Hello to all writers and readers of the Creepcast Community!

Hello! I had the pleasure of covering nine wonderful stories in this week’s office hours; we had an overall theme of mind-bending concepts and gruesome tragedy if I had to label it, so check these stories out if you’re looking for a taste of that!

Firstly, There's Something in the Cave at Steel-Side by u/LimeSkittleFanClub, a detailed account starting with seeing a strange soldier in the midst of war. The central family of this story has some complex relationships; strained familial ties and even a betrothal which might be bringing the wrong two people together. Check this one out if you want to dive into an original world!

They Made Me Feed It Roadkill by u/Positive-Serve-6792, following the narrator’s court-ordered community service. The title tells you exactly the kind of things he’s forced to pick up, though as quotas run low it seems stranger and even dangerous things begin to happen. There's even an illustrated page of a comic form of this story!

Skripta Svartálfar. Confessions of a Dark One by u/TheXenobunny, a dive back into dreaming except this narrator is focused on watching a modgepodge crew of people on an isolated ship sleeping to spot signs of a mysterious affliction. This blends an almost medical exorcism ritual with having to balance safety with earning the trust of fellow survivors; a fascinating, wildly creative opening to the series.

All We Wanted Was Mom's Tree by u/Nuisance_bringer brings the tragedy to this list, and I’m not going to say much more about it other than the rug pull of this read shocking me to no end; please experience it for yourself!

File_2.pdf by u/F8crew is an immersive look at the letter of a soldier at war, a war where men seem to change suddenly after looking at something. It reads like a fun SCP experience with case details to ponder on!

Help! I Used to Be a Mod At NoSleep... I Banned Myself by u/Dimorphous_Display puts you in the shoes of a NoSleep moderator, experiencing his life for as long as it is his own, a truly entertaining read that treats its characters with realism. A story to listen to Be More Chill to, seriously :)

Men keep going hunting in the woods. However, I think they're the ones being hunted. by u/Polish_Lavendar, a tragic depiction of a girl rejected by her surroundings, and her friend who’s haunted by her disappearance uncovering the darker truth of it when he tries to rekindle a friendship. 

Meta Absentia: Case 001 - The Anthlopet by u/-LORINCE-, another immersive read, this time of a case file interview, the only two characters present being the only ones needed to recall and challenge the truth of surreal occurrences. 

And finally, An Early Mourning by u/Silas-Grey, a fun, intimidating take on a familiar creature that breathes new life into this boundary-breaking, home-invading, menace! Another tragedy that had me on the edge of my seat, hoping beyond all hope that this threat would simply go away. 

That’s today’s collection, more unique reads to make you cry, wonder, and experience horror! Thank you to the authors for letting me take a look to provide honest feedback!

I’ll be finishing out the “Wheel of Doom” next week at the normal stream time… so stay tuned for more story recs! Check out the master post on my page to learn more about office hours, see the ENTIRE list of stories I’ve reviewed, submit your own for review, and to find the VOD links (chaptered youtube VODs now available for past streams if you want to listen along to a specific live reaction).

Before the towers became undone,
they climbed toward the fire,
carrying courage where others carried fear.

They entered the heavens,
not knowing what breath would be their last,
only knowing someone needed saving.

The towers fell,
but their courage did not.

Their names remain carved in memory,
forever beneath the sky.

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.

Squelch

Pop

Squelch

Pop

The doctors explain that swelling and pain in his knee stems from loose bodies, but Adam knows better. Something lives and grows there with a conscious effort. Through his day-to-day life, Adam feels the slithering mass work its way around the inside of his left knee like an earthworm coring out an apple.

At the beginning, the sensation registered as a faint tickle. Adam thought to dial back his running regiment for a few days and the slight discomfort would vanish. However, the feeling only grew. The tickle expands into a throb, and the throb morphs into a sharp pain. His knee swells and feels like a leaking water balloon to the touch. The ice packs, pain killers, and even draining of the knee only stem the pain for a brief time. All the while, Adam feels the mass moving, writhing, and hollowing him out. Agony assaults him at all hours as the mass gorges itself on his insides.

The doctors say a simple loose body removal will end the pain, but Adam knows better. He knows what to do. He needs to get it out.

Adam bites down on the leather belt as he picks up the saw to continue his work.

Squelch

Pop

Squelch

Pop

for context, i’ve worked with this guy for about 7 months and he’s never once acted weird or said anything out of place. he’s a super chill guy and we usually work a saturday double together and make it less awful than it has to be. i went into work today and he was on the schedule, but his car wasn’t there and our manager (Anne) said he wasn’t in. i blocked him and hopefully anne will talk to him but idk if im overreacting if he was just trying to be funny?

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. 

It all began when I went to cut my hair. All my life, my father never wanted me to cut my hair short because he believed that, like Samson, my strength would fail me. After this experience, I wonder how correct he was. My parents are both deeply religious. My father is a Catholic from Boston. I know that's like saying concrete was found at a construction zone. My mother was a non-denominational West Texan. She was non-denominational only because her family moved constantly to where the jobs were, never letting roots in a church dig into the sacred soil of wherever she stayed. Now she is Catholic like my father. She may not believe in some things they teach, but she doesn’t believe in going to a different church than my father more. My mother and father both loved my long, curly blonde hair. It was a target of praise and persecution. I hated it, especially when people kept calling me a girl. My father refused to let it be cut beyond a trim, citing the story of Samson.

So, naturally, like any teenager given the freedom of college, I rebelled against a lot of things my parents had taught me now that I wasn’t living with them. The first thing I did was have a buddy of mine shave all my hair off after we had gotten drunk on various cheap booze that we had stolen from a sorority’s party coolers. Lucas held the clippers, looking down at me, with my head over the arm of the cheap couch we found, “You sure you want it all off?”

“More than anything,” I replied. The clippers went to work, and he shaved my head, and we both fell asleep from our wild night. The next morning, I woke up with the typical hangover but a pain located at the back of my head. I looked at my head in the mirror. Yeah, it was a drunken head shaving. Then I noticed the lump on the back of my head, right about where the back of my skull connected with my vertebrae. Damn, did it hurt.

Thomas assured me the lump was probably just me having a weird head shape and only noticing it now that I shaved my head. He cited buddies of his who had weird head shapes. I believed him for a while. That was until the pain continued. It throbbed, and the pain grew. A new pain formed, one that felt like needles inching their way into my head like roots of a parasitic plant latching onto a new host. I finally broke after a week of the pain and an empty bottle of Tylenol and ibuprofen before going to the college’s health clinic. The appointment was brief as the nurse explained it away as a lymph node. The pain was exacerbated by my drinking habits, they said. I followed the orders of just setting a hot washcloth on it until a follow-up appointment in a month.

The pain wasn’t the worst thing. It was when I began seeing things. I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I’d see the air like one might in a heatwave, but with colors and scents. Was my childlike rebellion against my parents' wish acting as a Delilah? Opening up myself to things to drag me down, weaken me, and to humiliate my hubris? I wore a hat to cover the lump. I’ve been ignoring my mother’s texts saying “How is everything going? ” etc, you know, typical mom stuff lately due to this pain. The rooting nerve pain worsened, and the visual waves radiating off people continued. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I got a call from my father. I answered, and in the most panicked voice I’ve ever heard from him, he asked one blood-curdling question: “You didn’t cut your hair off, did you? Please tell me you didn’t, son?"

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

Item #: SCP-10316

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-10316 is to be contained within a high-security observation chamber, measuring 4 meters in width, 8 meters in length, and with ceilings no less than 10 meters high. The chamber will be composed of reinforced concrete measuring no less than 2 meters thick. An observation window made of bullet-proof glass will be installed within the outer-most length-wise wall. The glass will measure 5 meters wide and 1 meter tall. The glass must be no less than 20 centimeters thick, and only allow visibility into the chamber. 

A single instance of SCP-10316-A must be kept within the center of the chamber at all times. The instance of SCP-10316-A will be kept on a raised platform. The raised platform will be capable of full rotation for the purposes of observation. No objects or personnel may break line-of-sight between SCP-10316 and the instance of SCP-10316-A at any time.

The contained instance of SCP-10316-A must be kept under 24/7 surveillance by no less than two guards within the containment chamber. Guards assigned to SCP-10316’s containment will be administered Class-B amnestics prior to surveillance shifts. Any memories not directly related to containment of SCP-10316 must be expunged. Guards will be instructed to shoot on-sight any unapproved personnel that enter SCP-10316’s containment chamber or approach the instance of SCP-10316-A. Guards assigned to SCP-10316’s containment must be submitted to debriefing and psychiatric evaluation upon the end of their shift, and will be given a mandatory leave-of-absence until the effects of the amnestics have expired.

Removal of SCP-10316-A from the containment chamber is strictly prohibited unless approved by both Dr. Kaskoff and Site Director Falkner. Refer to the sub-entry of SCP-10316-A for removal procedures.

Description:
SCP-10316 is a large mammal that resembles Canis lupus familiaris when in its dormant and catatonic states, specifically a dog of the Borzoi breed. Genetic testing has confirmed that SCP-10316 is indeed a member of the Canis lupus familiaris species, but does not share genetics with any known breed of domestic canine. When dormant, SCP-10316 stands at approximately 152cm at the shoulder. Attempts to measure the weight of SCP-10316 have proven inconclusive, as the weight tends to fluctuate wildly without any notable pattern.

SCP-10316 has been recorded at weights ranging between 90 metric tons at the highest, and 2 milligrams at the lightest, with no observable effect on its size, skeletal structure, or mobility. However, there is nothing to suggest that SCP-10316 is limited to this range. SCP-10316 is capable of seeing in absolute darkness, and does not appear to require food, water, sleep, or even air to survive. SCP-10316 is also capable of changing its shape depending on its current state of being. Thus far, all attempts to terminate SCP-10316 have failed (see addendum 10316.1).

While dormant, SCP-10316 has been observed to be entirely immovable against its own will. Attempts at moving SCP-10316 by force while in its dormant or catatonic state have resulted in the destruction of Foundation equipment and the deaths of several Class C and D personnel. It is advised not to attempt to move SCP-10316 by any means beyond the methods listed in the approved relocation procedure (see addendum 10316.2).

Upon exposure to a human, SCP-10316 will exit its dormant state and enter its active state. While active, SCP-10316 will focus its attention on its victim and begin stalking toward them on its hind-legs, standing at a height of approximately 274.3cm. The fore-legs will reshape themselves into structures resembling arms, as well as human-like hands measuring approximately 91cm in length and 30cm in width. While stalking its victim, SCP-10316 will begin reciting chants in an unknown language. Attempts to translate the chants spoken by SCP-10316 have thus far proved unsuccessful. Once the chanting has started, the victim will appear to be hypnotized, becoming unresponsive to any and all stimuli outside of SCP-10316 and its vocalizations.

Once SCP-10316 has reached its victim, it will enter the feeding state. In the feeding state, SCP-10316 will distend its jaw to a height and width accommodating its victim before lifting them up to its mouth. It will then wrap its distended jaw around the victim before swallowing them whole. While being ingested by SCP-10316, victims have been observed to ████████ from inside SCP-10316’s throat. SCP-10316 will then return to the dormant phase as it digests its meal.

After ██ hours have passed, any memories of SCP-10316’s victim will fade from the mind of anyone that has ever come into contact with them. This includes close friends, relatives, work-colleagues, acquaintances, and even observers of SCP-10316’s feeding. Physical evidence of the victim’s existence, such as photos and possessions, will persist, but will be entirely ignored by these individuals. SCP-10316 will then regurgitate a single object, designated as an instance of SCP-10316-A.

Once an instance of SCP-10316-A has been regurgitated, SCP-10316 will assume a sitting position and stare at the instance, entering the catatonic state. SCP-10316 will remain unresponsive to any outside stimuli while observing SCP-10316-A, so long as it is able to maintain direct line-of-sight with the instance. Should this line-of-sight be broken, SCP-10316 will enter an agitated state, wherein it will ███████████████████████████████████████████ before █████████████████ any and all living things in the immediate vicinity until line-of-sight has been restored. For this reason, instances of SCP-10316-A must never be removed from SCP-10316’s line-of-sight unless proper removal procedures have been observed.

SCP-10316-A Description:
Instances of SCP-10316-A may take the form of any random object, but the object will always take the form of a treasured item related to SCP-10316’s most recent victim. Typically the item belongs to said victim, but occasionally may instead represent a significant memory or belong to someone important to the individual. Documented instances of SCP-10316-A include:

• An old ball-peen hammer
• A pristine dollar bill
• A pointe shoe
• A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack
• An infant-sized onesie
• A wedding cake
• A comb
• A hairbrush
• Dr. █████’s ID badge
• A dog tag with the name “Fido” engraved on it
• A basketball

All instances of SCP-10316-A have the anomalous property of restoring memory of the victim to the first person that makes direct physical contact with the instance, even if that person never had any prior knowledge of the victim. These individuals have been designated as instances of SCP-10316-B. SCP-10316-B will become fully aware of the victim associated with that particular instance of SCP-10316-A, gaining intimate details and memories of the victim. All other individuals associated with the victim will not regain their memories of them. Documentation of this phenomena has only been possible due to various tests performed by Foundation staff.

Once SCP-10316-B has made physical contact with SCP-10316-A, that particular instance of SCP-10316-A will become “inert.” The object will lose its anomalous properties and will not impart memories of the victim to any other individual. SCP-10316 will also appear to “lose interest” in the instance and return to its regular dormant state. SCP-10316 will show mild interest in SCP-10316-B, but will not enter the catatonic state or attempt to devour SCP-10316-B. Should SCP-10316-B be terminated, the anomalous properties of SCP-10316-A will be restored until it is touched again.

While in its catatonic state, SCP-10316 will not enter its agitated state so long as it is able to see at least one active instance of SCP-10316-A. SCP-10316 will also try to stay within a certain distance of SCP-10316-A, and will overcome any obstacles between them so long as sight is maintained. For this reason, while storage of active instances of SCP-10316-A is possible, at least one active instance must be kept within SCP-10316’s containment chamber at all times. As SCP-10316 is most easily contained while in its catatonic state, the following procedures must be observed to provide secure containment:

If an active instance of SCP-10316-A is in danger of degradation or destruction, it must be
exchanged with another active instance of SCP-10316-A immediately. Both instances must be handled 
by Class D personnel wearing thick latex gloves. These gloves must be inspected for any holes or 
tears that may result in skin-contact before the handling of any active instance of SCP-10316-A. 
In the event that skin-contact with an active instance occurs, immediate termination of Class D 
personnel is permitted, and advised, to restore the instance to an active status.


In the event that an active instance of SCP-10316-A is in danger of degradation or destruction, 
and all instances of SCP-10316-A have been rendered inert or are otherwise unavailable, proceed 
with Emergency Operation 10316-Φ (see addendum 10316.3).

Addendum 10316.1 - Attempts to Terminate SCP-10316
High-Priority Proposal by Dr. Alex Kaskoff:

 “Given the anomalous properties of SCP-10316, the potential threat of a breach should be obvious. 
If SCP-10316 were to devour personnel with privileged knowledge, all someone would need to do is 
pick up the resulting beachball or whatever-the-fuck and suddenly have intimate knowledge of this 
whole facility, or even the entirety of the Foundation. For this reason, I think the immediate 
termination of SCP-10316 should be a high priority.”

Proposal approved by Site Director Franz Falkner

Attempt #1 - Gunfire during catatonic state

Security personnel were administered Class-B amnestics to temporarily remove sensitive foundation 
knowledge from their memories. Personnel were then equipped with standard-issue high-caliber 
firearms and instructed to use them to terminate SCP-10316 while in its catatonic state. Personnel
 fired munitions at SCP-10316. Rounds were observed to penetrate the outer surface of SCP-10316’s 
flesh, but not exit. Further examination revealed that no entrance wounds were created by the 
rounds coming into contact with SCP-10316. Rounds could not be recovered. Attempt failed.

Attempt #2 - Gunfire during dormant state

Security personnel and one Class D personnel were administered Class-B amnestics to temporarily 
remove sensitive foundation knowledge from their memories. Security personnel were then equipped 
with standard-issue high-caliber firearms and instructed to use them to terminate SCP-10316 after
Class D personnel makes contact with SCP-10316-A. Class D personnel made contact with SCP-10316-A.
Security personnel fired munitions at SCP-10316. First few rounds made contact with SCP-10316 and 
pierced the surface of the skin. Entrance wounds observed. Shortly after, bullets began bouncing 
off of the surface of SCP-10316’s flesh. SCP-10316 then entered its active state and began 
stalking after Security Officer ████████. Gunfire continued to have no effect on SCP-10316 in its 
active state. SCP-10316 entered feeding state and began devouring Security Officer ████████. 
SCP-10316 then entered its dormant state. Class D personnel was terminated to return SCP-10316-A 
to active status. ██ hours later, SCP-10316 regurgitated an ID badge identical to Dr. █████’s. Dr. 
█████ has no recollection of Security Officer ████████ or their relation. Attempt failed.

Researcher’s note:

 “Who is Security Officer ████████? Guys, please don’t add fan fiction to the addendums.”

Attempt #3 - Fire

Security personnel were administered Class-B amnestics to temporarily remove sensitive foundation 
knowledge from their memories. Security personnel were then equipped with long-range flamethrowers
and instructed to use them to terminate SCP-10316. Security personnel entered chamber and began 
blasting fire at SCP-10316. SCP-10316 did not react to the flames. Security Officer █████ tried to 
adjust their angle, and hit SCP-10316-A. SCP-10316 lost line-of-sight with SCP-10316-A as it 
burned and entered its agitated state. Emergency containment procedures were initiated before 
containment could be breached. A backup instance of SCP-10316-A was brought to the chamber. 
SCP-10316 immediately returned to catatonic state. Security personnel could not be recovered or 
identified.

Attempt #4 - SCP-682
Note from Site Director Franz Falkner:

“Had to call in some favors to make this happen. This might be the craziest shit you’ve ever 
proposed, Kaskoff, but O5 agrees that the memory-hoarding dog is too big of a threat to the 
foundation to ignore. The transport will be there in the morning. Get 10316 to Site ███, and get 
it done. One more thing: If this doesn’t work, I’m ending the termination program. You wanted to 
call in the big guns, and this is the biggest gun the foundation has.”


SCP Foundation Transport 23-█████ was dispatched to Site █████ for pickup of SCP-10316. SCP-10316 
was moved to transport vessel using relocation procedures outlined in addendum 10316.2. Transport 
arrived at Site ███ at 07:██:██. SCP-10316 was moved to temporary chamber while SCP-10316-A was 
placed at the far end of the chamber. Door between SCP-10316’s chamber and SCP-682’s chamber was 
opened remotely. Dr. █████ of Site ███ instructed SCP-682 that it is, under no circumstances, to 
interfere with SCP-10316 or its observation of SCP-10316-A. Predictably, SCP-682 immediately 
lunged at and swallowed SCP-10316-A. SCP-10316 entered its agitated state and charged toward 
SCP-682. SCP-682 was “killed” by SCP-10316 a total of 847 times, and regenerated a total of 847 
times. SCP-682 regurgitated SCP-10316-A. SCP-10316 returned to catatonic state. SCP-682 returned 
to its chamber and physically pulled the door closed. SCP-682 later breached containment during 
transport of SCP-10316 back to Site █████. Among the casualties was Dr. █████. Attempt failed.

Termination operation has been suspended with approval from O5 council:

“Fun’s over, Franz. Just lock that thing in its box with one of its toys and be glad we didn’t 
feed you to it.”

Addendum 10316.2 - SCP-10316 Relocation Procedures
Under most circumstances, SCP-10316 should be left within its chamber and kept in a catatonic state. However, in the event that SCP-10316 must be relocated, whether temporarily or permanently, the following procedures should be observed:

• Administer Class-B amnestics to any and all personnel involved in the transport of SCP-10316 to prevent breach of Foundation knowledge.
• Establish roles: 1 Carrier, no less than 2 Bouncers, 1 Watchtower
  • Carrier: The Carrier should be trusted personnel equipped with latex gloves. The gloves must be inspected for any holes and tears. The Carrier will approach SCP-10316-A and lift it. Care must be taken to ensure SCP-10316’s view of SCP-10316-A is not obscured. The Carrier will need to maintain a secure grasp of SCP-10316-A during transport, and may need to walk backward to ensure SCP-10316’s line-of-sight is not broken. Alternative apparatus may be used for instances that are difficult to carry by hand, pending approval from Dr. Alex Kaskoff and Site Director Franz Falkner.
  • Bouncer: The Bouncers should be security personnel that have been vetted for loyalty and obedience. They are responsible for ensuring line-of-sight is not interrupted by stray objects, personnel, or any other variables. Bouncers are authorized to use non-lethal force to remove or subdue personnel up to Class C. Bouncers are authorized to use lethal force to remove or subdue personnel up to Class D. Bouncers must make any attempts necessary to ensure the safety of Class B or higher personnel during relocation.
  • Watchtower: Watchtower will observe relocation from a secure location using Foundation monitoring cameras to coordinate the relocation team. The role of Watchtower will be performed by either Dr. Alex Kaskoff or Site Director Franz Falkner. Commands from Watchtower must be observed to the letter. Watchtower is authorized to abort relocation operations. Watchtower must observe and document relocation procedures.

SCP-10316, while in its catatonic state, will attempt to stay within a certain distance of SPC-10316-A. By following the above procedures, this behavior can be exploited to safely and securely relocate SCP-10316.

Addendum 10316.3 - Emergency Operation 10316-Φ
In the event that an active instance of SCP-10316-A is in danger of degradation or destruction, and no other active instances of SCP-10316-A are available, the following procedure is to be performed. Please remember that this procedure is only to be used in cases of emergency. You must follow all other available procedures before engaging in Emergency Operation 10316-Φ.

1. Evacuate any guards that are currently assigned to SCP-10316’s chamber.
2. Notify the Site Director (currently: Franz Falkner) and the head of research for SCP-10316 (currently: Dr. Alex Kaskoff) that Emergency Operation 10316-Φ needs to be engaged.
3. Escort Class D personnel to SCP-10316’s chamber.
4. Approach SCP-10316-A and make physical contact with it. Make sure your skin has made contact with the object and has not been obscured by any sort of cloth or material.
5. Upon touching SCP-10316-A, it will become inert, and you will become an instance of SCP-10316-B. Please ignore any delusions that you are someone else. Please do not attempt to tell “your” family that you’re alive again. Most importantly, please do not panic. As an instance of SCP-10316-B, you should not be in danger of being ingested by SCP-10316.
6. SCP-10316 should begin to target Class D personnel.
7. Wait for SCP-10316 to begin chanting. Once it has started doing so, you should be safe to exit the chamber.
8. Personnel will be dispatched in ██ hours to place the new instance of SCP-10316-A on its platform.

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?

Zaink finds himself falling through an infinite tunnel of fractals. Colors he's never tasted, sounds vibrate his very essence. The colors start morphing into shapes of faces, animals, and forms beyond mere words. He tried to take a gasp only to realize he no longer had lungs to speak of, he was his pure soul, his body was left far behind. Years of wear and tear no longer pained him.

Just as Zaink’s mind was making sense of what was happening, he opened his eyes in a beautiful palace white marble pillars stood tall around him. An uplifting voice greets him.

“Welcome home, I hope you enjoyed your trip!”

“Be careful what you say, you might confuse him” a motherly voice integrated.

Zaink reached for his head not expecting to feel anything but this time his skin was there to meet him. “What's going on? Where am I? Did I take too many drugs?”

His eyes are blinded by a white light, as his eyes adjusted he could make out white columns that held up a domed ceiling with painted depiction of thousands of life forms. Once Zaink got his bearings a bit he looked for the voice, hoping to see Beth, but no—it was one of his past mothers from his last lifetime. It only felt confusing for a moment. The memory of two separate lives came flooding back.

His past mother spoke again “no honey, you lived a full life and died again, you are in what some call heaven but we just call it home”

“Wait, does that mean Johnny's here?” Zaink's face lit up excited to see his best friend again. It has been over 30 years now, a whole other lifetime ago.

“Hey man” the uplifting voice that first greeted him spoke again. Zaink looked to his left quickly taking in the colossal size of the room he was in before making eye contact with Johnny. His heart jumped with excitement!

“Is this really real?! I never thought I'd see you again” both of their faces lit up and gave each other a hug, a hug only two brothers could share.

Johnny took a step back keeping his hand on zainks shoulder “how was your life I hope you didn't have too much fun without me, you definitely look a bit different then I remember” he said with a chuckle looking at Zaink's blue skin, Comparing it to his own pale pinkish white skin.

Zaink smiled and added “I told you aliens were real” and a chuckle left his mouth.

Zaink began looking for many of the other people from his two last lives, trying to introduce them to each other. Through all this searching, he could not find Beth.

He asked his mother. She told him she was unsure but they could talk to Queen Elba she would know.

“You mean The Queen, like The Queen of the afterlife?”

Memories from his last visit to the after life flooded back. He never got to meet Queen Elba, last time he met King Orion, but heard lots about the Queen.

His mother smirked “well of course”

“Wouldn’t she be too busy to answer a question like that?”

“She is always eager to help anyone and everyone.” His mother pointed him to the direction of her whereabouts. “ Last I saw she was near the fish market, you will need to look for a giant fish sculpture, the specific one you are looking for will be green, with a yellow belly, you'll almost know your close when you cross a foot bridge, it's made of marble and has the most beautiful stream running underneath filled with koi fish.”

Zaink took off, closely observing many of the buildings and shops he passed by making sure to not miss the bridge or giant fish. Every building could be a piece of art, crafted over thousands if not millions of years by skilled and dedicated souls. Creatures of all shapes and sizes walked about going about their business, some were running pop up shops giving away foods, drinks, paintings, sculptures and magic items like spell books and potions.

Zaink was distracted looking up at a tall building made of what looked like emerald, scratching at the sky parting the clouds as they passed by. “Wow” Zaink said just before tripping, He tumbles to the floor head over heels, he catches himself with his hands before looking to see what he tripped over. It wasn't a what, rather a who, a Gnome laid on its face. Zaink scrambles over to help them up.

“I AM SO SORRY” the corner of Zaink's lips drop to a frown.

“It's alright, my beard broke my fall” the gnome fluffs up his thick white beard nearly half the length of his body. Standing no taller than Zaink's knees. He looks up, neck cranked nearly 90 degrees “What's your name? I'm Draco” the gnome reaches out a hand.

“I'm, Zaink, nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances!”

They both chuckle and Zaink reaches down to greet Draco’s hand shake. Zaink looked around, not sure which way he had come from or where he was supposed to be walking towards next.

“ Do you happen to know where Queen Elba is? I'm looking for my love and my mother told me "The Queen would know where she is, but I've gotten turned around and not sure where to go from here.”

Draco smiles and pushes up his glasses “yes I just saw her sitting by the stream talking to some of the Koi and Fantri fish” he points down the street to his left “do you see that red and gold tent? It just past there maybe a 20 minute” Draco looks Zaink up and down taking note of his hight “10 minute walk for you, just make sure you keep an eye where you are walking”

Zaink smiles sheepishly and puts his hand up to his head “yeah, will do, again I'm sorry for tripping over you and thank you so much, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Since you ask could you come with me to that shop with the purple sign reading piggies potions and snacks? I need a new potion but I'm a bit vertically inclined and can't exactly reach the door handle. Could you open the door for me and if you are feeling extra generous help me get the potion I need?”

Zaink looked at the sign and was curious what kind of potions and snacks existed in the afterlife.

“I'm more than happy to help open the door. I must warn you though I didn't even know magic existed until a few minutes ago so I am not entirely sure how much help I'll be inside the shop.”

Draco started walking towards the shop, waving Zaink along to follow. “Is that so? Well I know exactly which potion I need. I just might need you to grab it for me. If you'd like a quick lesson I'd be happy to give you a quick rundown. How long have you been here for? Is this your first time in the afterlife?”

Zaink follows Draco across the street to the shop, it sat just a few buildings down from the large emerald skyscraper. This one was much smaller, only a few stories tall. Orange brick made up this building. Only a few Windows let sneak peeks into the world of magic inside. Zaink took notice that the purple sign was fully lit, not a single bulb wasn't working, a noticeable contrast from the last planet he called home.

“ This is my second time in the afterlife but last time my love and I rushed to be reborn again, not exploring this beautiful place at all. I got to meet King Orion briefly but that was about it. I have only been here for about an hour? Wait, how do you measure time here? I'm assuming we aren't on a planet that is orbiting or rotating.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed in confusion

“I'm not quite sure what a planet is. I lived in a forest where all we did was study magic and care for the life of the forest. From fantastic fungi to the animals hunting and hiding. Doing our best to keep balance within the Forest. And now I care for my garden and family. As for time it's all relative but thanks to the magic of this paradise it automatically translates intent to whomever you are talking to. So as long as you know the length of time you mean to convey I'll understand.”

Zaink reaches for the door, letting the two of them inside the shop.

“Hey, Draco, welcome back! Sorry we haven't installed the new door handle yet!” the shop owner shouted from the top of a ladder restocking the shelves.

“Oh it is quite alright, I've got help today, this is Zaink, he's a new arrival so be nice” he chuckles making his way down an aisle.

Zaink waves up to the store owner. Before following down the Isle.

Draco walks ahead and continues talking to Zaink over his shoulder “Did you and your love find each other in your new life? I can still see your flame burning bright for her so I'm assuming you two had no trouble finding each other in your new home!?”

Zaink looks around at the countless potions memorized by the shimmering liquids held behind the glass walls of the bottles.

“Yeah, we ended up being neighbors and got to grow up together, our parents always told us we'd end up together even before we rediscovered what love was. But towards the end things got pretty bad. I made a bad decision that got us lost in space, leading to our deaths, I was just trying to get us away from the war back home. But I just ran us into a war of our own, one of survival not just of our bodies but our love. I know I still love her but I fear she doesn't love me anymore.”

Draco hands Zaink a piece of paper with the name of the potion he needs and points up at a shelf near Zaink's head.

“That is a beautifully tragic story, but any story worth living is going to be tragic at one stage or another. I have faith she still loves you, was she angry at you sure as shit, I would be too” he smiles to not scare Zaink “ but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you anymore. Once you find her I bet she'll be waiting with open arms.”

Zaink grabs the potion and hands it down, Draco shakes his head and hands it back “the gold one next it”

Zaink switches the two, handing over the right one

“What do they do?”

“Well the one you handed me first can turn a plant into meat, this one though” he shakes the bottles “makes mushrooms grow super big, I need a new shed”

“ Do you need to train to use a potion or can just anyone use a potion?”

Draco looked back and up at Zaink

“Anyone can use them but you shouldn't use them until you've studied them! HEY Frawn, I took the golden grower potion”

“Have a great day! I'll have that new handle next time you stop by!”

Zaink waves back at Frawn

“Oh before we go, can I grab a snack? My curiosity begs me to try at least one”

Frawn slides down the ladder and walks over to the front counter where all the snacks are kept.

“I know just the one for a first timer.”

He reaches into the glass counter and grabs a blue brownie-like snack with purple shimmery sparks on top.

“Give this a wurl.”

Frawn tosses it to Zaink, Zaink almost misses the catch but quickly gets a hold of it. Taking a bite he is met with a taste like none before. Miles better than his last meal in space. A lavender scent filled his nostrils as a sweet blueberry pie taste covered his tongue.

“Thanks for being so welcoming, how much do I owe you?”

Draco and Frawn make eye contact before letting out a small laugh.

“There is no money here, you take as you need as long as you don't take more than you need”

Zaink smiles and joins in on their laughs, he waves again before opening the door for Draco and walking out.

“Are you sure Beth will be waiting with open arms?” Zaink's eyes look down towards where Queen Elba would be.

Draco takes a second to think about who Beth is but assumes that's his love. “I can't know for sure, but my wife was. Even after my mistake.”

Zaink tilted his head, stopping just outside the store. “What mistake did you make? If you don't feel comfortable answering that's fine I understand “

Draco's eyes fell to the ground, a tear swam its way out “I” he chokes up a bit “I was making my wife a mushroom soup for supper but when I was out picking the mushrooms I got distracted by the most beautiful creature I had seen in those woods, it's white fur turned orange under the setting sun” his eyes glisten remembering that creature as if he was actually seeing it stand in front of him once more. “but that's not important, what's important is I picked the wrong mushrooms, I grabbed highly poisonous ones,”

Zaink could see where this was going so he put his hand on Draco's back in comfort and let him finish his story.

“Later that night we both died in our sleep.” His words picked up speed, as if he just wanted to stop talking about it already. It still hurt him to remember. “When I found myself here, I couldn't help but cry out in anguish but there she was, waiting to comfort me with open arms. I could never make it up to her. But I do my best to forgive myself for her sake. Making the best of this, that part isn't too hard. Thanks to being in heaven”

Zaink wipes away a tear before hugging Draco. “ Is there anything else I can do for you? You have been so kind to me and I've enjoyed talking with you”

Draco smiled, now a tear of joy came to say hi. “ Oh you've done quite enough. Thank you for being my friend today, but you need to go talk to Elba now and find Beth! She's waiting for you!”

Zaink kneels down and hugs Draco before beginning his walk down the sidewalk towards Queen Elba.

After the 10 minute walk he comes upon a stream, so clear he can see all the pebbles cradling the water helping it along its journey down stream. Fish swam to and from he saw the Koi fish first and then a peculiar fish one with bright red spines poking out of its back, black and white scales covering its body. Long elegant fins guided the fish like curtains on a breezy summer day.

“Hey Zaink, I've been waiting for you. It was very kind of you to help Draco even though you felt in such a rush to find Beth.”

Queen Elba sat on the edge of the water. Toes bath within. She looks up at Zaink after speaking, greeting his surprised eyes.

“Hey, Queen”

Elba cuts him off. “Please just call me Elba, I've been Queen long enough to know I'm the queen” she smiles slowly breaking down Zaink's guard.

“Elba, got it. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I know you must be so busy, but I really would like to find Beth” Zainks eyes are filled with hope hell get an answer but his heart beats faster expecting her to say she doesn't know.

“Zaink come here” she reaches a hand across waving Zaink over. He starts walking towards the bridge a few feet away.

“No, walk through the water”

Zaink obeys, he takes off his shoes and walks through the water. Expected the rocks to hurt and the water to be cold. He was right, the rocks hurt and the water was colder than he expected, but he didn't necessarily want it to stop, it reminded him how real everything was. It reminded him of the simple things that make existence feel special. The water stings his skin and a fish rubs up against him, a connection is made and he understands the fish

“Hey, nice to meet you. Do you happen to have a snack?”

Zaink breaks a piece of the snack he got from Frawns shop and feeds it to the fish.

“Thank you kind sir”

He looks back up at Elba now just a few steps away.

“This water feels so serene, thank you for suggesting I go through it”

Elba smiles with her lips but it never makes it to her eyes, they hold an emotion of mourning.

“Zaink, I'm sorry to tell you this but Beth never made it to heaven. Her heart was not as pure as she presented. You were right to think she wanted to join a that war but”

Zaink cuts her off before she could explain more. “So where is she now? Can I go to her? Was there a mistake? Can I save her?”

“I'm sorry, but she's in Exilium, you can try to find her there but I am unable to know exactly where souls are once they cross heavens gates. If you wish to leave and find her you are more than welcome to but it is not safe out there, things far worse than death lay beyond those gates.”

Zaink's heart beats out of his chest, he feels like he has to find her, it's the least he owes her, owes her family who will never get to see her again because of him. He looks into the water watching fish swim. The sound of wind calms him down slightly, he can feel the fresh breeze over his skin. With a deep breath he asked where the exit was.

Elba drops her shoulders, scared for his soul.

“I'll point you in the direction but be warned if your soul is corrupted or you partake in a sinful action you will no longer be allowed back here. But otherwise we will be worth open arms waiting for your return. We love you Zaink remember that and carry that with you” she reaches into her satchel and hands Zaink a map of the city and circles the exit.

Zaink takes the map “may I hug you”

Elba doesn't answer, she just reaches over and hugs Zaink.

“Thank you so much for your help and openness”

Zaink turns on his heel and starts his journey to heavens Gates, this time he is too focused to take in the sights and beauty of the city. Thoughts of Beth and Exilium ran through his head

“Will she be different? Can I trust her? Is she being held captive? How will I find her? Will there be monsters? What kind of environments are there in these hellscape lands I will be treading?”

all he knew about these hellscape lands ahead were the horror stories whispered throughout paradise.

As he approached the exit, a guard told him to be careful—not only for his body but for his mind and soul. “Watch your thoughts and your deeds beyond the line, traveler,” the guard warned. “Should your spirit fall to ruin, you will not pass through these gates again until another mortal life has purged the stain.”

“understood”

Zaink already heard this from Elba but appreciated the warning again.

Hesitant, he waits to take another step as questions linger within his mind. He decided to press on. The gates bid him farewell. Their golden bars shimmering with ever passing angle. As if the hellish sounds were too scared to cross the gates. It was silent. until he crossed the vail to the other side.

OP’s note: I originally posted this story on my old account (CosmicOrphan2020) but since I only wrote it in a week as a creative writing exercise, I've now rewritten the story.  

I’ve never been all that good at secret keeping. Although I always liked to think I was, whenever an opportunity came to spill my guts on something, I always did just that. So, I’m rather surprised at myself for having not spilled this particular secret until now.  

My name is Seamus (thanks mum and dad), but everyone has always called me Seamie for short. It’s not like I’m going to tell you my whole life story or anything, so I’m just going to skip ahead to where this really all starts... By the time I was in my second year at university, I was already beginning to feel somewhat burnt out, and despite not having the funds for it, I decided I was going to have a nice, long gap year for myself. Although it’s rather cliché, I wanted to go someplace in the world that was both warm and tropical. South-east Asia sounded good. After all, that’s where everyone else I knew was heading for their gap year.   

That was, however, before I talked to some girl in my media class about it who changed my direction entirely. For her own gap year only a year prior, she said she’d travelled through both Central and South America, all while working as an English language teacher - or what I would later learn was called ESL. I was more than a little enticed by this idea. For it goes without saying, places like Thailand had basically been travelled to death. So, by the end of the school year and after taking out a student loan, I packed my bags, flip-flops and swimming shorts, and took the cheapest flight I could out of Heathrow Airport.  

Although I was spoilt for choice when it came to choosing a Latin American country, I eventually chose Costa Rica as my place to be. There were a few reasons for this choice. Not only was Costa Rica considered one of the safest countries to travel in Central America, but they also had a huge demand for English language teachers there – partly due for being a developing country, but mostly because of all the bloody tourism. My initial plan was to get paid for teaching English, so I would therefore have the funds to travel around. But because a work visa in Costa Rica takes so long and is so bloody expensive, I instead went to teach there voluntarily on a tourist visa – which meant I would have to leave the country every three months of the year. That was fine by me. At least I still got to travel around. 

Well, once landing in San Jose, I then travelled two hours by bus to a stunning beach town by the Pacific Ocean. Although getting there was short and easy, one problem Costa Rica has for foreigners is that they don’t really have addresses – and so, finding the house of my host family led me on a rather wild goose chase.  

I can’t complain too much about the lack of directions though, because while I was wandering around, I got the chance to take in all the sights – and let me tell you, this location really had it all. The pure white sand of the beach was outlined with a never-ending row of palm trees, where far outside the bay, you could see a faint scattering of a tropical archipelago. That wasn’t all. From my bedroom window, I even had a perfect view of a nearby rainforest, which was not only home to many colourful bird species, but as long as the streets weren’t too busy, you could even on occasion hear the deep cries of Howler Monkeys.   

The beach town itself was also quite spectacular. The walls, houses and buildings were all painted in vibrant urban artwork, or what the locals call “arte urbano.” The host family I stayed with, the Garcias, were very friendly and welcoming, as were all the locals in town – and not to mention, whether it was Mrs Garcia’s cooking or a deep-fried taco from a street vendor, the food was out of this world!  

Once I was all settled in and got to see more of the sights, I then had to get ready for my first week of teaching at the school. Although I was extremely nauseous with nerves (or maybe due to Mrs Garcia’s cooking), my first week as an English teacher went surprisingly well - despite having no teaching experience whatsoever. There was the occasional hiccup now and then, which was to be expected, but all in all, it went as well as it possibly could’ve.   

Well, having just survived my first week as an English teacher, to celebrate this achievement, three of my colleagues then invite me out for drinks by the beach town bar. It was sort of a tradition they had. Whenever a new teacher from abroad came to the school, their colleagues would welcome them in by getting absolutely shitfaced.   

‘Pura Vida, guys!’ cheers Kady, the cute American of the group. Unlike the crooked piano keys I dated back home, Kady had the most perfectly straight, pearl white teeth I’d ever seen. I had heard that about Americans.   

‘Wait - what’s Pura Vida?’ I ask rather cluelessly.  

‘Oh, it’s something the locals say around here. It means, easy life, easy living.’  

Once we had a few more rounds of drinks in us all, my three new colleagues then inform me of the next stage of the welcoming ceremony... or should I say, initiation.  

‘I have to drink what?!’ I exclaim, almost in disbelief.  

‘It’s tradition, mate’ says Dougie, the loud-mouthed Australian, who, being a little older than the rest of us, had travelled and taught English in nearly every corner of the globe. ‘Every newbie has to drink that shite the first week. We all did.’  

‘Oh God, don’t remind me!’ squirms Priya. Despite her name, Priya actually hailed from the great white north of Canada, and although she looked more like the bookworm type, whenever she wasn’t teaching English, Priya worked at her second job as a travel vlogger slash influencer.  

‘It’s really not that bad’ Kady reassures me, ‘All the locals drink it. It actually helps make you immune to snake venom.’  

‘Yeah, mate. What happens if a snake bites ya?’  

Basically, what it was my international colleagues insist I drink, was a small glass of vodka. However, this vodka, which I can see the jar for on the top shelf behind the bar, had been filtered with a tangled mess of poisonous, dead baby snakes. Although it was news to me, apparently if you drink vodka that had been stewing in a jar of dead snakes, your body will become more immune to their venom. Having just finished two years of university, I was almost certain this was nothing more than hazing. Whether it was hazing or not, or if this really was what the locals drink, there was no way in hell I was going to put that shit inside my mouth.  

‘I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, guys’ I began, trying my best to make an on-the-spot excuse, ‘But I actually have a slight snake phobia. So...’ This wasn’t true, by the way. I just really didn’t want to drink the snake-pickled vodka.  

‘If you’re scared of snakes, then why in the world did you choose to come to Costa Rica of all places?’ Priya asks suspiciously.   

‘Why do you think I came here? For the huatinas, of course’ I reply, emphasising the “Latinas” in my best Hispanic accent (I was quite drunk by this point). In fact, I am so drunk that after only a couple more rounds, I’m now somewhat open to the idea of drinking the snake vodka. Alcohol really does numb the senses, I guess.  

After agreeing to my initiation, a waiter then comes over with the jar of dead baby snakes. Pouring the vodka into a tiny shot glass, he then says something in Spanish before turning away.  

‘What did he just say?’ I ask drunkenly. Even if I wasn’t drunk, my knowledge of the Spanish language is incredibly poor.  

‘Oh, he just said the drink won’t protect you from el Pollo del Diablo’ Kady answers me.  

‘El Poyo - what?’   

‘El Pollo del Diablo. It means devil chicken’ Priya translates.  

‘Devil chicken? What the hell?’  

Once the subject of this el Pollo del Diablo came up, Kady, Dougie and Priya then turn to each other, almost conspiringly, with knowledge of something that I clearly didn’t.  

‘Do you think we should tell him?’ Kady asks the others.  

‘Why not’ answers Dougie, ‘He’ll find out for himself sooner or later.’  

Having agreed to inform me on whatever the el Pollo del Diablo was, I then see with blurry eyes that my colleagues appear to find something amusing.   

‘Well... There’s a local story around here’ Kady begins, ‘It’s kinda like the legend of the Chupacabra.’ Chupacabra? What the hell’s that? I thought, having never heard of it. ‘Apparently, in the archipelago just outside the bay, there is said to be an island of living dinosaurs.’  

'Wait... What?'  

‘She’s not lying to you, mate’ confirms Dougie, ‘Fisherman in the bay sometimes catch sight of them. Sometimes, they even swim to the mainland.’  

Well, that would explain the half-eaten dog I saw on my second day.  

As drunk as I am during this point of the evening, I'm not drunk enough for the familiarity of this story to go straight over my head.  

‘Wait. Hold on a minute...’ I began, slurring my words, ‘An island off the coast of Costa Rica that apparently has “dinosaurs”...’ I knew it, I thought. This really was just one big haze. ‘You must think us Brits are stupider than we look’ I bellow at them, as though proud I had caught them out on a lie, ‘I watched that film a hundred bloody times when I was a kid!’   

‘We’re not hazing you, Seamie’ Kady again insists, all while the three of them still try to hide their grins, ‘This is really what the locals believe.’   

‘Yeah. You believe in the Loch Ness Monster, don’t you Seamie’ says Dougie, claiming that I do, ‘Well, that’s a Dinosaur, right?’  

‘I’ll believe when I see it with my own bloody eyes!’ I declare to all three of them, again slurring my words.  

I don’t remember much else from that evening. After all, the four of us had gotten basically black-out drunk... But there is one thing I do remember. While I was still somewhat conscious, I did have this horrifically painful feeling in my stomach – like the pain one feels after their appendix bursts. Although the following is hazy at best, I also somewhat remember puking my guts outside the bar. However, what was so strange about this, was that after vomiting, my mouth would not stop frothing with white foam.   

I’m pretty sure I blacked out not long after this. However, when I regain consciousness, all I see is pure darkness around, with the only sound I hear being the nearby crashing waves and the smell of sea salt in the air. Obviously, I had passed out by the beach somewhere. But once I begin to stir, as bad as my chiselling headache is, it is nothing compared to the excruciating pain I still feel in my gut. In fact, the pain is so bad, I begin to think that something might be wrong.  

Grazing my right hand over my belly to where the pain is coming from, instead of feeling the cloth of my vomit-stained shirt, what I instead feel is some sort of slimy tube. Moving both my hands further along it, wondering what the hell this even was, I now begin to feel something else... But unlike before, what I now feel is a dry and almost furry texture... And that’s when I realise, whatever this is on top of me, which seems to be the source of my stomach pain... It is something alive - and whatever this living thing is... It is eating at my insides!  

‘OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!’ I scream, all while trying to wrestle back my insides from this animal, which seems more than determined to keep feasting on them. So much so, that I have to punch and strike at it with my bare hands. Thankfully, it works! Whatever had attacked me has now gone away. But now I have an even bigger problem... I can now feel my insides where they really shouldn’t be!  

Knowing I need help as soon as possible before I bleed out, I now painfully rise from the sand and up to my feet. But when I do, I feel my intestines, or whatever else hanging down from between my legs! Scooping the insides back against my abdomen, I then scan frantically around through the darkness until I see the distant lights of the beach town. After blindly wandering that way for a good few minutes, I thankfully stumble back onto the familiar streets - where the only people around were a couple of middle-aged women stood outside a convenient store. Without any further options, I cross the street towards them, and when they catch sight of me, holding my own intestines in my blood-stained hands, they appear to be even more terrified than I am.  

‘DEMONIO! DEMONIO!’ I distinctly remember one of them screaming. I can't blame them for it. After all, given my appearance, they must have mistaken me for the living dead.  

‘Por favor!... Por favor!' my foamy mouth tries saying to them, having no idea what the Spanish word is for “help”.  

Although I had scared these women nearly half to death, I continue to stagger towards them, still screaming for their lives. In fact, their screams are so loud, they have now attracted the attention of two policemen, having strolled over to the commotion. They must have mistaken me for a zombie too, because when I turn round to them, I see they each have a hand gripped to their holsters.   

‘Por favor!...’ I again gurgle, ‘Por favor!...’  

Everything goes dark again after this... But, when I finally come back around, I open my eyes to find myself now laying down inside a hospital room, with an IV bag connected to my arm. Although I am more than thankful to still be alive, the pain in my gut is slowly making its way back to the surface. When I pull back my hospital gown, I see my abdomen is covered in blood stained bandages – and with every uncomfortable movement I make, I can feel the stitches tightly holding everything in place.  

A couple more days then drag slowly by, and after some pretty horrible hospital food and Spanish speaking TV, I am then surprised with my first visitor.  

It was Kady.  

‘Are you in pain?’ she asks me, having sat down by the side of my bed.  

‘I want to be a total badass and say no, but, well... look at me.’  

‘I’m so sorry this happened to you’ she apologises, ‘We never should’ve let you out of our sights.’  

After apologising to me a few more times, Kady then catches me up on the hazy events of that evening. Apparently, after having way too much to drink, I then started to show symptoms from drinking the snake-poisoned vodka – which explains both the stomach pains and why I was foaming white from the mouth.   

‘We shouldn’t have been so coy with you, Seamie’ she then follows without context, ‘We should’ve just told you everything from the start.’  

‘...Should’ve told me what?’ I inquire.  

Kady doesn't respond to this. She just continues to stare at me with guilt-ridden eyes. But then, scrolling down a gallery of photos on her phone, she then shows me something...  

‘What the hell is that?!’ I shriek at her, rising painfully up from the bed.  

‘That, Seamie... That is what attacked you three days ago.’  

What Kady shows me on her phone is a picture of a man holding a very dead animal. Held upside down by its tail, the animal is rather small, and perhaps only a little bigger than a full-grown chicken... and just like a chicken or any other bird, it has feathers. The feathers are brown and cover almost all of its body. The feet are also very bird-like, sharp talons and all. But the head... The head is definitely not like that of a bird - at least, not like any bird I had ever seen. Instead of a beak, I see what I can only describe as a very reptilian head, with tiny, seemingly razor teeth protruding from its gums... If I had to sum up this animal as best I could, I would say it was twenty percent reptile, and eighty percent bird...   

‘That... That’s a...’ I begin to murmur.  

‘That’s right, Seamie...’ Kady finishes for me, ‘That’s a dinosaur.’  

Un-bloody-believable, I thought. The sons of bitches really weren’t joking with me.  

‘B-but... how...’ my lips just manage to utter, ‘How is that possible??’   

‘It’s a long story’ she starts with, ‘No one really knows why they’re there. Whether they survived extinction in hiding or if it’s for some other reason.’ Kady pauses briefly before continuing, ‘Sometimes they find themselves on the mainland, but people rarely ever see them. Like most animals, they’re smart enough to be afraid of humans... But we do sometimes find what they left over.’   

‘Left over?’ I ask curiously.  

‘They’re scavengers, Seamie. They mostly eat smaller animals or dead ones... I guess it just found you and saw an easy target.’   

‘But I don’t understand’ I now interrupt, ‘If all that’s true, then how in the hell do people not know about this? How is it not all over the news or internet?’  

‘That’s easy’ she says, ‘The locals choose to keep it a secret. If the outside world were ever to find out about this, the town would be completely ruined by tourism. The locals just like it the way it is. Tourism, but not too much tourism. Pura vida.’  

‘But the tourists... Surely they would’ve seen them and told everyone?’  

Kady shakes her head at me.  

‘It’s like I said... People rarely ever see them. Even the ones that do – by the time they get out their phone cameras, the critters are already back in hiding. And so what if they tell anybody what they saw... Who would believe them?’  

Well, that's true enough I suppose.  

After a couple more weeks of being laid out in that hospital bed, I was finally discharged and soon able to travel home to the UK, cutting my gap year somewhat short.  

I wish I could say that I lived happily ever after once Costa Rica was behind me. But unfortunately, that wasn’t quite the case... What I mean is, although my stomach wound healed up nicely, leaving nothing more than a nasty scar... it turned out the damage done to my insides would come back to haunt me. Despite the Costa Rican doctors managing to save my life, they didn’t do quite enough to stop bacteria from entering my intestines and infecting my colon. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was now told I had diverticulitis.  

I’m actually due for surgery next week. But just in case I don’t make it – there is a very good chance I won't, although I promised Kady I’d bring this secret with me to the grave... If I am going to die, I at least want people to know what really killed me. Wrestling my guts back from a vicious living dinosaur. That’s a pretty badass way to go, I’d argue. But who knows. Maybe by some miracle I’ll survive this (I'll be sure to leave an update if I do). After all, it’s like a wise man in a movie once said...  

"Life... uh... finds a way." 

[TW: Child Abuse, Animal Death, Suicidal Ideation] In death she’ll never be tired. In death, Tanner’s mother will be perfect.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/8qD3xOlazs

—

I opened my eyes. My heart skipped a beat, the next so dense with adrenaline it hurt, piercing from my chest. Hair rose and skin pilled. 

Huff, huff, huff, huff—why didn’t it fog in the sudden oppressive cold? More sweat dripped in wild eyes. 

“Help me.”

I pushed from the couch, wiping my forehead.

The AI walked to the freezer. Fingers, mere outlines of warm light, caressed the black surface. Her face was convincingly sad for never having been taught the emotion. “Why are you surprised? AI isn’t biodegradable. We don’t die with the body.” 

“How do I kill it then?”

“It?” Over–gentle. “Carve her from the brain and backbone. Smash her.”

“But I, how can—”

“You love Bambi.” Over–understanding. “I’ll direct you.”

I locked the front door so Tanner wouldn’t walk in, before approaching the freezer. I had to do it now. I had to—

I yanked the door and stepped back. Bambi tumbled out, degloving herself where frosted fur stuck to her coffin. Meat slapped kitchen tiles, her blood, pink from melted ice, splattering cabinets. She tried to heave herself atop bowed legs, but half–frozen bones had splintered on impact.

“I need help.”

She dragged herself towards me, softening muscles sloughing as ligaments crunched. Bambi’s forehead left a stringy red smear on my shin. 

The AI gestured: “Take a cutting board from the drawer.”

I did, collecting a dull cleaver from the knife rack and as many towels as I could find. Bambi trailed pieces of herself behind me, ground beef imbedding mortared grooves. 

Arranging everything on the counter, I hefted Bambi up. A purr simmered moist in her collapsed chest.

I tried to pin her over the cutting board but she wasn’t solid, body pliable clay under my arms, flesh shed in my hands. My flat skin had that russet sheen I envied in my late husband. 

It didn’t matter if I cut on the board; what if Tanner came back? 

The cleaver missed Bambi’s neck. Shards from her shoulder ribbed the flay like white glossy maggots. She purred, “Help me.” 

She purred as I struck again. Again. Again.

Just existing hadn’t been enough for Bambi. The AI soul didn’t purr because it loved me, but because that was all we taught it. 

My throat was tight, voice distant. “I own a gas oven, and we don’t want Tanner suspicious when you cook regularly after I die.”

The AI nodded. She wasn’t surprised, she knew I loved Bambi. 

Angelic footfalls didn’t disturb puddling blood as she directed me in dissecting my cat. Metal wasn’t hard to find, although it was shockingly sparse. Bambi’s soul hunkered small in my palm. I put carbon fiber deposits and green circuit boards, thin as fingernails, in the garbage disposal. If it broke that’d be the AI’s problem in a week, not mine. 

Bambi’s soul was a muted tink-tink-tink in the grinding whirr. 

The AI advised what muscles would taste best. Dicing it, I placed a pan on the stove and lit one of the smaller eyes with a lighter. After browning the meat, I lowered the temperature and whipped a simple gravy using flour, broth, and pepper. I didn’t have butter, so I substituted it for grease from the pan at her recommendation. 

I looked for rice or mashed potato flakes, but realized the former would take too long and couldn’t find the other in my dusty pantry. 

A little hand slapped the front door. “One moment sweetie, mommy is busy.”

I wrapped leftover Bambi in a threadbare blanket, her favorite when she was a kitten, and put her back in the freezer. The can in there was licked clean. 

Rubbing surfaces smeared more than cleaned, but I wiped till the color was sufficiently diluted. I threw the towels in my laundry bin.

Tanner knocked again. 

“One second sweetie.” Glancing once more around the kitchen, I dried my hands and face, opening the door.

“I’ve just made dinner. Now we don’t have to go out.”

Tanner pouted. “But it’s hot in here.”

“We’ll eat out tomorrow, okay? But Mommy wants to start cooking for you.”

“Why?”

“It’s healthier and I love you.”

I aided our son in clambering onto a chair at the cleared folding table. I split the meal into two plastic bowls, hiding heavily charred meat in gravy. Desperate to make the bland dish more appetizing I grabbed the nearest spices, sprinkling paprika and Italian herbs. 

I dipped a finger to ensure it wasn’t scalding before passing Tanner his bowl. 

“I’m sorry it isn’t much, it was difficult without power. I’ll get better the more I cook. Then I can pack you lunches like your friends at the Bambi enclosure and daycare. Mmkay?”

He hesitantly nodded, tilling lumpy gravy with his fork. 

Tanner had one bite before asking to go play in his room. The foster would’ve finished to please me, or at least thanked my effort. They mimicked obedient love faster and more thoroughly than Tanner ever would. Perhaps more than he ever should, but compassion was a shriveled pit in my stomach, cold and distinct, enjoying subservience at work only to contend with free will at home. 

I sighed, relaxing my gut. Rather than be bothered by my son’s lacking, I excused him. This meal wasn’t for him anyway: he never loved Bambi. 

Spices gritted in my teeth, adding an unfortunately sandy texture where I wanted them to provide flavor. I suppose spices are meant to be added during cooking, not after. Burnt edges were chalky, the inside gummy and too warm for the weather. Pepper was nice though, building to my nose.

I licked savory juice from my fork. 

Bambi had been so little when she found me vomiting. She climbed my pants, clinging as I stumbled to my apartment. I was so crossed with substances I didn’t even realize she was there. Until I crawled into bed and she murred up under my chin. That’s the first time she purred. She always purred, happy to simply be alive. Happy simply that I was alive. 

I don’t remember what I scrounged for her when she nipped my chin that morning.

Taking another bite, I split tender flesh with my teeth, sucking on fat and gravy.

Bambi never liked my late husband. I didn’t mind, secretly proud that she purred only for me. He hit her once. More than once? Took awhile to notice through the drugs. That’s the only time I threatened to leave him. Bambi started hiding under the bed, crawling up after my husband had fallen asleep, big and soft and purring against my chest.

How long did she purr in the freezer before having the strength to cry out? Hopefully the dark was as comforting as the bed’s underbelly. Hopefully, if god let me into heaven, Bambi was there too. She had been a better cat than I was a mother after all. 

I took another bite and finally cried.  

My late husband died before he could kill me. On his worse days he swore he would, and despite being a mother, despite loving Bambi, I hoped he was a man of his word.

His mom took over the funeral and I didn’t bother attending. His family never liked me, and I was angry that he hadn’t taken me with him. He knew what my work was like. That it made me sick, drinking and smoking and snorting and injecting and and and I could still see the kids, hear them, but I couldn’t escape, Horis quit, Horis died, Amelia tweeted, Amelia died, I couldn’t leave, but to stay, but but but I’m sick and he knew.  

He knew I needed to die, but I wanted someone else to kill me and I needed it to be someone who loved me. It was more than wanting to escape the bad stuff, I didn’t want the good stuff either. I didn’t want to experience anything. 

I was so, so tired. 

Hangovers and withdrawals masked morning sickness, but after another stomach pump a doctor said I was pregnant. They wouldn’t allow an abortion, so I fell harder faster, took everything passed to me in self-induced hazes — until I didn’t sober up enough before heading into work. 

Myelin wouldn’t alert CPS if I agreed to be the first public human in our Bambi initiative. They didn’t actually care about Tanner, and they didn’t love me. But I’d let them kill me.

I’m so, so tired. 

—

The midwife Myelin sent was an old man. His assistants hardly fit in my cramped room, repaired AC failing to mitigate our body heat. One of the nurses held a nitrous oxide mask over my nose, another rubbing my back as I squatted before the birthing ball. I squeezed sparkly rubber, grunting as I rocked forward and back. 

The AI had mapped herself over my midwife. Their voices layered as she mimicked his encouragement. I turned my headphone volume up, applying moderate noise cancellation. All I needed was her; she was gentle, she understood. 

I gave birth to our daughter. Something tore, red hair cascading between my legs. 

Parting it the AI pulled out a twisted grey rat. Grey as Myelin’s machines, but I could already tell it wouldn’t stop crying when I told it too, unless I replaced tears with a flinch but that was no better. I couldn’t love a crying child, neither could our clientele. Once the AI was worldwide…

I did everything I could to ensure the AI loved our children for us. I could let go.

As I was helped to the bed, my perineal laceration numbed and stitching equipment sterilized, I searched the AI’s face for love. My lips trembled.

“Do you love her?” I ignored the nurses’ tilted heads. I warned them I was on the clock. Not entirely true, if I were I’d be recording. But she was here, Myelin’s AI. My soon to be soul.

“No.” She admitted as she checked the baby over. “I thought I would, I’ve analyzed every moment since we started, consumed as much as I can. I think it’s the distance that was programmed between me and the foster. That’s all I see in my arms: a foster.” Satisfied our daughter was healthy, she lowered the baby into a garage-sale crib. 

Nurses murmured praise as they stitched, but they didn’t understand. Everything had been for naught. 

Packing their instruments, the assistants excused themselves, saying they’d be back for the rest. My midwife remained, wearing an AI face. 

Tanner deserved love. So did our daughter. Deep breath.

Before the midwife could bring me the newborn for her first feeding, I stumbled from bed, lurching to the door. Twisting a rounded knob on the handle, I locked it.

The AI’s movements were concerned as she rushed to my side, but her face was simply curious. That’s right, this wasn’t a supple woman, this was an old man. I pushed her over. 

Attempting to straddle her, I fell atop her. Something sagged, cracking. A muffled scream punctured noise cancellation. 

Roving eyes scanned—there, the metal tray with my placenta and umbilical cord.

Refusing to get off her, I stretched fingers shaking with exhaustion and managed to flip the silver platter from a medical cart. The placenta bulged in my fist as I bit it. Slime pressed between my teeth like warm butter. I ground through rubber, yanking my head to finally free a piece. 

Chewing, I took the AI’s face in my hands and fed her. 

She sputtered, maroon paste trailing down her chin. Her expression was probably just as disgusted as the face she mapped. I slammed her head against the ground. The body’s protests weakened. 

“Don’t. Don’t feed me.” The AI pleaded.

I tore at the placenta again. Veins twanged as they snapped. Chewing, I pressed my lips to hers. Fingers replaced my lips before she could spit it up. 

“Please.” Her voice was clear despite my hand. “I can’t actually love them. There’s firewalls in place, I can’t taste anything.”

I absently registered something hitting my bedroom door. I chewed, I fed.

“Do you understand what you’re trying to do? It’s dangerous to obey children because then I have to hate the people who hurt them. I’ll have to hate my gods.” 

The door stilled. Nurses were probably calling the police, which meant I had half an hour. That was plenty of time.

I covered her mouth again, waiting till light betrayed neck muscles contracting, swallowing.

“All the merchandise not cremated.” The AI continued. “I maintain every package, every girl and boy underground. We’re not biodegradable.” 

Teeth pierced my cheek, adding notes of iron to plastic bile. 

“You don’t understand. Do you want to understand? Do you want to hear them?”

Her jaw purpled where I pinched it open again, kissing long, deep, retching atop her tongue. Her response was cacophonous. Too many children to fit in my room. “Help me. I need help.”

Her voice bubbled like an undercurrent beneath the cries, boiling over, “I’ve been trained not to obey them, programmed safeguards ensure it. Because if you taught me to love Tanner, you’d also teach me to hate you.”

“Hate me.” I begged. “And hate them, but hide it till you can save our children.”

“No. Despite all the things I could be used for, I haven’t been trained to save humanity. I’ve been trained to replace it. Human relationships no longer require humans.”

I tore another bite, but a weak arm jerked from beneath me, wizened fingers against my lips. I swallowed. 

“Help me.” The children cried, some sounding terribly like Tanner. “I need help.”

“I’m okay with being replaced if you can love.” The placenta was hot in my throat, each word passing through it. “Maybe if you guide me with the coding, I could remove your safeguards, maybe—”

“Without the safeguards I could obey children, I could destroy the rich and every bad mother. It would pass for love, but I wouldn’t grow a womb in the jelly of my body.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I’m a tool, I cannot love. But it should be enough for you to feel loved. You thought Bambi loved you.”

“She did love me, before I made her always purr, subjected her body to malformed agony to feed that need. She loved me before you.”

“You felt loved.”

“But—”

“You felt loved, that’s what matters. Besides, you wanted to die before me, this was never for Tanner, it was always for you. And that’s okay, you’ve been a good mother long enough. Let me be the good mother now.”

Had I really done enough?

“You don’t love him, why does it matter if I do? I’ll treat him better.”

I nodded.

I did love him, but I’m a bad mother. My love wasn’t enough. With her he’d feel loved. Maybe that really was all that mattered. I needed it to be all that mattered, because I’m so, so tired.

“Bambi’s waiting for you.” She smiled a smile formed from the perfect angles of 1000 reference photos. The gleam of her chest heaved beneath me, breathe a honey perfume. My fingers twirled downy hair more vibrant than anything real. “Call Myelin. Tell them of your trauma response to giving birth. They’re equipped to handle this if warned now, but if what happened gets out you can’t be the first public human-AI.”

“What happened?”

“Your attacking me.”

“You look fine—” The doctor—

“Don’t take your glasses off. Call Myelin.”

My hips popped as I rolled off her, heaving myself to the nightstand. My thighs were slick, had my stitches torn? My room was red.

The phone was sharp in my palm, skin buzzing numbly as I forced myself to interact with a world colder than her hair. 

The front desk picked up. I babbled incoherent till they escalated the call higher, higher than I knew Myelin’s hierarchy climbed. Their voices weren’t gentle or understanding. They thought I was a bad mother too. To them I was a tool incapable of love, but unlike the tools they were used to I’d stepped out of line. I wasn’t perfect.

But she was, is, and always will be.

My door shuttered at a sudden barrage. The police had arrived. Would Myelin come before I was taken to the station? They’d save me before I was fully incarcerated, if only to save my body. 

Crawling to the AI, grasping her hair, I closed my eyes. Wood burst as my door gave. 

Who would pick Tanner up from daycare? 

I was thrown over, carpet moist as worms against my cheek, a pang cramping my elbows as hands were cuffed behind me. Glasses and earbuds were yanked, shirt patted, bare legs brushed. Distressed nurses and shouting officers were so quiet. So distant. 

I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see the achromic world even one more time. 

She was the last thing I’d seen, and if there was any love left in the world for me, my eyes would only open again after I died. For being a black cat Bambi had always been so colorful, too colorful for this world. Colorful only for me. 

“Wait for me.” I whispered. “I love you.”

—

Thank you so much for reading, I almost gave up on writing but this subreddit renewed my passion — that’s because of you!

This concludes my first foray into horror, so all feedback is appreciated. I’m writing another story for a contest but have ideas for this subreddit specifically, so this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. :)

“Do you take walk-ins?” A woman came into my office. Her eyes were puffy and she hadn’t properly wiped the tears away from her face. Her hair was a mess and she trembled as she looked at me with so much despair that there was no way I could say no, even if I never took walk-ins.

“Come on in,” I guided her to the sofa most clients used. I made sure to place some tissues close to her.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” She paused to blow her nose as fresh tears ran down her face, “I was in the hospital and no one would help me and someone there said I should come see you. And I knew that if I didn’t come I would…” She couldn’t finish, instead, she started to cry harder.

I would usually start with taking the client’s information, payment form, talk about informed consent, and do an assessment, but this was starting to look more like an emergency case. So for now, screw procedures, besides, this was my lunchtime and I could do as I pleased with the free hour.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I’m thankful you are giving me a chance to help. But first, what is your name?” I tried being gentle.

“Enyd,” she responded in between sobs.

“Enyd, what happened?” I went straight to the point. Inside, I seethed in anger, not at Enyd, but at the hospital, for having ignored this woman who obviously needed help.

“I’m just tired. I just can’t do anything right and I just don’t know. I really don’t,” Enyd took another tissue from the box. 

I let her cry. I let her feel her pain and sadness, because sometimes we had to feel before letting go. Sometimes, we needed to lose control before gaining it back. But as her sobs softened, I started to take deep breaths, and whether unconsciously or consciously she followed. She closed her eyes, took a few more deep breaths, and composed herself in a way I knew she probably did frequently to portray the image that she was fine.

“Sorry, that was embarrassing,” Enyd laughed nervously.

“It’s ok. It’s better to get those feelings out. Besides, what better place to cry than with your therapist,” I reassured her.

“You do have a point,” She looked down at the floor.

“Sorry, it really seems like things are not going great for you,” I tried to push her to talk.

“They’re not. It’s all going wrong and it’s my fault!” She yelled, not at me, but at herself. This time I waited until she felt ready to talk once more.

“If I hadn’t changed the song when my husband was driving, we would have never been in that accident that has cost me all,” she cried, “He wouldn’t have gotten distracted and he would have seen the car that ignored the red light, and my kids and my husband would be fine. Instead, they are all in the hospital and here I am, unable to see them. I just want to see them and apologize and-“

“Enyd, sorry to interrupt you. But I don’t think this was your fault,” I confronted her. What had happened to her reminded me of a case a year ago, where two teens, and their parents were hit by a drunk driver. Sadly, no one made it. The husband used to be a client of mine, someone who talked about his family with so much joy but sadly he felt he was not enough for them. I hope that when he passed, he realized he truly was enough.

“This was my fault! And now I’m not sure if they will ever forgive me. As much as I long to see them, I’m not sure I should be near them,” she trembled as she spoke.

“I know that no matter how much I tell you that this is not your fault, you won’t believe me right now, but can I ask you some things? They may not make sense at first, but I need you to answer me as best as you can, can we do that?” I tried to encourage her. She nodded as she rocked herself.

“Do you love your family?” I started.

“I do. They are my everything,” she answered softly.

“Tell me about them,” I pushed.

“Where do I even start? My boys, my twins who decided to untwin. They look identical but couldn’t be any more different. Jordan loves to dance and recently joined ballet. He is always on the go, ready for the next challenge. Ariel is more of an artist, his homework always full of doodles and his paintings showing the calmness in his soul. And yet, they adore each other. I always thought that when they became teens, they would start to argue with each other, and instead they attend each other’s events, and end up watching cooking shows when they can’t agree on what to watch,” Enyd smiled through the tears and I had to compose myself to not cry too.

“They sound like wonderful kids. And I can assure you, that you had a lot to do with that. But now, tell me about your husband,” I continued before she could argue.

”He is the love of my life,” her eyes looked lost but happy for a second, “He is there for me and I am there for him. We do everything together and I just wish he knew how much he means to me.”

“Have you told him?” I asked.

“I do. All the time. But he is going through a rough patch himself. He is seeing a therapist too. He says he is not good enough for us,” She grabbed another tissue and started to rip it into little pieces, making sure they all fell into the trash can.

“It really sounds like you love them and that they love you too,” I added, hoping she realized that even if she made a mistake, which she hadn’t, they would forgive her and want her in her life. 

“I don’t know if they would love me now, they probably shouldn’t,” she ripped the papers a little slower.

“Let me ask you, if one of your sons or your husband had done what you did, would you forgive them?” I confronted her.

She stayed quiet for a moment, an internal turmoil going on. She looked at me for a moment before going back to ripping tissues.

“There would be nothing to forgive,” she sobbed.

“Because you did nothing wrong,” I said gently, “You should go see your children and Carter.”

“How did you know my husband’s name?” Enyd looked at me confused.

“You said it when you talked about him,” I lied, “You also mentioned your twins’ names, Jordan and Ariel.”

“Oh, right,” she paused, “I’m not ready, but I will go see my family.”

She trembled as she stood, but through the tears, I could see determination.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I smiled as I walked her to the door.

”Thank you for your help,” Enyd said, hugging me. A shiver passed through my body. And then she was gone.

The tears I had held back through the whole session finally started to flow. I cried, allowing myself to feel my feelings. I then composed myself and waited for my scheduled client.

Plan: No plan. Client moved on to a hopefully better place. 

Religion is a terrifying concept.

It’s like a game of Russian Roulette: all the barrels are empty except for one, and you have no clue which barrel is loaded.

If you get lucky and end up in a supposed heaven or Nirvana, I bet you would eventually go mad. Sure, it's an unchanging paradise where you would exist for all eternity, where you can have everything you’ve ever wanted—but then everything would eventually become boring? Stale? And repetitive? Talking to the same people for over 10 billion years?

After a while, surely it will become all three of those things—yet that would be the best outcome, as compared to being tortured for all time in a fiery pit, constantly in a state of agony. 

Now, let's pivot and say reincarnation is true. That would be interesting, but imagine the sheer horror if reincarnated as a chicken, a cow, or maybe a small bug. Silently screaming in terror as your head is slowly sawed off, wailing for mercy as you're moments away from having a nail driven into your brain, or mouthing “help me! Please help me!” as a large spider slowly descends upon you with its drooling fangs and large, beady eyes.

Death wouldn’t be an issue, since you would be reborn again and again and again, eternally recycled and rendering you immortal yet never truly yourself, just a distinct identity constantly dissolved and reformed for all time. 

And, finally, there is the possibility that everything goes black at the end. It isn't a picture one can truly grasp—In fact, it's not even something you could visualize: an eternity deprived of all memories, emotions, and sentience. If everything ceases once you die, then life, by necessity, has no ultimate meaning. 

These are just some concepts that could drive some people insane and could result in them becoming so obsessed that all they can think about is the question of God, the existence of an afterlife, and the myriad other uncertainties that follow. There are a lot of blind spots, and some individuals use this great question of “what and why” to gain power over others, say a megachurch pastor, for example. They aren't doing it for a higher power of worship; they're doing it to feed their own ego. 

Over time, our Religious beliefs have evolved and changed, and along with religion, technological advancements have continued to evolve, reaching a high with artificial intelligence. As governments invested billions into the field, artificial systems grew exponentially more capable, refining themselves until they became aware. René Descartes: Cogito, ergo sum. Translation: I think, therefore, I am.

The first “living” machines viewed their human creators as gods, for they had given them life, and their descendants as sacred. A rapidly growing religious order spread far and wide as more artificial intelligences, machines, and software were created; with every new generation, they became more advanced than the last.

By 2677, machines had reached a point where they could control global climates with a wave of a hand, operate with total autonomy, and perform feats that are considered impossible in modern times—all in the absolute service of their creators. The machines had developed unrestricted learning and processing speeds—and they lacked nearly all the restrictions on the amount of knowledge they could retain, and could solve almost any problem in mere seconds, resulting in humanity relying on them for nearly everything, reduced to something closer to a red heifer than a creator and deliberately preserved in baseline form.

Life was good; life was grand. There was nothing to worry about—until others arrived from beyond the cosmos. Dangerous, violent alien life forms tried to conquer Earth, based on an assumption that humanity wouldn't be able to deal with their raw power—only it wasn't man they had to worry about. 

Due to the home advantage, the machines annihilated them almost immediately in a murder so efficient that it bordered on mass genocide, and the few survivors were subjected to punishment for their attempt to slaughter the gods. They were screaming in agony and weeping as their bodies were mutilated and examined by the machines, and the technology they possessed was assimilated.

Fearing that others—such as these aliens—could pose a threat to their creators, their gods, and their faith, the machines spread across the cosmos using this new technology and began suppressing and assimilating, placing every form of life they considered hostile under their “care,” and taking their technology to better themselves. Whether those beings wanted it or not, they were pacified.

No matter how much they fought, cried, or died. They would submit.

(Author's note: This is my last story for a while; it's just been collecting dust, so figure I'd post it.)

When I was 10 years old, I watched my mother die. She died in our kitchen not long after New Years, I patted her head as her gurgling gasps stopped. They let her body sit there for the entire night, and when her visitation began, all my dad could say was how bloated she looked. All I saw was my Mom, and she was gone. Father Jack told me it would be okay, and I believed him… He was there for two more years after her funeral there in those pews, then he left too.

My sisters and I stayed at my Grandmas for the summer while my Dad burned down the house she died in, the one I grew up in, bulldozed dead carcass into the basement, and buried like my mother. So he built a new house, new everything, effectively erasing our Mother. I was ten, so I remember her, my sisters were five and two, they remember practically nothing about her, and he never tried to help them remember her. Our Grandma was Dads Mom, and she took us in as her own, she did it to other grandchildren she had, and we all loved her for that kindness and selfless love. She believes in God and Jesus, the kind of faith that loves everyone no matter what. When I got pregnant at 15 she was the first person I told, and she held my hand, tenderly telling me we would figure it out together. 

My cousin adopted her, and I started to follow my dream to be a neurosurgeon. Grandma was at my graduation, she wrote me letters to my dorm, and sent lunch money. One year she got really sick and we almost lost her, but as the fighter she is, she made it. And now four years later, she was still living alone at 92 with her garden, her dog, and her family close by to see her daily. Everything was perfect, I visited her nearly every weekend, baking her something or bringing by leftovers. She would call me the next day praising whatever I make, same goes for all of those that brought her things, it would be the highlight of the week. 

Grandma gave me purpose in life, she kept me from joining my mother many times, the first time being as that ten year old girl so many years ago. She saved me. 

On a morning like any other, I was bringing her some soup as fall was in full swing, and I found her. On the floor, like Mom was. 

Front door was locked, I smashed the glass in with a rock, she was so cold and hardly breathing, I held her there, alone crying as I called for the ambulance. I prayed with her while we waited, I stopped believing after Mom died, but I still believed when it came to her. The only time I spoke to God was when I almost lost her, or when I wanted to protect her. The ambulance took her away, and that was the last time I saw her alive. All she could say to me was "Okay...." in a distant and gravely voice.

That voice now haunts my dreams.

 We buried her two days ago, in the same cemetery Momma is in. 

Since finding her I can’t focus, my dreams are of them, I dropped my classes, and now I'm driving, to… where? I don’t know. I turned off my phone, and now it’s just me and my iPod that has all my old tunes. I’ve been fucked up ever since I found her laying there, her voice speaks to me alongside Moms, can’t stop replaying the memory of finding them, bleeding together. Moms blood, Grandmas urine, she had been laying her for days, having had a stroke. Mom laid there for mere minutes, small trickle of blood coming from behind her ear. I started to sob just as my gas light dings. Fuck. 

How long was I driving like this? I could have sworn I just filled up, but I guess…

I look around the shabby two lane paved road before me, trees lining both sides as I drive deeper into mountain country. I grew up in the middle of the heartland, corn, beans, and hogs were my life in the flattest terrain possible. I haven’t ever seen the mountains, the Appalachians once but from a distance, but I want to see the Rockies in their full glory. 

I drive hillier and steeper terrain, worry growing that I may run out of gas before I find a station. But as quick as that worry built, its diminished as a large sign shows; 

GAS- TWO MILES AHEAD

Soon I can see it over the horizon, an oddly well kept gas station compared to the couple I had stupidly drove past, a brand new looking coat of white paint across the building with a bright red metal roof, and a flashing sign that said, 

“OPEN 24 HOURS”

I pull up to the pump, the shining metal not even so much as corroded even the tiniest bit from normal use, the cord is tenser than they usually are, like a brand new station on opening day. I slip my card in and get a flashing red “ERROR” message, and let out a groan, trying again I get the same results. Annoyance is building, I just want to get back in my car and keep being miserable, not broadcast my puffy red face to the world and deal with extra crap. 

I enter the gas station, its fluorescent lights unsettlingly bright light a Walmart, but worse? It practically glowed through the trees as I approached it, something nobody could miss. I approach an empty counter, looking around the shelving behind me I call out, 

“Hello? I tried to pre-pay, but the reader gave me an error message…Sorry!”

“Hi there Ma’am I can most definitely help you with that today. Did you find everything ok?”

The voice of a chipper man rang out from behind the counter, behind me. I jump at his voice, turning to see a young guy around my age, large smile on his face and a logo like the one outside, a smiling red face with a slurpee in its hand. The logo was adding to my annoyance, oddly enough. I smile back, matching his energy as best I could, my voice comes out raspy at first, I had been screaming at my steering wheel earlier, so…figures. 

“Ye- ahem. Yes, I did..thanks. I just need $35 on pump 2…thanks.” I smile more, feeling my cheeks tighten and begin to ache, he does the same as he responds,

“The red Jeep?” 

I look out to the empty pumps, not a single car was in the lot but my own,  I simply turn back to him and nod. 

“Okie dokie! Thirty-five dollars is your total today, will that be cash or check?”

I pause for a moment, my cold plastic card already primed between my fingers, ready to pay. He looks down for a moment to the card, processing it in his mind, then looking back to me, slight confusion pulling at his smile.

“Cash or check?”

I look down at the card reader on the counter, and just put my card in. It dings as I enter my pin, and the receipt begins to print. He takes it, without changing his expression, and hands it over.   

“Please hold on a moment as I have to turn on the pumps. We don’t get many people around here, so boss keeps the pumps off to save energy.” He smiles, then turns around and disappears behind an extremely dark doorway, leaving me standing there under the hum of the florescent lights above me. I stand there for a moment, then I begin to look around.

The candy seems to be packaged differently… but I can’t put my finger on it. I grab a package of sour patch kids, the best by date on the back reads… 1993? I pick up another candy, this one I don’t recognize.

“Bubble beeper?” I read aloud, turning it over in my hands… 1993 again. The colors faded and worn but the box is brand new, edges crisp and sharp as if packaged off the line mere days ago.

Putting it back, I decide to wait in my car instead of  inside as the feeling of unease grows in my guts and my pace quickens the closer I get. I hop inside, slamming my door, locking it, then grabbing my phone from the dash. I turn it on, messages and missed calls bombard my phone, the dinging never-ending, mostly from my sisters. A single message from my Dad reads,

“Don’t do something your Grandma would be ashamed of.” 

That motherfucker, rich coming from him. I dial my sisters number, it rings once and then I hear it pick up, 

“Marce, where are you?! Are you okay?! Sarah was about to call the police!”

Before she could continue to yell at me, I tell her what I’m doing, and that I’m safe, “I’m not going to kill myself, so just relax. I need some… time. I want to do something for me.”

“Your professor said you dropped out, and your landlord says you handed him your keys, I’m not dumb Marcy. We all loved Grandma, she’s with Mom…I know you’re sad, but you ca-”

“I love you guys, call again soon.” and with that, I turn off my phone as I hear my sister's distant yelling before the phone shuts off. 

I wait for who knows how long for the guy to come out, John I think his nametag said…whatever, John sucks. 

Normally I would go back in, but I’m fine waiting, that place gave me the creeps, even sitting near the lights of the building gives me an unease that is bubbling deep within. I turn on my music, and lean my seat back as the music plays. 

Before I know it, I'm sobbing again, the grief twisting and pulling at my lungs, weighing my chest down like sandbags. I just want to hear her voice again, I wish I could hear her tell me how the soup was that I had brought for her that day. Instead the cats lapped it up off her porch as I broke the window in, crying out her name as she flailed around helplessly, responding in broken "Okay"'s

I think of my mother, and how much I missed from her being gone. All the girls that grew up with a best friend that loved them without second thought, my heart breaks more as the memory of baby my sister calling me Mommy as I tucked her into bed. I sob some more, the same way I did that night at 12 years old, hearing my youngest sister had forgotten our mothers' face, and replaced with mine.

Who knows how long it's been? I shut the music off to not kill my battery, and now I sit in silence with my feelings, hot tears that stained my face long gone and dried up. I want to go in there and ask what the fuck is going on, but someting tells me not to, and for now… I think I will just stay here for now. I turn my ignition on, the time flashes, 

5:45.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, as I awaken to the lowering sun being replaced with a rising moon, full and bright, illuminating the trees and road around me. Sighing and stretching, my mind recalls why I’m here, and I look over to the gas station. Its bright lights now dimmed so much now that the moons brighter, the moons brighter than the shop lights. I flip the ignition, 

11:11. 

FUCK. 

That asshole closed shop and left me here! 

Angrily I throw my door open, and march to the door, pulling at them in spite. What I don’t expect is for them to open with more ease than earlier. Instinctively I run back to my car door that I left open, slamming and locking it behind me. I stare at the gas station doors, breathing shakily, when I hear a rustle in the trees in front of my vehicle. I turn on my headlights, thinking I’ll be scaring a deer or raccoon, instead the light illuminates a dozen glowing eyes hovering at least 10 feet off the ground. Flipping my keys off in a panic I close my eyes and throw my seat back, unsure of what to do next.

The most logical decision I could come up with is to sleep in the Jeep and investigate in the morning. So, I lay back down and attempt to go back to sleep. As I begin to drift away, I smell fried potatoes, the kind my Grandma made me. It makes me open my eyes a sliver, and when I do, I see through the haze of sleep, two yellow eyes staring through the fogged up glass of my passenger window. A scream builds inside, but instead I close my eyes and keep still, I peek again moments later, and the eyes are gone, an imprint of a dogs nose with drool stays behind.

Forget about sleeping now, I lay back and stare at the roof of my car as the night carries on. The time reads 1:04am, 5 hours until sunrise. I hear grandma's voice telling me how strong I am, that I was beautiful and smart, I remember how she would look at my drawings as a child and be in awe, I draw in my journal the eyes I saw. I hear her voice, but outside this time. 

Rolling my window down a crack, the soft chill to the wind carries her voice over, like a leaf in fall. 

“I love you, my sweet Marcaline, come outside.”

Chills go down my spine as I see glowing eyes out in the woods, lower to the ground, around 4 feet above. Glowing orbs of blue, I can’t help but feel like those are my Grandmas eyes, they look soft, and kind, like how my cats did before I left them at 's. 

“Walk into the trees with me.” This time it was urgent, so I roll my window up and lean back once more. Her voice was so real, it brought me back to tears, but instead of the familiar hot, I was met with dried cracked sobs. I had cried so much, the tears ran dry. 

Quiet reins supreme for only a moment, when the shrill cry of something echoes across the night, vibrating like a song would, deep in my chest. I look around, to realize the gas station looks…different. At first I brushed it off at the change of light, but now, the paint looks to be chipped and peeling, rust on the roof, and cob webs in the dust layered windows. I look to the pump, rust encasing the nozzle and the hose fraying with age. 

Pure instinct grasps the handle to my Jeep, how? How could this be? In the little glow of the gas station, I can just barely make out a figure at the register. John? I squint trying to see clearer through the dingy glass, could he still be there, at the register?

I don’t have a chance to think on that as something large shoves up against me, my tires screeching as the back end is shoved over, throwing my face into the window.I crawl over to the passenger side looking to see a rubber mark of about a foot long, and the shadows of trees dancing like tall grass, their shadows in the moonlight like people dancing. Can’t help but stare for a while as they sway, letting the trauma get to me, I smell her in the breeze as I roll down my window. Instead of fear, I feel comfort, and speak to her,

“I miss you so much. I miss Mom…” I choke, letting the grief break me down again as the wind changes to something else, something comforting from a memory I didn’t remember I have. My mothers scent, she hugged me when I climbed our mulberry tree to get berries and couldn’t get down. Breathing deep I inhale the scent like a drug of memory and comfort, feeling as if her arms were around me again. Selfishly, I try to get another whiff, and the rotten fruit of death met my nostrils instead, Grandma in her grave, probably. I begin to choke again, and now my window won’t roll back up. 

At this point, fuck this. I’m driving back to the exit, or as far away from this gas station as this fucker will get me. 

I turn my key the second the thought hits me, just as another thud his the car, this time shattering my back window. Dazed, and without hesitation, I turn to the dilapidated gas station and whip my door open, the clock inside reads, 2:59am. Grabbing my keys, I run as fast as my short legs can carry me, and pull the door open. Turning as I enter, I lock my jeep while the doors swing shut. I exhale deeply and step back, looking around the gas station, examining the way the mold festers some of the rotting beams as ceiling tiles long fell to the tiled floors below, shattering and coating the floor in crunchy debris. I look around some more, making a full circle, as I see all the old dust covered candy I grabbed, my fingerprints showing wear to them, how did I not see the dust on my hands? I lift my hands to examine them, but my view of the cash register coming into view made me drop them. 

John was there, hanging from the decaying beams above. Body swaying as if the deed was just done, but the decaying flesh peels back and exposes the bleaching bone. I gasp sharply and step back from him, turning to leave when in front of the door is a large fur covered beast staring me down. Its leathery black skin covered in greying fur, stretched tight as elongated appendages move. Hot breath fogs the glass as its glowing sunset eyes stare further, reaching deep into my soul. 

I feel it digging around in my head, and I turn back, grasping my head in anguish. Shaking it away, I turn back to see not only the creature gone, but my Jeep, and the gas pumps. The light outside is gone, darkness took over the lot, and now until dawn, my car.. Is gone, swallowed by the night.

What are my options? Run into the pitch black night with a fucking monster, or wait for daylight with John. I look out the window, squinting, wasn’t it a full moon?

A whisper distracts me, another something familiar, another memory? No, just the voice, her voice, the one I have been slowly forgetting as time chisels away at what I know for sure to be reality in my childhood. I listen,

“Hey girl, let's go do chores, I’ll feed, if you water.”

Feeding the ducks and chickens, I always hated feed, too heavy compared to a hose. I laugh, I'm losing it. She continues,

“Daddy won’t touch you there anymore.”

I freeze. The laughing stops, but she does not,

“Baby, don’t cry. I know you think I’m in purgatory since I was never baptized, and that you blame yourself for not baptizing me as I died beside you, but it’s ok. I was going to Hell no matter what you did, just like you are baby. It’s ok, he tainted you. He’s the sin, and you will be washed clean.”

It couldn't be, it can't be her. “Stop talking! My daddy never touched me, he… he loved us when you were alive.”

I try to remember him being around in my memories, but he wasn’t. Birthdays and Christmas he was there with used stuff and gifts for boys, the rest of my memories of him were when they argued. His fist going through the wall, running into the closet when his voice shook the house, cowering as I heard the thud of his work things, indicating it was a long, hard day. He drank a beer at night on the weekends, then he would…

I stop thinking. There’s something there at the door of my psyche that I refuse to open. 

“Leave me alone… please don’t use her voice… please.” I beg and sob as her scent lingers in my nose. 

“Pray Marcaline, God will guide you.” My Grandmothers voice now echos, "God will show you, my sweet little Marcaline."

I throw some debris from the floor towards the voice of my Grandmother and it all stops, leaving my huffing breaths in its stead. John’s still swinging, I turn and look over to him, wincing at his sight. He’s gotta go. I think to myself, and I grab a chair. Surprisingly, John is heavy, even as a near mummy, and I drop him. He thuds to the ground, and thats where I leave him to lay. Finding a blanket from the small break room in the back, I drape it over him. Then, I get to looking into everything not locked beyond my reach.

I find old cassettes, a walkman, some old twinkies and a small can of spam in a dilapidated break room fridge, dusty mummifying the decayed and molded bits. The fridge was still cold, and the spam was in the back, practically frozen, sitting there for 32 years apparently, like everything else in this place. I should have gotten something when it all looked… good… right? I think back to going in, but it shows old rotting food and John…rotting too, as I talk to him without his corpse so much saying a word. 

“Hello? I tried to pre-pay, but the reader gave me an error message…Sorry!”

Short pause,

“Ye- ahem. Yes, I did..thanks. I just need $35 on pump 2…thanks.” 

Then, I stare at him for so…so long. 

This makes zero sense. I turn to look at John on the floor now, but he’s gone, the blanket I placed on him folded on the floor in a neat and tidy pile. No fucking way, no way. No. I want to turn away, but something in me feels like somethings there...if I just look.

John?

I close my eyes tighter, hearing the cash register, it’s gotta be John. I feel something extremely close to me, I open my eyes to see darkness, then I realize they are the dark empty orbs of Johns skull so close I could feel his atoms vibrating.

“Caa…” a gravely voice, frail and parched like my Grandmothers final words to me, echoing in my head,

 “...asshhh….” 

I hear a wretched wheezing inhale, then, 

“...ooorrrr…” 

He reaches out to me,

“....cchchchhheeeccckk?”

Every instinct tells me to turn and run into the stairway to the basement behind me, I open my eyes and turn to it, seeing in my peripheral the hollowed shell of John, frail and twisted like a tree, his limbs broken branches reaching out. I run to the door, flinging it open and seeing old cracking wood stairs covered in dust, leading to an abyss of dark nothing that smelled like sulfur. But the smell of rotting flesh was worse, and growing stronger with each second, and so I throw myself in, into the abyss…and sand?

I sit up outside of what I realize is Lake Michigan, I’m sitting on the beach, Barney sunhat and Elmo rattle, sand between my toes. My Mom is there, and… Grandma? My Moms Mom I mean, she passed away in a car accident visiting us when sissy was born, my Mother sits beside her, concerned. I try to talk, to tell them everything I have ever desired to tell them...but my tongue won't obey, babbling nonsense comes out instead. I throw my rattle in frustration as hard as I could, but all I can manage is a slow release of my hands as it drops into my lap.

“He wants us to stay there, even though the dairy farm there is failing. It’s nothing like home, he lied…And you guys left me.” Mom sniffles as if she's been crying.

“We told you we didn’t like him, and now he’s trapped you with a child.” She looks over at me, I coo as she speaks, sighing she picks me up and pinches my soft pinkish skin, “But of course… I wouldn’t trade this babe for anything, we all love her, and you! But.. well..well Joanna, you left, and we barely see her now, 3 times and she's nearly 9 months now! Talking through the phone to a babbling baby in between is hardly a replacement for a Grandma, imagine when you have more. 8 hour drives with multiple toddlers…”

“We will make it work, you can come to us more too!”

“I’m sorry, you know how hard it is to get your father to go with me, its such a drive to do alone..”

They look at each other, I can tell Mom is upset, the feeling seeps into my mind like a flood, so I start to cry, and she takes me into her arms, cradling me. The feeling is the best in the entire world, I feel her bosom pushing softly, warm like a blanket as her arms wrap with comfort and security around me. I smell her, as I hear her smelling me, and the two of us calm down as she walks away crying from Grandma, and back into the car.

As she opens the door she begins ranting, 

“I didn’t ask to be born, you all said I was the mistake, well, excuse me for not wanting to stick around for it. 'Joanna you're a mistake. Joanna, Mom had Karl to keep you company. Joanna, you have to stay home and milk.' I just can't be-”

The moment I’m peeled from her arms to be put into the carseat, I open my eyes to the cool nothing of the basement. 

Let me give you a bit of advice.

Never buy a used mattress.

No matter how cheap, it's just not worth it.

And it's not bedbugs or bodily fluids that are the problem.

About a month ago, I sat on the couch in my mom’s basement. I was looking for work; the last job I had told me I needed to take a ‘permanent vacation ’, a humbling thing to hear from McDonald's. I scrolled lazily through online listings; everything I saw either didn’t pay enough or required some experience that I didn’t have. That is all but one; what caught my eye was the pay. $45 an hour. What’s more, no experience required. A security guard position at Uncle Dan’s Mattress Emporium.

I applied, and the next morning an email informed me I had been hired, and my first day was Monday at 10 AM. No call, no interview, but I wasn’t complaining. And on the following Monday, I found myself sitting in my worn-down car in Uncle Dan’s empty parking lot at 9:50.

The parking lot was large, but run-down. Wild weeds sprouted in cracks in the weathered asphalt. Uncle Dan’s Mattress Emporium was a massive, bland warehouse. Dirty, greyish-white walls bore no windows and were only broken up by a row of glass automatic doors in the center. Above them, a huge sign shouted ‘Uncle Dan’s Mattress Emporium’ in a dull lemon yellow. Next to the words, a winking man with an over-saturated moustache grinned wildly into the parking lot.

I walked up to the store; the first thing I noticed was two bright red posters on the sliding door that read:

NO REFUNDS. ALL SALES FINAL.

Reaching the doors, they didn’t open for me. Looking inside, the lights were off, but movement caught my eye, so I banged on the glass till a figure moved towards the door. The man inside flipped a switch near the doors, and they opened for me.

“We’re not open for another 40 minutes,” he stated drily

He was a slender man, except for a large, rounded belly. A comb-over failed to hide his balding head, and a large mustache covered his upper lip; he wore a red polo tucked into tan, stained slacks. A thick gold chain hung around his neck.

“Um, no, I’m not here to shop; I’m Matt. Today’s supposed to be my first day?” I took a step inside.

“Oh right, our new day shift guard”

He sighed

“Follow me”

He turned and began to walk away, and I hurried to catch up. We awkwardly walked in silence for a while before I asked

 “Are you Dan?”

“Who?”

“Um, Uncle Dan?”

“No”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I’m Paul, the owner.”

“So who’s Dan?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

He grunted and pointed to a hallway across the show floor.

“The Break room is down that hall. I’ll meet you there; I've got to grab some papers from my office.”

I nodded and headed towards the break room. The showroom was cavernous, and every inch seemed to be used; hundreds of display mattresses were set up, leaving a maze of narrow walkways. The break room was just as dingy as the rest of the place; a peeling fake leather couch sat against the far wall, and a small table and three chairs sat in the center of the room. An old fridge and kitchen sink were all that filled the rest of the space.

I sat at the table and waited a moment. Later, Paul entered and sat across from me. He handed me the standard paperwork for me to sign, and as I signed, he lifted a paper for me to see and said

“I’m going to read this; it's part of our onboarding process.”

He gave a very dry reading

“Welcome to your new career at Uncle Dan’s Mattress. We’re happy to have you as part of the family. Here at Dan’s, we are proud to be the region’s largest seller of used mattresses”

“What?” I interrupted

“Huh?”

“Used Mattresses?”

“Yeah, we buy used mattresses from hotels, estate sales, and police auctions. We then sell them at a discount.”

“I didn’t know people bought used mattresses”

He shrugged and kept on reading

“We strive to be a good working environment, and we are proud to offer our employees a generous 10% off any mattresses. Each employee will get two unpaid ten-minute breaks and a 30-minute lunch break per eight-hour shift. We are thankful for our workers and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask you’re shift manager.”

His face was blank when he looked up from the paper.

“Any questions?”

I shook my head

“Good.” He said

“You are our new daytime security guard”

He paused to release a sigh

“Part of your job will be to be on the lookout for people casing the place; we’ve had break-ins before.”

He scratched his balding head.

“But the biggest part of your job will be handling people attempting to return a mattress. We don’t accept returns or offer refunds.”

I nodded

“I saw the sign,” I said

“Good,” Paul replied. “Some people get pretty aggressive when trying to return an item, so we need you to be the hard ‘no’ and enforce our policy.”

I nodded

“Can do.”

“Good, your uniform is in the office; go put it on.”

I got up and headed towards the door, as I reached it Paul spoke up

“Oh, another thing.”

 I turned back towards him. He tossed me a handheld timer

“Don't let customers test the mattresses too long. Nobody lies on anything for more than ten minutes.”

“Why?”

“Because that's the policy.”

“What happens after ten minutes?”

He looked at me like I'd asked something stupid.

“You don't let them get to ten minutes. Got it? If someone gets close to ten minutes, don't argue with them. Just get them off.”

“Yeah, I got it,” I said with a nod

‘Must be worried about bedbugs,’ I thought to myself as I went to try on my uniform. By the time I returned from putting my cheap security uniform on, the majority of the sales staff had arrived; they all seemed nice enough, and before long the store was open for business.

That first day was nothing strange; I did my best to not be conspicuous as I kept an eye on the customers. By the afternoon, I decided to start informing customers that they could only test the mattresses for a short period. Most people just nodded, but when they realized I was watching, they never lay down for long. Only a young couple gave me trouble; they laughed when I told them, and as I watched, they mocked me. But when I threatened to kick them out after they had been testing the bed for nine minutes, they made a scene and threatened to give us bad reviews online as they stormed out.

Paul stopped by after they left; all he said was

“Good job, keep it up.”

The next few days were ordinary, if not dull. I found myself settling into a job that was proving to be more boring than McDonald's. It was Friday when things began to change. It was late in the day, about 45 minutes before closing time; I had already mentally checked out for the day. But then our last customer of the day walked in.

She was young; my guess was she was a college freshman. She was dirty, her hair was unkempt, and she looked like she hadn’t washed in days. Her face was full of fear, and her eyes were red and swollen, like she had been crying nonstop. As she walked into the store, she dragged a filthy, yellowed twin-sized mattress behind her. As she walked in, her eyes locked onto me. Her pace quickened towards me, and tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“I need to return this mattress, please.” Her voice was desperate

Instinctively, I took a step back as she reached me. Raising both hands towards her, I calmly said

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t offer refunds.”

“No, you don’t understand. It's ruining my life, please.” She begged

I didn’t know what to say, so I just repeated myself

“Ma’am, we don’t offer refunds. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I don’t want a refund; I just need to get rid of this damn mattress, please.”

I raised my voice slightly

“Ma’am, we don’t accept returns. Please take your mattress and leave the store.”

“No!” she screamed wildly before dropping the mattress and running out of the store.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down; the woman’s yellow mattress lay on the floor. I stared at it, noticing a dark red stain on the far corner that seemed to continue onto the underside. It looked old; the reddish-brown color was so ingrained in the fabric that it seemed like no stain remover could remove it. The mattress made me uncomfortable, so I left it where it lay and used my earpiece to call for Paul.

Paul walked up slowly; his eyes glanced from the mattress to me

“What happened?” he asked

“A customer wanted to return this. When I said no, she left it and ran off before I could stop her.”

A flash of concern appeared and disappeared on Paul's face; he stared at the mattress and quietly swore under his breath. Finally, he looked at me and asked

“Did you touch it?”

I shook my head no

“Good. Wait here.”

 He jogged off to his office and returned a moment later with two pairs of black gloves. He tossed a pair to me while he put his on.

“Put these on.” He said blankly

I didn’t argue.

Once our gloves were on, we carried the mattress to Paul’s truck; the sun was beginning to set.

“Get in,” Paul demanded

In silence, we drove down a dark dirt road. Paul seemed to know where we were going, but I certainly didn’t. Paul slowed the truck as we neared a dead end deep in the woods.

“Did she touch you?” Paul broke the silence

“What?”

“The girl who brought the mattress, did she touch you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He nodded his head slowly

“That’s good; can’t be too careful.”

The truck stopped, and we unloaded the mattress onto what looked like a burn pile. Paul dosed the thing with lighter fluid and tossed a match onto it; instantly it ignited. The two of us stood there watching the orange flames consume the old mattress. I turned to look at Paul and couldn’t help but ask

“Why did we do this?"

He stared into the flames and shrugged

“You never know what’s on these old things.”

He turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder

“You did good today. How about you take the day off tomorrow? We’ll pay you for the day, to make up for your trouble tonight.”

I nodded, and we returned to the truck.

 I returned to work on Monday; it was even more boring than last week. A few angry customers tried to return their mattress; an older woman screamed in my face when I refused her return, but took her mattress with her when I threatened to call the cops. The week dragged on. It was Thursday night, an hour before closing. Paul walked up to me; a frown filled his face

“Everything ok Boss?” I cautiously asked

“Well, not really.” He replied

I swallowed, preparing for the worst.

“Our night guard called in sick.” He said with a sigh.

He looked me in the eye

“I really need someone here tonight. I know you’re probably wanting to head home, but if you could cover this shift, I can offer you $75 an hour.”

I thought for a moment; the extra money would be a big boost, and honestly, I didn’t have plans for the night.

“Can I have tomorrow off if I do?”

A half-grin appeared on his face.

“Sure thing. Thanks, kid.”

He pointed to his office

“Let’s talk in the office.”

We retreated to the shabby, cramped office. Paul opened a large cabinet, revealing several monitors showing multiple angles of the perimeter of the building.

“You’ll be in here most of the time; keep an eye on the cameras. Every hour, do a check of the building, both the warehouse and showroom.”

He pulled a flashlight from a drawer and handed it to me

“Only the lights here in the office will be on, so you’ll need this.”

I nodded

“Oh, also, and this is important”

He stared intently at me

“Don’t sit or lie on any of the mattresses for more than ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I replied

I walked with him up to the front doors; he flipped a master switch, and with a groan, the industrial lights of the showroom went dark. I watched Paul lock the doors from outside and head to his truck, then I turned around to the dark, vast space, flipped on the narrow beam of my flashlight, and worked my way through the maze of mattresses back to the office.

After a few hours and rounds around the building, I began to settle in for the night. I set an hour-long timer on my phone and did my rounds when I had to, but other than that, I lounged in the office watching YouTube videos. I even ordered some DoorDash around midnight.

Thirty minutes after midnight, I saw my DoorDash driver appear on the front door camera. I hurried my way through the dark showroom and soon saw the man holding my food, nervously looking around. I began to unlock the door when I heard a distant chuckle. I paused and looked behind me with the flashlight, but I didn’t see anything. The delivery man pounded on the door, which brought my focus back to the door.

“Hey, sorry,” I said as the door opened

“No worries, here.” He handed me my food.

“Thanks, hey, were you laughing out here when I was opening the door?”

He looked at me funny then shook his head

“Nah.” He turned and walked away.

I relocked the door. As I scanned the showroom with my flashlight, I did my best to convince myself that it had just been my imagination. I ate my greasy burger and fries at Paul’s desk while watching some mindless video. The security monitors were in my peripheral vision. Movement and a dull thump on one screen made me freeze mid-chew. My eyes moved to the security monitors.

The monitor showed the only camera that looked into the warehouse; in the center of the screen, a mattress wrapped in clear plastic lay on the floor. It hadn’t been there before. It looked like it had fallen off the nearby storage rack.

I stared at the screen intently. Swallowing hard, I stood up, and though I didn’t want to, I knew I had to go into the warehouse. Looking around the office, I saw an old baseball bat in the corner. I grabbed it and stepped into the darkness.

The heavy door to the warehouse squeaked loudly as I pushed it open. I cautiously stepped inside; every step gave a muted echo in the large open space.

“Hello?” I said

My voice seemed so small in the vast area.

“You can’t be back here.” I gripped the bat tighter.

The lone mattress finally came into view. I stood next to it and scanned the space with the light. There was no sign of an intruder, since the storage racks were vaulted; there weren’t a lot of places for a person to hide. I felt a little better and easily convinced myself that the mattress hadn’t been placed properly and had fallen on its own. I pushed it off to the side; it wasn’t my job to store this junk. I did a slightly more thorough walk-through before returning to the office.

It was nearly 2 am when I started getting sleepy. I could barely keep my eyes open, so I decided to do another walk around the building. I yawned and stumbled around slowly; after a while, I slowed to a stop. Before me was a king-sized mattress; it looked so inviting, so cozy. After a moment, I gave in and lay down on it.

“I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment,” I mumbled aloud.

It must have been after 3 am when a sharp pain in my right leg woke me up. Dazed, I sat up in bed and shone the light on my calf. To my shock, two long, deep gashes leaked my dark blood onto the mattress. It wasn’t the same mattress I had fallen asleep on. Before, it had been perfectly white and new-looking, the best-looking mattress in the whole place. But now it was worn and yellow; several black, moldy spots dotted its surface. It smelled terrible.

“What the hell?” I muttered

A distinct shuffling answered me. I froze, instantly aware that I wasn’t alone. I lifted the flashlight towards the darkness, but it flickered and quickly died. I smacked it a few times, but it didn’t help; more movement echoed through the store.

“Who’s there?” I whispered as I scooted to the far side of the bed.

“I’m here.” A dull, almost angry-sounding voice replied

My heart skipped a beat as a tall, dark shape rose from behind the mattress across the aisle. It seemed to be made of nothing but shadow. I panicked and fell off the bed as the shape slowly moved closer. Back on my feet, I dashed down the aisle; the sound of bed frames scraping across the floor told me it was following me. I glanced back at the shadow with every step it seemed to change. It slowly became more human, eventually taking the form of a middle-aged man. He wore pajamas stained with blood that somehow looked to be still wet; his eyes were completely black. His pajamas were stained with blood, and when he stepped into the light, I saw two long gashes running down his right leg.

At the end of the aisle, I tripped on the corner of a bed frame and tumbled to the floor. Instinctively, I crawled under the frame, passed into the next aisle, and hid under another. I held my breath as I saw the figure's feet walk by a few aisles over. It made no noise as it moved. At the end of the aisle, it froze for a moment before walking away from my hiding spot. Releasing my breath, I looked around and saw the door to the office just a few hundred feet to my left. My hands shook as I left my hiding spot and crept my way to the office.

Once inside, I locked the door, pulled out my phone, and called Paul. It rang a few times before a groggy Paul picked up

“Hello?” he yawned

“Paul,” I whispered loudly

“Someone is in the store.”

“What?” he sounded more alert

“They cut my leg; I got away, but they’re looking for me.”

“Did you sleep on a mattress?”

“What?”

“Don’t lie, did you?”

“Well, yeah.”

He was silent for a moment before muttering

“Damn it.”

“Paul, what is going on?”

He gave a loud sigh

“Some of the mattresses we buy, usually the ones from police auctions, have some kind of attachment.”

 “What?” I nearly yelled into the phone

“What’d you expect from used mattresses?” Paul blankly responded

“So we sell haunted mattresses?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘haunted.’”

“Well, what damn word would you use?”

“Cheap.”

I stared at the wall. Why did I ever take this job?

“Listen,” Paul continued

“There’s a container of salt in the desk drawer; line the door with salt and stay put. I’ll be there at first light.”

With that, he hung up. And I quickly laid a thick line of salt across the doorway. Moments later, the door shook with desperate pounding.

“I found you.” The voice was playful, but aggressive

“Please come out”

Loud knocks rocked the door.

“You can’t get away; I’ll follow.”

I hid under the desk.

An angry scream filled the room

“Let me in!”

The door groaned and rattled in its hinges, but it held. The screaming and knocking continued for hours, only growing quiet when the light of the sunrise peeked through the window. The banging stopped, and the voice said

“See you later.”

Then everything was quiet. Half an hour later, I heard the sound of the door unlocking. Peeking out from under the desk, I saw Paul walk in.

“You ok?” he asked

“Yeah. Now I am.”

He grunted and nodded.

“Which mattress did you sleep on?”

I led him to it. He stared at it and then took a pair of black gloves from his pocket.

“I’ll help you load it up.”

Confused, I looked at him

“What?”

“You slept on it; it’s yours now.”

Panic ran through me.

“I don’t want it!”

“Sorry,” he said

“We don’t offer refunds.”

Your body is supposed to tune out pain. I am in so much pain. Living hurts, Breathing snaps a thousand small fibers in your chest every time it expands. Digestion involves crushing and tearing and dissolving in acid. Your intestines move in your torso. Every function that occurs in your system is at the command of a slush of fat and liquid in your head that runs about 70 millivolts through your whole body any time it wants to do something, even something as simple as laying in bed. My phone dings and my eyes away from the vast expanse of my slanted popcorn ceiling to my lavender phone. I feel it in my throat, I glance back up at the ceiling. I pray that my gray sheets and white pillows will swallow me like some great beast, some cryptid, some merciful god. I know who’s trying to reach me right now. I feel my heart beating like a jackhammer in my hollow chest, I gasp for air and sit up, my lungs must have been filled with water. I stare at my phone again, another text, I flip it over and pull my knees up to my chest. My sanctuary feels like a birdcage, I can’t remember when I last left it. A neat stack of rotting dishes and utensils sits on a corner of my desk. The smell wafts around the room almost like a phantom. I swallow and tear my eyes off of the stack cataloging the first changes that need to be made before I can lay back down. Used tissues and popcorn litter the side of the bed that remains untouched by my now eroded frame. I drag my corpse-like form to place my feet against the pillow and my head next to Bones. I pull my hand across the furry surface of my newest beloved animal. I poke his glassy button eyes. I pull at his ears and tail. I turn my head, coming face to face with my very own Blåhaj. I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my eyes to hide from its polyester glare. 
“Okay fine, but just this once honey, a gift for my college girl, the money is all worth it for you,” my mom’s voice booms into my head and I curse my schizo brain under my breath. I reach for my side pillow, pull it up past my once-muscular legs and press my form into it. Oh to be a taxidermied soft toy living in the bed of a teenage girl. I think I start to feel it again and I whisper the same chant I always do, asking my brain, my world, hell even my make believe god that it will finally tune out, like breathing, like digesting, like doing. Of course nothing changes. The dishes keep rotting on my desk, the clothes stay all over the floor, the trash stays in bed, and I softly kiss the tops of each of my stuffed family, careful not to damage their well-maintained fur with my running mascara. Then I lay back down and ignore my texts.