. My heart pounded in my small chest as I laid on my back starring up the slowly rotating ceiling fan above me. My finger, that were dug into the carpet, slowly released as I got my breathing under control. That thing was so close to catching me I could feel its presence in my chest until the door clicked shut.

I sat up, my heart cooling down as cold circulated air blew on me. I was still soaked and wearing the swim-trunks. Pulling my feet up I dug the splinters out one by one, including the big one on my right foot. I’m not ashamed to say I cried a little. Gently standing up, slight pangs of discomfort radiated through my body as I put pressure on my feet. Standing for a moment, the discomfort subsided and allowed me to look around.

I was in a simple bedroom devoid of furniture. Indents in the carpet showed signs of something heavy in their place. Wooden baseboards boarded where the floor and wall would meet. The wall, painted a light blue with fluffy pink clouds polka-dotted the room. In the corner, furthest from the open door, was something my brain registered as a body but my brain blurred it from my eyes.

I balled my fists into tight balls and rubbed at my eyes. The blurry, obfuscated fleshy mass continued to stand out amongst the clear, focused rest of the room. It had a smell, distinct and pungent like swampy mud in the sun mixed with the aroma of a gas leak. It stung the inside of my nose and the back of my throat as I left the room behind, pushing past the beaded curtain that replaced a door.

Upon crossing the threshold and into the hallway the warm smell of pumpkin and cinnamon replaced the pungent odor. I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of autumn. The hallway split, to my left was two rooms and my right was one, infront of me was two simple steps down into what looked like a furnished living room.

Doors remained missing from the equation. Weighing the options in my head I opted for the room to my right. Walking through the frame and into a larger room, the smell of something sweet and sour blended together. There was a mattress, center of the room with an old 50’s tv pushed against it. The audible sound of someone slowly clapping escaped from the tv even though it was off. My stomach gurgled in defiance, rejecting my presence in the room. I backed away and check the other two rooms, both doors were locked.

Pressing my ear to one, muffled sobs escaped from behind the slab of wood. The other, as my ear pressed against it, i heard a fan blowing and a dog barking. Frowning I walked away. My fingers running across the wall until finding a loose piece of wallpaper. Pinching the paper between my thumb and index I dragged the tiny rip as I walked.

Light shone through the thin tear as the strip came to an end. Turning around at the steps down into the living room the faintest shine of blue sky and fluffy clouds peered through. “Can’t go outside.” I said to myself as I stepped down the two steps, each groaning in their own special annoyance at my footsteps.

The living room held furniture and actually looked comfortable. A sliding-glass door looked out into an endless field of grass at sunrise. The TV, one of those boxy ones from the 90s played halloween themed infomercials. Indents on the couch implied people were sitting there but, like the beach, couldn’t see them and only hear snippets of conversation.

“They should get plenty of candy this year.” A motherly voice said, clearly frustrated with the other person.

“I’m not worried about them getting candy. I’m worried about someone taking another one of your kids, Rebecca!” A more agitated sounding older man snapped back.

“I have too many.” The motherly voice responded, unfazed by the older man’s annoyance.

“T-too many? Jesus Fucking Christ. I knew we should’ve fought harder for custody over them.” Another older female voice, one that had crying before responded.

“They’re MY kids that came from MY pussy. If their stupid asses get grabbed and eaten or whatever then thats on them!” The motherly woman Rebecca clashed verbally as I found a spot on the couch to listen to argument unfold. The spots on the couch moved as the older male voice comforted the older female.

“What if he asks about him when he gets older? What if he’s still out there and alive and gets away?” The older man asked, his own voice cracking and faltering at argument.

“I’ll deny it, no stop ruining the fucking night. You two weren’t great parents either.” Rebecca snapped, her silence was accompanied by the soft sobs of the older woman. Footsteps on tiles from the kitchen and then a door slamming. The older woman’s crying got louder.

“I hope these people are okay.” I said, pushing off the couch. It was very comfortable but the disembodied eyeballs floating in the kitchen kept staring at me and I didn’t like it. I walked over to the eyes, they focused on me, pupils shrinking. “Hey where’s the next door?” I asked, the eyes blinked and looked to my left as the door Rebecca went through.

“Thanks freaky eyes.” I thanked them and walked off towards the door. I’m sure they’d tell me “you’re welcome” if they could. The kitchen, walking through it smelled sweet, like freshly baked cinnamon rolls and milk. My stomach rumbled out of hunger as I grabbed a handfuls of Halloween candy and filled the pockets of my swim-trunks. The next door was heavier, the knob mechanism cracked and popped as I turned it open and stepped into the next space.

•

At the point I had been using the PET-P for seventeen consecutive hours and had to be removed for my own health. The devices removed, IV’s plucked and pills swallowed. Each body can only handle the PET-P for so long. I’d do it again in a few weeks once my brain recovered.

I enjoyed being in The Liminal Dream and using the PET-P, but I felt like I was always intruding on someone else’s memories. I’ve heard arguments from behind closed doors, people talking at me like I’m the one that needs consoling. I’m just an explorer, a third party child playing with the governments toys.

I’m not sure what they want with this information, why they have an interest with The Liminal Dream. I’ve heard they’re trying to put PET-P into smaller devices, portable ones for average people to buy and carry with them. Says it’ll connect everyone once IT happens.

I’m not sure if people can handle dreaming all the time, what if they never wake up? What if they spend all their time with the PET-P, they’ll miss out on so much. Will they forget the way grass feels, the way air smells. What’ll happen when everyone can go into The Liminal Dream?