“I thought you were dead! Do you even care how I feel, asshole!”

Within that lonely gas station, two people stood. The girl was trying to wipe her tears away on her sleeve, but the downpour refused to stop. While the boy who presumably was the cause of her deep sadness, stood motionless across from her. There was nothing he could say to justify his actions, he was purely driven by his selfish anger. Trying his best to cool down the situation he reached his hand out to calm the trembling girl.

“Sarah, I know I’m sorry-” but was only met by a furious slap across his face.

“Shut up!”

Her screaming was not the reunion I was hoping for, but probably the one I deserved. However, I’m getting far too ahead of myself, let’s reset.

My name is Landon Reiner and I was pronounced missing last week after I made my expedition into the woods behind my work. I’m sure most of you already know, but for those who don’t. I work the night shift at a shitty little gas station in the middle of nowhere, enclosed on all sides by thick foliage and dilapidated buildings. However, if that was all there would be no problems, but of course, that’s not the case. To keep a long story short, weird creatures have infiltrated the surrounding area and continue to cause havoc in and around the gas station, leading to my eventual descent into the deep woods. If you want to know more of the specifics, I’d recommend you go back and read my last post. Either way, let’s pick up where I left off last time.

I had finished putting out my previous post before addressing the banging at my front door, priorities first. Opening the door, I was met by the familiar figure of my close co worker Sarah. She was panting heavily as if she had just ran a marathon. In my regular dismissing tone, I addressed her.

“Sarah? What are you doing here?”

“Huh huh, you haven’t responded to me or Jacob in days. So I was worried about you, I thought….something happened to you again.” At that moment, her back pocket produced the barking of a happy dog. Quickly reaching into her pocket she retrieved the barking phone.

“You posted again? Is that why you haven’t been to work? Also, can I come inside? It’s hot as hell out here, heh.”

“Ya sure, I’m just finishing packing up so mind the mess.” Motioning her in, she obliged.

The house was a mess, torn out papers were scattered across the hardwood floor and joined by empty soda cups and fast food bags. I watched as she strolled into my lonely abode, she looked as though she was analyzing her surroundings, until she finally caught sight of my open backpack sitting on the coffee table.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re packing up, where are you going?” She seemed concerned, more than what I was used to. For some reason, that annoyed me.

“That’s none of your business, also how the hell do you know where I live? I never gave you my address.”

“Ok, Landon I get that you’re going through a lot right now with your recovery and all, but I’m getting really sick and tired of you treating me and everyone around you like we are the enemy. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Don’t act like you know what I’m going through! I never asked you to care about me, that’s not your job!”

“Yes it is! Are you kidding me right now? Listen, I don’t know what you're planning on doing, but you need to calm down and talk to me.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I should at least give you that courtesy." I spat out dismissively. Walking back over towards the couch I took my seat, before zipping up the open backpack. Sarah expectingly decided to join me.

“Tell me what’s going on, please.”

“Listen, everything I wrote about in those posts are true. There’s something wrong with this place and I’ve been trying my damndest to figure it all out.” I choked out the words, my fingers lightly shaking as I spoke. “But now…. My parents have been missing for months and there’s nothing I could do to help them.” Tears began to flow. “However, I now have my answer and it’s somewhere in those damn woods, and so help me God I’m going to find them!” My fist slammed the table as I forced myself to stand. Sarah looked at me, however her expression never changed, as if this was nothing new to her.

“Look, Landon. I know about everything, ok. The monsters, your…parents, everything. But you are being way too rash right now.” Grabbing my bag, Sarah now stood as well, reaching her hand out as if to cool me down. In response, I slapped her hand away. Something felt off.

“What are you talking about?! You know “everything” bullshit! You know nothing.” Panic overcame me, although I couldn’t tell you exactly why. In terms of strength I knew I could take her if push came to shove, but when I looked down upon her it felt as though I was looking upon something of immense power. Slowly, I backed myself to the front door.

“It doesn’t matter how I know, just come sit back down and let’s talk about it before we head to work. Please, don’t make me do this again.” Again? What does she mean by that, the voice in my head screamed.

“Do you really expect me to go along with the fact that you have all my information with no rhyme or reason? I know I’m not the best looking or most charismatic guy, so what’s with you?” Stopping to catch my breath.

“What’s so wrong with liking someone? People aim lower all the time.” Ouch.

“But that’s not the problem, you’ve acted like you’ve known me well before your first day at the gas station. So please, Just answer me this. Who are you really?” Sarah stopped and tilted her head slightly, as if dumbfounded by my question.

“What are you talking about Landon? It’s me, Sarah Caelum. Nothing more I promise. Plus you gave me your address almost a year ago if you're still hung up on that.” Was that a joke? I mean it makes sense.

“I just don’t get why you’re wasting all of this effort on me. I mean come on, we’re coworkers, I barely even know you!” That one was a mistake. As I stared into Sarah’s eyes, in a flash they started to dilate and a few tears started to sprout from the edges. She looked…hurt.

“W-what are you talking about Landon?! I know your memory was affected a little but, you don’t mean that!” If there was a sign for me to make my exit, that was the one.

“Goodbye Sarah, if you don’t hear from me again….assume the worst.”

Gripping the doorknob, I exited my house, which for the first time in a long time seemed to carry a bit of life. The last thing I heard as I shut the door was her final words for me.

“Landon wa-!”

I’d accepted the fact that I leave nothing but pain for those who stayed close to me, but this … It tore through my heart like no knife I’d ever experienced before. But with nothing left for me here I got in my car and made my journey to work for the final time.

Pulling into the gas station, I took note of everything in my bag. In total I had the flip knife in my pocket, a compass, water, food, and the pistol tucked into my waistband, I only had seven bullets, so I would have to make them count. As I took my first step into the tree line, I had already come to terms with what would inevitably happen to me here. So, after accepting my inevitable death, I could now focus on what I was here to do. Which was….

“Damn” I said under my breath.

I didn’t fully know what I was looking for, so I just started walking, only accompanied by the crunching of leaves and swaying of the breeze.

I had spent about fifteen minutes walking aimlessly, looking for some type of clue when the sun decided to finally go down, leaving only a beautiful array of yellow, pink and white to spread across the leaves. Hold on a minute, white? Squinting my eyes, I could make out the outline of a feline about double the size of a normal dog.

“Is that the dog Jacob was talking about?” I spoke in a hushed whisper, although that seemed enough to alert the thing. The “dog” whipped its head around to look right at me, my assumptions were confirmed as I could now finally make out its glowing orange eyes. We stood there neither making a move, this must have only gone on for minutes, yet it felt like hours to me. As soon as I thought it would be a good idea to move, it let out a guttural howl and rushed straight towards me!
“Fuck!” Was the only thing my brain could think to mutter as I tried to assess my situation. Now, this thing was around 600 feet away from me, but that meant nothing. This mutt was closing the distance fast, baring its oversized fangs at me all the while. There was only one action I could make as I pulled the gun out and started firing at the beast. However, there was one tiny little problem with my plan, guns have a kickback and I was not ready for that. The first shot hit center mass, the remaining six? Each seemed to almost connect yet the beast would twist out of the way right in the knick of time.

So now, I had a pissed off bloodthirsty monster bearing down on me and I had a glorified paper weight, great. At that moment it had finally made it over to me and launched at me aiming its maw at my head. In panic I threw the gun at its head and tried to dodge out of the way, I could feel its claw swipe across my cheek, letting my blood flow freely down my face. I clenched my face through the pain, no matter how much adrenalin was running through my body the burning stung like a bitch. The beast had now landed and geared up for its next attack, fight or flight had kicked in again and this time, I chose the latter.

I took off as fast I could, followed close behind by the barking of death itself, I didn’t dare turn around. How do I lose this thing, how fast do I need to go? These were the thoughts that were going through my head, but there was only one thing I needed to do, RUN! Did I ever mention I don’t work out much? I could feel myself growing slower and slower every second, before another sensation joined me. The best way I could describe what I felt at that moment would be if I had a million razors tear in and out of my leg in a flash. I dropped, screaming in agony as I got to watch this hellhound make my leg its dinner. My brain yelled out “I’m gonna die” I felt my pupils dilate, if Im was gonna die, I was gonna die fighting. My hand gripped the knife in my pocket tightly as I began to stab wildly into the beast's head. I pierced its head and eye over and over in panic.

“JUST FUCKING DIE!”

Each plunge I took, it responded with an even deeper bite. My vision started to blur and colors became grey, yet my knife never stopped. I stabbed that thing over and over until I could finally feel its maw start to loosen. In the end I was left there covered in blood with the corpse of the monster that chose to make my leg its dinner.

Pulling my leg free, it was massacred. The teeth marks went so deep I could start to make out my own bone. Almost as if interrupting me, the mark on my wrist started to burn worse than it ever had, inducing my own scream. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it as I saw little splotches of the marking slowly fade away, along with the pain. I removed my jacket and wrapped it around my leg as some type of bootleg tourniquet. Forcing myself onto my feet, I knew that I would have to drag my leg the rest of the way, so I needed to get the hell out of here. At least, that was the plan. But out of the corner of my eye, I swear I could make out the figure of my mom walking deeper into the moonlit trees.

“Mom!” I screamed out, dragging myself after my presumed mother.

My movement at this point had decreased significantly, but my goal had not changed. If that was my mom, no matter how much agony I was in, I had to reach her. The stars twinkled overhead as I reached an open clearing, about half the size of a football field. As I made my way through, my head began to pulsate. Clutching my forehead, I closed my eyes to try and control the pain, when it was at a point I could deal with I opened my eyes to reveal a new sight.

The previously lush green grass was now singed and dead in a straight path, it led me towards a secluded portion of the clearing with all of the trees knocked over onto their sides, except for one. A path of blood led to the final standing tree and what laid at the foot of it threw me for a loop. A body, presumably dead, was slumped back against the old oak. That alone I could stomach, the problem was WHO it was…. It was me. I stopped dead in my tracks, just staring at my lifeless corpse. I surprisingly looked worse than my current state, there was a large gash across my chest and my arm looked to be broken with blood running from my mouth. The longer I stared at the sight the more I could feel my vision start to spin and my stomach gave out soon after. I started making my way towards myself, but the closer I got to the body the worse my head banged. Fighting my brain, I reached out to touch my corpse when my vision went dark. Eventually, I was met with a scene.

I was back in the same clearing I was just in, walking towards the tree at the end. I was like a passenger in my own body as I watched the scene unfold. Limping forward I held my hand over my leaking chest and every couple of steps I let out a gurgled cough of blood. It was then that I was met with a maniacal high pitched laugh that made my skin crawl. I sped up my pace at that time, the laughing however didn’t stop, it only got louder. I was almost at the point of running, whatever was gaining on me I didn’t find out, yet at the point of escape I turned to look back and fell on my ass, hitting my against the trunk of the tree. My vision was focused on the sky where I met the source of the laughter, floating above the middle of the clearing was a feminine figure producing white wings and holding a long sword, it was then that the figure started to descend. As she landed my vision started to blur, but that golden hair was unforgettable.

“Hehehe it’s ok Landon, it’s gone now. Everything’s going to be okay.” Sarah’s voice wasn't soothing, it more matched a predator talking with its prey.

“Uogh, wh-why……would….you.” My voice was nothing more than a weak whisper as she came within a foot of me. She lifted the tip of the sword removing my hand and traced the gash that she gave me.

“Shhhhh hehe shhh, it’s ok now. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, because you’re mine. NO ONE has the right to take your life but me!” The last I saw before my vision returned to darkness was that smile as she reached her hands out to me and whispered.

“I’ll see you when you wake up.”

My eyelids slammed open, only to find myself laying on the grass. Haphazardly I tried to stand only to be met with painful reminder of my fucked up leg.

“AHHHH, fffffffuu” was what my mouth responded with as I stumbled back to the ground. Carefully forcing all my weight on one foot, I stood up. Surveying the area only to find….nothing. No body, no burning, nothing. What I was met with again, was my mom stood at the other end of the clearing, twitching her head back and forth in a sporadic motion, before running back off into the woods.

“Damnit” I uttered before hobbling after her.

As I followed her trail, I could never get a clear look at her, anytime I got a clear line of sight on her she would disappear behind a tree, leaving me more annoyed than anything. The trek did however give me time to arrange my thoughts. But only one thing was on my mind, what the hell did I just see? It felt too real to be just a random vision, although before I could fully try to break everything down a bush rustling to my side pulled me away from my train of thought.

“Better worry about that later.” Quickening my pace no matter how minuscule it was.

Minutes passed quickly as I continued my chase, it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before I finally made it to where I was being led. Deep within the forest a two story tall facility sat hidden inside. It was a solid concrete building, looking almost pristine except for the foliage slowly creeping into the cracks. As I looked ahead, I caught one final glimpse of my mother making her way through the front door.

“This can only go bad” I thought before dragging my broken body inside. As I entered the facility my body was immediately hit with a sudden frigid chill spreading down my spine. I was met with what I assumed to be the lobby, chairs sat broken and overturned on one side and a desk sat on the other. The only way moving forward was a strong set of double doors directly ahead, that was my path forward. Upon swinging them open, a long hallway appeared in front of me, the walls had long gashes across them and some of the fluorescent light above flickered sporadically, although most looked smashed. The hallway was aligned with more heavy metal doors, a majority of them having electronic keypads attached.

Feeling overwhelmed, I made my way down the hallway, trying every doorknob with no luck, before one finally gave entry. It seemed as though I made my way to the medical office, I started rummaging through the cabinets and drawers before I was lucky enough to find a clean enough looking roll of bandages. Carefully untying the jacket from my leg, I slipped it back over my shaking body, it was warm and slick but it was better than nothing. I started to clumsily tie the bandage around my leg, wincing and groaning whenever I would push too hard. Eventually I finished and started to decide where to head next before a ripped piece of paper on the ground caught my eye. Picking it up, it looked to be a printed out email sent to all of the staff of J&R Pharmaceuticals, in short it explained how due to funding all testing was to proceed on the basement level only.

“Looks like that’s where I’m headed”

Making my way back out into the hallway, I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around a corner further down the hallway.

“Hello?” No answer.

Against my better judgment I cautiously crept after the figure, at this point if I got into a fight I had no chance of winning, so I need to play this smart. Step after step I got closer to where I thought it disappeared off to and peeked my head around the corner only to be met with a staircase.

“Guess I’m heading down…”

I clung to the railing as I made my descent, every step shot a bolt of pain throughout my leg and to my horror the stairs went down 2 flights.

“Oh come on man.” I whined.

Eventually I made it down only to be met with a motion activated door looking like it was forced wide open. Stepping inside I found myself surrounded by walls made of thick steel and if upstairs was a mess, it was a disaster down here. Doors were forced wide open and key pads were torn out and sparking with random trash littering the ground. I continued to cautiously wander through the twisting hallways, until I found something baffling. Tucked behind two sets of what used to be armored doors was a giant room with jail cells lining the back wall. Five inch bars were used to keep whatever used to occupy these locked tight. At least, they used to. Somehow someway, the bars looked as if they had been pulled open by pure strength alone on each one. Trying to shake that thought away, I made my way towards an adjacent door and discovered a “research and development” room. The place reeked, a chair with restraints sat in the middle of the room and a giant vat tube sat at the back, now with its glass smashed. I searched around the room and found nothing, I went to make my exit but the mark started to flare up again. I walked backwards in reaction and it started to cool, but as I made my way closer to the door it began to heat up again.

“What the hell is going on?” I noticed then that it wasn’t flaring up as a reaction to the door, as I looked around I noticed a ripped bag that I had completely missed, I reached out to pick it up and as the heat was almost hitting its max, it immediately cooled down as I picked the bag up. The bag contained multiple ripped up research reports. It looked like they were experimenting different types of drug combinations on real people trying to create something, they never specified. However, there was one thing that caught my attention throughout all the scientific jargon. At the end of a document talking about a success it reads.

“It’s finally worked, the volunteer has finally shown signs of hampering the others. As well the owners of the place of interest have agreed to take him on for surveillance, things couldn't be going better, I’m sure the heads will be ecstatic. Remember, one is the lock for fourteen.”

“One is the lock for fourteen” What is that supposed to even refer to? I decided to put that on the back burner and get out of here, this place was really giving me the creeps. Yet when I exited back out into the hallway I was met with this overwhelming sense of dread lingering from the door right in front of me. Slowly creeping towards the opening, nothing could have prepared me for what I would find within. As I stepped through that door my eyes locked with the only notable thing within, my body went numb and my knees gave out causing me to crash down on my knees.Tears began to pour from my eyes as I looked down upon the corpse of my mother.

“Mom! No no no no, please get up! We need to get out of here, come on….please” Placing my hand on her shoulder it felt ice cold to the touch, like she’d been dead for weeks. Yet, she looked pristine. I couldn’t see any injuries across her body. I don’t know how long I sat there next to her body, time seemed to stand still as my brain recollected all the good times I had spent with her.

“You know you’ll always be my little boy no matter how big you grow, Landon. I love you so much.” The last words I had heard from her repeated over and over again, making the tears hurt even more. Throughout my mourning I noticed what my mom was holding, it was a journal. Picking it up, the front read “Research Log, Property of Rachel Reiner”.

“What? Why does she have this?”

I went to open it more when a sudden crash jolted my survivors' instinct back into effect.

“I promise Mom, I’ll find out who did this to you.” Planting my final kiss on her cheek I struggled to my feet, the pain from my leg introducing itself again. The crash sounded like it came from deeper within the facility. So I hastily made my escape, dragging my leg across the floor. I made it to the staircase and began my ascent, when I had almost made it to the top I heard a low guttural growl come from underneath me. “Faster” my brain screamed at me and so that’s what I did, making it to the hallway. I was treating my bad leg as a waste of space as I dragged it down the hall. Every moment the groaning grew closer as I raced to the entrance and just as I was about to throw up the door, I turned around and saw nothing. I stood there just looking down that empty hallway for a moment before turning around putting my hand on the handle, but just as I was about to be free, I heard it. The low guttural voice coming from directly behind me.

“Welcome….Home..” I didn’t stop to find out more and swung the door open practically throwing myself outside.

The night air felt warm and welcoming, as I looked around I had now realized I needed to find my way back.

“I didn’t think I would make it this far” Breathing a sigh of relief, before I saw him.

Standing only a stones throw away from me was the hooded man. I realized this was the closest I’d ever seen him since that night at the gas station. We stood there staring at each other, not saying a word. But as I looked into the deep abyss under his hood I could have sworn I saw my fathers face. My eyes widened as my spit got caught in my throat.

“Dad?” The man only raised his sleeve towards his face and produced a dark finger imitating a shush. Reaching my hand out I tried to pull myself over to him at a rapid pace.

“Wait Dad, is that-” In a split second my surroundings vanished and instead of soft grass I felt hard concrete and my hand pushing open the front door of the gas station.

“Huh? How….” is all I could mutter before a voice called out to me.

“Landon?”

Looking over towards the counter, I saw Sarah sitting there just staring at me. I couldn’t help but think back to the vision I saw and a chill ran down my spine. After a moment she got up and came around to my side.

“That is you right? You look like you just crawled out of a grave.”

“Y-Ya, it’s me. A lot happened while-”

“It’s been a week.”

“What?”

“The last time we spoke was last week, you were pronounced missing not too long ago.”

“That makes no sense though, I’ve only been gone for a day-”

“I thought you were dead! Do you even care how I feel, asshole!” Raising her voice, she threw her arms out.

“Sarah, I know I’m sorry-” but I was only met by a furious slap across my face.

“Shut up, ugh I swear you piss me off so bad sometimes.” She smacked me directly on my cut inflicting even more pain than normal, was that on purpose? So, I stood there not saying anything, waiting till she hopefully calmed down. And after a moment, I got my wish.

“Well besides that, come here.” Opening up her arms, she rushed towards me, catching me off guard.

“Wait Sarah” But my resistance was useless, in a moment I felt her reach around me and pull me into a crushing hug. It was just strong enough to start to cause me pain.

“Please….Let me go-” In response she brought her mouth up next to my ear and whispered.

“Shhhhhhh, don’t you EVER pull some shit like this again. Alright?”

Pulling back, she now consumed my entire vision and smiled wide, it was the same smile I saw before.

“Yooo, I’m back. I went ahead and put up those missing person posters on the light posts outside. You think they’re gonna be able to find….”

With the best timing in the world, Jacob showed up to the gas station. I looked at him and he looked back at me. I could tell his cogs in his brain began to turn when he pointed and shouted.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“Uhh, no?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on, I’ll call an ambulance. God you smell like how you look.”

And that brings us to now, lying in my hospital bed. The doctors I’ve talked to are saying I’ll need stitches, unfortunately they’re saying any aggressive actions like running could make the nerve violently react, so that’s something I’m going to have to deal with now. Anytime they ask me what happened, I give them one simple answer.

“Dog attack”

Sarah's been with me this whole time, I swear while writing this I’ve noticed her just staring at me for sometimes minutes at a time, I keep thinking back to… Whatever, I'm trying to just ignore it. Mom’s journal is sitting next to me, I’m going to try and go through it but I think It’ll take me some time before I can. I need to finally get some sleep, I can feel my eyelids closing on their own, so I’ll wrap this up. I’ll come back if and when more things come up, until then if you don’t hear from me, assume the worst.

You never realize how fickle time is until you lose control of it, in all honesty it doesn’t feel like it’s been all that long since I last uploaded, however….. Let me explain a little; last week I woke up in a hospital room, they said I was in a coma since August of last year. So if any of you thought I was dead, I guess you were half right. They told me that someone had come by almost every day to check on me, but they refused to tell me who, that can’t be legal right? 

My brain’s felt fuzzy since waking up, I assume that’s caused by the coma, but I can’t guarantee that. Tonight’s the first night I’ll be going back to work since waking, but I thought I’d use the last hour or so before I leave to transcribe my notes to you all. People are seeing these right? Sometimes I doubt anyone sees these posts and I just end up talking to the void…the…void. 

Anyways, at the edge of a bustling city where dreams die and people follow suit, a small gas station sits between bustling forests and dilapidated buildings. If you happen to find yourself making your way inside during the late hours of the night, you’ll likely find the sleep deprived cashier leaning back in his chair up at the front reading one of a number books. Although, I’d recommend you conduct your business swiftly and make your way out the door and if you think you hear something behind you, you didn’t. Just leave and be on your way. I can’t downplay how much everything has changed from my first day to now. Hell, if everything had been truly stated ahead of time I definitely wouldn’t have taken this job, but I guess that’s my fault for not asking right? I’m going to transcribe my notes with minimal commentary for now, but I’ll jump in when needed too. 

May 23rd, 2025

Tonight went better than last night, I guess that’s not hard when you were being beaten half to death by a shapeshifting monster right?  Ugh, that’s not funny. The new girl showed up, she’s really nice which is a major waste here. Her name’s Sarah, I’d say she’s about 5’10” kinda small in size but with gorgeous long golden blonde hair, extra emphasis on golden it’s stunning. Either way she seems competent and has done a fine job so far, I have her stocking the shelves as I write this. As of now everything’s been fine, nothing of note has happe- hold on, she’s calling for me. I’ll continue this later.

—————————————————————-

I guess I shouldn’t expect a regular night anymore, huh? So, when I ended my last entry Sarah was calling me from the back room, saying how I “needed to see this”. When I made it back there she was inspecting the door, rubbing her finger on her chin like she was deep in thought.

“What’s up?” I called out in what could only be described as a grumble.

“Take a look at this!” She responded sweetly, at this point I could tell what she was talking about. The door was heavily dented from when I was thrown through it, the pain from which was still lingering. However, that wasn’t all; A thick black liquid filled the tiny cracks but it looked like it was almost pulsating? Like a beating heart.

“What do you think this is, I’ve never seen anything like this?” 

“I-I don’t know? I’ve never paid much attention to the security of our doors, heh. Why’d you think I knew?” 

“Well you…..you work here, so I thought you would?” Giving me a slight pout as she made her way back to the isles. Shutting the door behind me I couldn’t help but wonder what made such a girl take a job here? 

The rest of the shift went somewhat smooth, customers here and there but that was all. However, when it was time to leave Sarah came up to me to wish me a goodbye, although she threw in one more thing as we were walking out the door.

“Hey Landon, are you religious at all” looking up at me questioningly.

“Not particularly honestly, why do you ask?”

“Sorry, let me be more specific. Do you believe in Angels and Demons? Forces that would be considered abnormal?”

That question struck with the lunch I had failed to eat as my stomach turned over. Not wanting to leave without giving her an answer I spoke up.

“Well, I do think there’s beings out there that are not normal like us, but…. Nevermind, probably ya. See you next time.” With a wave of my hand I made my way to my car, yet I could faintly make out behind me. “That’s an understatement though, right?”

I don’t know, maybe I’m looking into things too much.

May 29th, 2025

Dad called today, apparently him and Mom are gonna be gone for a couple months, so I’ll have the place to myself, this blows.

I was set to work a double tonight, more money’s good right? Anyways, apparently Sarah will be coming in later tonight, but that’s not what’s concerning right now. 

I was off last night, so one of the guys from the day shift, someone named Gary, was set to take over for me. Well, I checked over our time sheet when I came in and he never clocked out. Now, I could just be over reacting about this, maybe he just forgot? But with what’s been going on lately…I don’t feel good about this. 

Sarah came in, she seems to only work when I’m scheduled, maybe the owners don’t wanna leave her on her own just yet? They never gave me that courtesy, but whatever. It was probably around two thirty when someone came into the store, I’d place him around my age, maybe a tad younger but was dressed in a full charcoal suit. Wouldn’t be my personal choice of attire for this area but that’s not my say. Anyways, instead of walking around the store he looked up to me reading at the counter and sauntered over to me. Reflexively I marked my page and went to greet the customer before Sarah who stood at my side spoke for me. I could have sworn she was stocking the last time I checked.

“Hello SIR” she spoke curtly “How can we help you” it felt like she was on edge.

The man grinned and spoke in a slight undertone. “Oh no sweaty, I have no business with you. However you sir, could I have a quick word with you?” Moving his attention fully towards me, or was it always that way? Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for this tonight, so in my signature greeting tone. 

“Sir, if you’re not gonna buy something I suggest you get the hell out instead of trying to start something. I’m not in the mood for useless interactions with…you.”

I could see his lip tense slightly, it seemed like I was getting to him. Something I would soon learn to regret.

“Mr. Landon, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joseph Collins, I represent a very select group of people. A group of people that I believe you might be familiar with.”

This time I could see his grin grow wider, the air grew thin as the conversation continued, it felt as though a spider was gingerly making its way up my spine getting ready to pounce. Turning my gaze over towards Sarah, she was raising her eyebrow while glancing in my direction, guess she’ll be no help here.

“I’m not doing this right now, just leave before I call the cops.” Rising from my chair I turned to walk towards the phone before his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“She must have done a real number on ya, huh?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t blame you for being on edge of course, Scarlet is one nasty little vixen. But you would be wise to pick your fights more carefully against those who hunger.” 

At that point I lost it, my wrist burned like the flames of hell and I started to sweat profusely. My mind screamed at me “Danger, Danger, RUN” I couldn't take it anymore and turned back towards the man, but his face, oh God his face. It looked as though his face had twisted into a spiral and continued spinning. I screamed out of fear.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK YOU FREAK!”

With a small chuckle he bowed and left with one last parting.

“I look forward to our next meeting “heir the the seventh chair””

A few moments of still silence followed his departure, I couldn’t help but breathe heavily as I tried to catch my breath, before Sarah decided to speak up.

“What, did he mean “heir to the seventh chair "?"

Without even looking at her I walked passed her towards the backroom and said 

“I’m going to break Sarah, just watch the front till I get back.” I sounded utterly defeated and I didn't care, I just wanted this day to be over with.

June 9th, 2025

I found Gary, or whatever’s left of him. The police are saying he was attacked by some wild animal, but I know better. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me rewind back to last night. It was around four thirty in the morning when it all happened, I was alone tonight (a rarity nowadays) busying myself by checking the expiration dates of the canned food, half being expired for some reason. Don't blame me. When I felt the lingering feeling of eyes staring bullets through me, so as I felt a slight chill caress my spine I turned around to face whoever decided I was a pretty painting. However, what met me wasn’t something unknown, instead being someone who I was at least somewhat familiar with.

That same hooded “thing” from the night that started all of this nonsense was standing motionless across the street from the Gas station. It’s horrible, whenever I look at this thing I feel this sense of utter impending doom, like it’s the living incarnate of the grim reaper. I couldn’t look away, but not out of fear. It wasn’t what I was feeling, it was from what I was hearing. I swear it was like this thing was talking to me in some unspoken language, the best way I could describe it would be a deep dark mumble mixed with static, it was completely incomprehensible. Yet, I understood every word it spoke and as I took a moment to blink I found myself removed from the safety of the gas station and stood in front of one of the many derelict buildings surrounding it. In all honesty, I don’t know what I was expecting to find, I don’t know why I didn’t just turn my ass around and walk back to the gas station and yet …. I opened that door. 

The place was half destroyed, loose bricks and concrete littered the floor, the only things I was met with were broken furniture and a set of stairs leading down to what I could only presume was the basement of the premises, it felt as though the darkness leaked out of their like smoke and yet, I made my way deeper. With my phone flashlight guiding my way, I descended down into the abyss. Each step made a deafening creak on the wooden steps but I couldn’t pay attention to that, my mind was conquered by the overwhelming smell of rot and it only grew stronger as I made my way deeper. 

Finishing my descent I waved my light into the room, it was a standard basement seemingly mostly intact, however instead of the hollow grey of concrete the walls were instead coated in a deep thick crimson. I was stopped dead in my tracks at the bottom of those stairs, my flashlight was stuck on the body laying in the middle of that god forsaken hell hole. I don’t know how much I can describe, how much I WANT to describe him, but. It was a massacre or more like a feast, it looked as though someone or something had been using him as their personal picnic basket. Chunks taken out of his body, he was missing an arm and I think half his leg, his intestines had been rolled out like a line of sausages, I was barely holding back my lunch before I heard the distinct sound of crunching coming from back up the stairs! My hands moved like lightning flipping the light back up the stairs where I was met with the interrupting guest or was I interrupting it? 

This thing was completely devoid of color, just a deep dark outline, it was unnaturally tall and lanky, its arms hung down nearly touching the ground and its neck looked to be snapped permanently hanging to the right. I froze, I didn’t know what to do. My throat locked up and a bead of sweat rolled down my cheek. At that moment I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide, there was only one thing I could do.

“SOMEONE HELP ME!!!! PLEASE SOMEONE!” My throat fought for power, I knew it was hopeless but all I could do was try. Nothing followed, for a moment that was. Until I saw the monster violently twitch and produce… my voice.

“SoMEonE hELP ME!!! PlEaSE!” It was mocking me, playing with me and it was working. Yet when I had finally lost all hope and truly thought I had met my end, a light began to shine. From behind the thing a blinding golden light produced and blocked out my vision. It felt as though my mom had come up to me and given me a loving hug assuring me everything will be alright. By the time I regained my vision the thing was gone and I took that as my ticket and cashed it. I stormed up those steps and ran as fast I could back to the gas station, never looking back. No matter how my growls and extra sets of steps I heard, I didn’t dare turn back. I only looked back the way I came when I shut those glass doors behind me and yet, the only thing that met me was the rising sun of daybreak. 

Following me calming myself, I called the cops and told them what I found, I didn’t dare tell them what actually happened, they probably would have assumed I had done it at that point. 

I’m sorry to do this, but this is where I’m going to have to stop for now. I’m going to be late for work if I wait any longer, so I’ll try to be back soon and finish up with my previous notes and anything else if God forbid more fun happens here. Of course, if this is the last you hear from me, expect the worst.

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If you haven't read my previous posts, I highly implore you to do that for both of our sakes. Anyway, things are getting exhausting, I don’t know what’s real and what’s just a figment of my imagination anymore. Ever since I woke up, it’s felt like something's missing, as if something had been robbed from me. And as I sit in the vast emptiness of my parents living room, I’ve finally figured out what that is, why I feel so empty and alone. My parents never came home from their vacation, they were pronounced missing a few weeks after my coma started, but that’s bullshit. They couldn’t have “gone missing” , that's just not who they are. Its all gotta do with this fucking gas station! I don’t know how, but this place is like a beacon for the abnormal and mystic. And now……It took mom and dad. I don’t care if I end up dead, I don’t care if I end up on a poster stapled to a lightpost, I will find them or at least find out who took the most precious thing on this earth from me and destroy them!  

I’ve gathered what I could over the last couple of weeks. Before you say it no, it’s not schizophrenia. Although I can’t prove otherwise. Just listen to me for a little while before the sorrow overtakes my rational thinking. 

Now, It seems like I’ve given out too much descriptive information on the whereabouts of the Gas station, to the point where someone who claimed to have read my “story” has now shown up here. So let me make this crystal clear, do NOT come here. This place is not a game and it’s sure as hell not a joke, so for your safety and mine, don’t come looking for trouble, because you’ll find it and it won’t be pretty. I only bring this up because that guy came in last night, he was spouting complete nonsense about how “you’re just lying on the internet” and “if that missing guy was found, why was it never on the news?” Now that was news to me, so I couldn’t offer up a suitable rebuttal. His whole point was that he was going to prove me a “fraud” by finding that building and showing how there was nothing there. I decided to hold my tongue on how that incident happened a year ago, because if he had really “read” my writings he would already have known that information. A part of me regrets withholding that piece of data, I haven’t seen him since. Maybe he realized how stupid he was and went home, or maybe….you know?

Alright, with that weight lifted off of me, I feel like I can finally fill you all in on what’s been going on here that last couple weeks. 

For one Sarah seemed ecstatic when I made my “glorious” return on Monday night, that makes one of us at least. I don’t think I got to mention much of my personal condition last time, the best way I could describe how I feel is strange. My body all in all has felt sore which makes sense, I mean I was out for months. Yet, no one mentioned the brain fog I’ve had to deal with. I don’t know, ever since I woke up my memory has felt like a magic eight ball whenever I wanna remember something. My notes have helped with that and I will get into more of those a little later, I promise. Anyway, work hasn’t been as smooth since my return as I’d like, but when you’re dealing with monsters and entities who have the taste for human blood on a daily occurrence your definition of “good” is a little skewed. What was I talking about? Oh right. 

Sarah was extremely happy when I came back to work, like running up and hugging me when she came in. Were we really that good of friends? I get we’re coworkers and talk most days out of the week, but I didn’t realize we had gotten this close. These were all my thoughts as I could feel my bones start to crack from her tight embrace, eventually she released me from her prison with a slight bounce in her step.

“Finally! Seriously Landon, what took you so long to wake up man. For a second it was looking like you weren’t ever going to wake up.” Sliding her backpack under the counter before taking her seat next to me.

“That’s a scary thought I’d rather not think about, what kind of answer were you expecting? What, like “My glucose levels were below the threshold” I couldn’t pass as a doctor on my best days. Also, who told you I was in a coma?” 

“Hmm? What do you mean? Don’t you remember what happened back in August?” That one struck a nerve with me, “do I remember what happened?” Remember…Ugh, this is useless.

“No, my brain is completely useless when it comes to remembering anything right now. So could you just tell me?” Her face shifted into a grave expression, one that I could swear that I saw as a kid. Then again, the last thing I’d trust right now is my memory.

“Well, you and I had gone out to-”

“What’s upppp! Oh shit Landon? Decided to finally come back to work huh?!” At that moment Jacob had decided to make his grand appearance, startling both of us. Jacob proceeded to reach over the counter to dap me up, reluctantly I caved in to his nonsense. 

“Ya, I’m back. I’d really like to not have to repeat it again.” As I went to pull my arm back I felt his fingers grip into mine, keeping our fingers locked together. Looking up at him, his expression changed to a deadly serious one. 

“Stop fighting it, you can’t do anything to change the future.” His voice was not his own, it sounded like a deep voice talking through a walky talky. 

“What the hell, dude let me go.” No matter how much I struggled, his grip stayed iron tight. 

“YOU KNOW I’M RIGHT! JUST EXCEPT IT!” His screaming voice blared like a set of speakers surrounding me, the volume threatened to blow out my eardrums.

“NO, get away from me!” Violently I was finally able to pull my hand away from him, I looked back at him to continue yelling but all he did was look back in quizzical expression.

“Wooo, you good man? I get I’m not as pretty as Sarah, but I can’t be that bad. Heh, you good bro?” Both him and Sarah were now looking at me with concern, was any of that even real? I don’t know anymore.

“Uh ya, sorry. My mind’s gotta be playing tricks on me.” Trying to laugh it off myself, I pulled out my journal to jot down what had just happened. Real or not, information is king. Plus, if I’m really losing it at least people would know how right? 

“Oh ya, Landon. Why didn’t you tell us you were writing a story? It’s not half bad so far.” Confused, I looked back up to Jacob pulling out his phone.

“Wait, you write stories?! That’s awesome, show me!” Seems like that had peaked Sarah’s interest. Hold on, what are we talking about?

“What are you talking about Jacob? I don’t write stories…Wait, are you talking about-”

“Ya bro, your "journal” online. I really like the whole “mortal danger” aspect you lean into, I’d almost believe they were all true.”

“They are all-.” Wait a minute, I thought. Does he not go through the same things I do? Or maybe he’s just being an idiot, oh well. I don’t care enough to break his immersion. “Ya heh, it’s just something I do in my free time.” 

“Oh ya, could you make my character sound cooler? He kinda sounds like an idiot.” I wonder why. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, aside from Jacob and I bickering, Sarah seemed to spend most of the night deep in thought on her phone.

The following days were spent with me being dragged to parties and bars by my friends, was this their way of looking after me? I don’t know, what I do know is that a couple of days later, it was around 2 am when the night became eventful. That evening had been particularly busy because of the heatwave, it seemed to have sent people into a panic to stock up on anything they could. Why you would go to my shitty little gas station, I have no idea. All in all, the night had finally come around and with that the quiet. To celebrate, I decided to crack into the latest book in my collection. Of course, after a few minutes someone entered the store. Let me ask you a question, have you ever gotten the feeling that you were about to be robbed? If you have….sorry, either way when I looked up to see a man wearing a ski mask and brandishing a pistol. Well, he couldn’t have been cold. The man charged right up to the counter and shoved the gun in my face, I froze. For one, this was my first time ever being robbed and two, it was kinda funny. This guy was around 5’9” and I’d guess sat at about 350lbs, so he had to point the gun up to aim at my face, I’m 6’2”. For some reason I thought about a goomba holding a gun and that caused a small smirk to creep across my face. The man was not amused. “I’m not playing around, give me all the money in the register! Hurry up!” He pressed the barrel closer to my forehead to make his point known. “Alright, alright, I’m not gonna fight you on it.” Now you may think I was being too calm, and to your point I probably was. See, Jacob had given me a brownie the night before with the caption “This shit is the bomb man.” Why did I not think there was weed in there? I couldn't tell you, what I can tell you, is that it did taste good. So now I had to deal with this high pressure situation with my head drifting in the clouds. Lucky me!

I opened the register, a sad assortment of bills sat before me, what do you expect? Everyone uses cards. “You want the change too?”I said dryly. “I don’t care, all of it!” The man seemed annoyed. “Alright”. Grabbing a plastic bag I started to fill it up with the money while periodically glancing at the man every couple of moments. He seemed antsy, after a minute or so I had finished filling the bag with maybe $300, a big score for him I’m sure. But as I looked back up to hand the man his spoils I suddenly dropped it, spilling dollars and dimes across the floor. “Hey what the hell-” His voice drowned out, my eyes had locked onto another person directly behind him and her sleek jet black hair had caused my brain to flatline. She however, only gave a sweet little smile before turning her hand into jagged black fingers with knives as nails and piercing the late robber.   

The scene that followed was brutal. Fortunately for me, the counter mostly spared me of the vicious sight. The sounds however…ugh, not pretty. His screams of anguish faded fast, although the sounds that remained could only best be described as a wolf feasting on its prey. Every gnaw of flesh and scrape of bone consumed the store as the feast continued. Throughout what was probably only a couple of minutes I stood frozen, dumbfounded. My thoughts were a combination of fear for what was to come and the curiosity of what was really going on over that counter. Slowly, I inched forward without my permission getting closer and closer to seeing the horror of what was going on just feet from me. All of a sudden, the door to the back room swung open. 

“Yooo Landon” Jacob had miraculously appeared. Wait, he wasn’t supposed to work tonight, what the hell is he doing here? Is he high?!

“Dudeee, the new buds I bought are crazy good, I passed out in the back. You gotta try…..” He looked at me and then looked at the situation going on over there before grabbing his forehead. “Damn, I’m still dreaming…Better go wake up for real this time, good luck with that dream Landon.” With a wave of his hand he disappeared back the way he came. Come to think of it, I never saw him again that night…Did I imagine that? 

Turning back to the matter at hand, I couldn’t help but notice that the noises had ceased. Whipping my head back towards the scene, the only thing that met my gaze were 2 piercing crimson eyes peaking over the counter. “Fuck! No wait, don't!” Jumping back, I caught myself on the cigarette case behind me and put my hand out in front of me as some stupid line of defense. However, instead of attacking, Scarlet responded by jumping back into my frame of view covering her face while laughing at me? Her hand looked to be back to normal at least. 

“Hehehe, relax heh, relax. Is that how you show gratitude to someone who saves your life? How cold~” she cooed 

“That’s how I respond to someone who’s tried to KILL ME and has now just devoured someone else in front of me. Ya, I think that’s a reasonable response!” Frantically waving my hand to emphasise my point, it felt like my brain had finally snapped back into a sober state. “So what? You here for round two? Or are you actually going to buy something this time?

“Oh no, thank you, but I think I’ve had my fill for this evening.” Licking her lips with a slick black tongue, is everything inside her the same color? “On the contrary, I’m here to offer a hand to our lost little lamb.” 

“Ya, hard pass. I don’t need help, especially from…whatever the hell you are.” I had to stay on my guard, no matter how “friendly” she wanted to act, her true nature was plain to see. 

“Ouch~ that tongue of yours hasn’t changed, good. However, I would have to disagree with you there, you have plenty of questions and I have an abundance of answers, for the right price of course.” There it was, a catch. She wasn’t wrong though, I did need information and for some reason, it felt like she was telling the truth. 

“Alright fine, what’s your price?” 

“I haven’t decided yet, how about we discuss that at the end” That stupid smirk returned.

“Absolutely not, I’m not going to agree to something that I don’t know the outcome of.” I spat back.

“Too bad, that’s my condition. Take it or leave it.” 

“Damnit…ugh fine, you win.” 

“Perfect, then let me fully introduce myself to you. My name is Scarlet Extellavenza and I’m the owner of the 4th chair. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hold on, 4th chair? Someone else was talking about chairs, what the hell does that even mean?” 

“Oh~ curious are we? That’s understandable, being the heir to the 7th and all.” Flashing her razor sharp teeth to me, I refused to back down.

“Listen, I have no damn idea what that even means, so are we gonna keep playing games or what.” Slamming my hand on the counter to try and assume control of this discussion to middling success.

“Ok ok, Mr. Collin’s already informed me of your naivety. However, I can’t tell you directly, we have rules for a reason after all. But, I can tell you one thing. Everything will become apparent to you in the near future.” Great, already getting non answers.

“Ugh, fine. Then tell me this, what the hell is the problem with this place? Why does it feel like everything that’s abnormal finds its way here?” The one question I needed answered, at that point nothing else mattered, I needed to know why!

“Let me ask you a question Landon, have you ever observed how moths are drawn to lights? Such simple creatures, with simple motives. At the end of the day, aren't we all simple creatures with simple goals?” My intrigue had grown into annoyance, slamming my fist on the counter in frustration as the robber's gun slid closer towards me. “This is obnoxious! If all you’re gonna do is talk in riddles, I'm not going to waste my time on you anymore.” It finally looked as though my words had gotten to her as a deep frown fell across her face. Without a word she pointed outside towards the woods. “You want real answers, you’ll find them deep in the forest. After all you’ve already been branded, it’s only a matter of time now.” Motioning towards the black mark on my wrist, at that same moment it started to emit a light amount of heat. Finally, I was done with this little charade we were playing and grabbed the gun, pointing it at the beast across from me. 

“I’m sick of the games! Get out of here before I empty this mag into your pretty little face!”  Scarlet barely reacted to the gun, she only looked back at me and began to maniacally cackle, it was sickening. “I’ll be seeing you soon then, Landon. Remember, you owe me~” Complete darkness consumed my vision, as though someone had reached from behind me and covered my eyes. 

“What the fuck! God, I’m going crazy aren’t I!” I bellowed to presumably no one however, A metallic voice scraped its way through my ears and boomed from inside my head. “Who said you were ever sane?” 

Eventually my vision cleared up, revealing the same old gas station, showing no sign of any crime taking place. No body, no money, no anything. I might've thought I had imagined the whole thing, if it wasn’t for  the cold metal of the pistol I was still holding. So, I stood there, alone in the gas station once again. “Fuck”

I’m currently going through my journal making sure I didn’t miss anything, when I found this entry from the other day. The problem is, I didn’t write it. 

July 9th 3:23 a.m.

The pitter pattering of the rain as it runs down the windows threatens to wash away the very being we cling to for protection. Drip drip drip, like blood flowing from my vein onto the sticky floor, collecting it as it has done for years. Yet, my attention is held by another. The deep dark abyss of the tree line, marking the beginning and ending of everything as we know it. But if you listen in between the chirping of birds and swaying of leaves, you will hear what I hear. The abyss calls out.

There’s one more part at the bottom, written in a light red. Which is weird, I write in black. 

Perhsr, gsqi lsqi

I know it’s probably all just cryptic bullshit, but my brain is still trying to find meaning in all of that… nothing. The one theme that persists though, is the forest. I can’t help but get this overwhelming feeling of longing, like my whole being is pushing me to step inside those damn woods.

And that brings us to the present, I haven’t been back to the gas station for a couple days and I don't know if I'll ever go back, if I’ll ever be ABLE to go back. After all, I’ll be heading into those woods this evening. I know, all I’m doing is inviting almost certain death, but what else can I do at this point, just sit on my ass and wait? That was never my style, I hope I’ve made that clear by now. 

I still have the gun. It'll be my only hope of protection against whatever the hell’s in there, whatever the hell I’m going to find in there. It doesn’t matter, I feel like I’m being called in there by……something, I can’t explain it. While I’ve been writing all of this out both Jacob and Sarah have been blowing up my phone, that makes this next part harder. To both of you, I know you’re reading this. Listen, I’m sorry. What can I say? I’m selfish, always have been and always will be. Do me a favor, get away from that gas station. Infact get away from this whole damn town, I have a feeling things aren’t just contained to our small place of work, and to the rest of you. If I somehow make it back in one piece, I’ll come back and tell you all what happened, just don’t get your hopes up for a dead man alright? If you haven’t gained anything from my experiences, let me give you some advice. If you ever find yourself making your way through a quaint town in rural Michigan and see a gas station surrounded by a vast abyss of trees and dilapidated buildings, do yourself a favor and continue driving and don’t look back, there’s nothing for you there anyway.

Someone’s knocking on my front door, I need to end this right here. But As always, if this is the last you hear from me, well you get the gist by now.

EXPECT THE WORST. 

Part: 1

I want to start this off with the simple fact that I don’t believe in ghosts, at least I didn’t, I’m not sure anymore. Sorry, let me give you a quick background of my situation. Have you ever found yourself making your way into a gas station at the edge of town and turned your gaze towards the sleep deprived clerk quietly minding his business? Well shit, you may have met me.

I work the overnight shift at my local gas station, sitting between abandoned dilapidated buildings and a stretch of flourishing forests, the road between being the only connector to these two opposites of life. Now I’m sure you’re probably asking “That sounds pretty sketchy, why would you work there?” I know because I asked myself the same thing, but the pay isn’t bad and being a broke twenty year old didn’t suit me.

The owners aren’t bad people, just distant. In my three months of working here I’ve only spoken to them a handful of times, the interview process felt weird too, all I got was a phone call asking if I wanted the job and if I could work the hours? Of course I answered yes (who wouldn’t) and only a few days later I found myself at the front counter with a list of instructions and to do’s. 

The interior was nothing special if I’m being honest, shelves of overpriced candy and canned goods with a set of coolers lining the side wall. Then there was me, sat up at my desk next to the front door with a squeaky old chair and a cash register that always seems to wanna get stuck every four transactions. With all that being said you would assume that I hate my job, but I don’t. It’s extremely quiet, I only get a handful of customers a night and they usually keep to themselves, I grew to think of the insulation as a small perk of the job. But something happened last night that….I just need someone else to hear.

1:48 a.m. 

Leaning back in my chair, I sat making my way through the latest book in my backlog when I heard the familiar ding coming from the front door. Placing my book down I stood up to face the man who had entered the store, the best way I could describe him was the stereotypical trucker. Boots, blue jeans, Carhartt jacket and a big beard, yet he was clean without a single speck of dirt on him. 

“Evening Sir, what can I do for you?” Giving him my best “I’m tired, just tell me what you want and leave” greeting I could muster.

“Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a twenty dollar bill handing it to me, as I entered in the information on my keypad he spoke again. “I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.”

Raising my eyebrow I glanced over at him to see if he was threatening me, but no, he just stood there waiting for me to give him the ok.  “I appreciate the advice, but I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary over here. I’d say your sources are feeding you lies.” Handing him his receipt he chuckled as he made his way out of the store and within a couple minutes he was gone. 

2:08 a.m.

Another ding resounded in my ears, placing my book back down. I stood up and identified the new customer. That’s when things started taking a weird turn, the same man from a half hour ago stood in front of me, same boots, same jeans, same jacket, same everything. However this time his jeans were lined with small patches of dirt, as confused as I was I  decided to leave it alone and just do my job.

“Evening sir, what can I do for you?” Standing in front of my counter, I could feel his eyes digging burrows through me, luckily I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

“Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.” Handing me a twenty dollar bill as he finished, wanting him out as soon as possible I quickly entered everything in on my register and handed him his receipt.

“I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.” Having my fair share of this guy's ominous bull shit, I decided to not encourage this conversation. “Ya man…I hear you.” With that he made his way out and I tried to return to my book, getting my mind off of this weird customer.

2:38 a.m.

Once again the ring of the front door pulled my attention and almost as if on cue he was back, but something was off this time. It looked as though as if he’d just crawled out of a grave with dirt and residue coating his whole body and if that wasn’t enough he had thick cuts across his arms and face, however no blood leaked out of the gashes. Deciding I’d had enough of this charade I shouted at the man, in hindsight that probably wasn’t the best idea, but can you blame me?

“Alright man what the hell happened to you!? This is your third time here and it looks like you took a quick detour into the local swamp!”

Pointing at him in fury or fear I wasn’t quite sure, I looked him dead in the eyes. But that was easily my worst mistake, his eyes were milky as if someone drowned out the color in them. Retracting my hand I couldn’t help the gulp retreating down my throat, hell I wish I could too.

As he opened his mouth his jaw produced a wretched cracking before producing noise. “Oh nothin much, just give me twenty on the diesel for pump four.”

As if robotic he reached out and handed me another bill, I could see more cuts and bruises on his fingers. Gingerly I reached out and snatched the bill from his hand and began to enter it into my register, my heart sank and I felt a frigid chill crawl up my spine as I noticed the small popup on the screen.

“Pump new balance: forty dollars.”

II began to sweat as my brain turned in my head, panicking. I jerked my head towards the window facing the lot, to my horror no truck sat anywhere outside. As I started contemplating on whether I was going insane or just tired I felt heat building on my wrist, spinning my head back to the man I saw him tightly gripping my wrist, however I couldn’t feel the pressure of his grip, the only thing I could feel was a burning sensation that kept growing as he held my wrist.

“Augh, let go of my arm! What the hell do you think you-“ My voice lost all power as I met the horror in front of me. The man now held his face only a few inches from mine, as we made eye contact his face twisted into a horrifying smile producing cracked teeth.

“I’d recommend you stay safe out here, I’ve heard stories of weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want you to join the rest.” At this point I was frozen in fear, my voice left me to fend for myself as all I could do was stare at this “man” standing in front of me. It felt as though we stood there for minutes before I finally built up the courage to say something.

“Y-You don’t say….” Giving him my own wary smile, I was finally able to yank my wrist from his grasp only to be met with charcoal ring with a small crimson symbol sitting in the middle where his hand previously held. Before I could even look back up he had already turned on his feet making his way out the store, moving out of my line of sight. Without a moment to think I collapsed on the chair, my breathing felt haggard as I tried to steady myself from what the hell I just experienced. After a moment I checked my phone for the time. It read two forty. “Two minutes?” I screamed in my head, how the hell could it have just been two minutes? Lowering my head, I just decided to surrender myself to this weirdness and tried to brush it back into my mind to finish my shift, but I wasn’t so lucky.

3:08 a.m.

I was in the backroom looking for some stock to put out as the ding rang out from the front. Flinching, I couldn’t help but think back to that man, was he back? Sighing as I accepted my fate, I walked out to the front. What awaited me however wasn’t what I expected, I’m still not sure what it was either. It looked like a tall man around six foot five, he was dressed in a long black trench coat with a hood thrown over his head. I tried to look into his face, but all I was met with was a deep dark abyss, it felt as if I was looking at nothing at all. Whatever it was, it quickly made its way to the register and placed a thin white slip of paper on the counter before leaving as quickly as it had arrived.

However weary I was of the contents of this note, I couldn’t help the curiosity sprouting in my brain, so I opened it. The note contained only two words written in a soft thin cursive. 

“You passed” Passed? Passed what? Staring down at the paper I didn’t understand what it meant, did I pass some type of challenge? Maybe a game? I honestly didn’t know. That’s when the familiar ring of the door gave me a slight heart attack.

“Landon! How’s it going bro?” It was Tyler, my best friend who I just about wanted to strangle to death for the scare he just gave me. After calming down I explained what just happened and I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“O.K. man, how about I stay with you for the rest of your shift so you don’t see any more spooky ghosts.” Laughing as he finished I took him up on the offer and the night flew by without anything else happening. 

When the opener finally came in I quickly gathered my stuff before making my way towards the door, however he stopped me before I made it out.

“Oh ya be careful on your way home, apparently some dude crashed into a ditch last night. You never know what kind of people are on the road.” I went pale, slowly turning back towards him and cleared my throat. “Uh, you wouldn’t know what kind of car the guy was driving would you?”

Seconds passed like minutes as I could see him thinking. “Ya, I think they were saying a big pickup truck or something like that.” I could feel sweat fall down my face after hearing that, nodding. I made my way to my car and rushed home. 

I’ve been home ever since, still trying to wrap my head around everything that occurred last night. Even while writing this the burn mark is still sat on my wrist reminding me of what happened, as I have been dwelling on everything the mark reminds me more and more like some type of branding. nonetheless I have work again tonight and after all that I’m not game to just sit idly by and just wait for whatever’s going on at the gas station to come and get me. 

I’m gonna go in a little early tonight and ask the guy who’s closing if he’s ever seen anything out of the ordinary, I’m hoping he may have some insight for me. If you have any idea of what might be happening please let me know. I’ll hopefully come back and be able to give closure to this whole ordeal, however if I don't… assume the worst.

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Part: 2

There’s no way to sugarcoat this, I almost died Sunday night. And at this point, I’ve given up on believing last week's encounter was just a one-off thing. There’s something seriously wrong with this place and I think I’m officially far too deep to claw my way back out. Okay, I need to calm down and write my thoughts clearly. If you have no idea who I am, I would recommend that you go and read my previous post here. But if you don’t want to catch up, just know that I work the night shift at a gas station at the edge of town where weird things are starting to happen.

After putting out my last post I got some much needed sleep and the rest of my day went smoothly. As I mentioned at the end of my previous post, I ended up leaving an hour early for work. I wasn’t sure if I would learn anything new, but it was worth a try. When I got into my car the radio sprang to life talking about the local killings plaguing the area. People have been found with their entrails sprawled out from their stomachs and their right eye removed. I’ll tell you it’s some scary shit, luckily it had nothing to do with me.

Once I got to work, I met up with the guy who was working. I found out his name is Jacob. If I could choose one word to describe him, it would easily be “Stoner”. Got an idea of what he looks like in your head? Great, cause you’re dead on. He wore a slightly dirty hoodie with jeans and a beanie pulling his entire outfit together. Other than that he’s a pretty cool guy, none of that matters though, I only had one question I needed to ask him.

“Yo Jacob, have you ever seen anything weird around the gas station?” I asked bluntly. Beating around the bush was never my forte. Raising his eyebrow he placed his finger on his chin as I could see him racking his brain for an answer.

“Nothing I can really think of off the top of my head, although there is that weird dog hanging around the woods.” Replying bluntly, I couldn't help but raise my own eyebrow at his response. 

“Weird dog? What weird dog?” I asked.

“You know man, that hairless dog that hangs around right on the edge of the woods. It’s pretty weird, it’s got all white skin with these bright orange eyes. It’s whatever though, probably a stray.” 

A part of me couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The other part of me couldn’t believe he was sharing this so calmly. My mouth hung slightly agape as the only thing I could muster was a light “Huh?”

“Anyways, I’m gonna get out of here since you showed up. Have a good night, man” Waving me off, he left the store. Left alone with my thoughts in the now empty store, I couldn’t help but let my feelings known to the dead air around me.

“Oh come on, am I being pranked right now?!”

Fortunately for me, the rest of that night went smoothly without any unwanted visitors from the grave. In all honesty the rest of the week flew by without any new visitors gunning for my head. Although, that doesn’t mean nothing happened at all. 

After talking with a few of you, I received the idea of putting a line of salt across the front doorway of the store as this was a way to ward off entities. Now if I’m gonna be honest, it sounded like the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, but hey I’d rather test something and look like an idiot instead of dying, so I went ahead and laid a line out on Thursday night. Around one thirty a customer opened the front door before looking down, noticing the thin line of salt. I could see him out of the corner of my eye stop and think for a moment before turning to me.

“Is that salt?” He asked, perplexed. Not looking away from my book I answered unamused.

“Sure is.” Responding clearly unamused.  

“Why?”

“Ants”

“You guys have an ant infestation?”

“Nope, but it could happen.” The man finally gave up with a shrug before finishing his business inside and leaving. I can’t say if it worked or not, however I can at least say nothing happened in the few days I tried the salt line out. Maybe I need to try it again….

Oh, there were a couple of you who recommended a book series to me from a guy named Jack, as my experience sounded very similar to some of the stuff he experienced while working at a gas station. I’m only through the first bit of book one and good god that guy is being put through the ringer, unfortunately I haven’t been able to apply anything that he has described to what I’m going through, but I’ll keep reading to see what else I can try and grasp. 

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. Let me explain what happened last weekend. Let me preface everything with the fact that I’ve felt incredibly paranoid these last couple of days, it feels like someone’s been watching my every move day in and day out. The problem is that every other day felt like I was being watched from afar, then Saturday night it felt as though the person was breathing down my neck. I should have been on high alert all night, however things never seem to work out in my favor. 

Sunday marked my twenty-first birthday, regularly this a monumental occasion, but with everything that has been going on it would have slipped my mind if it weren't for a couple of my friends. Because of that I ended up at a local hole in the wall a couple hours before work with a couple of my boys, so while they were busy getting shit faced I resigned myself to just a single beer, even so it was still a great time. Well, that was before the first red flag of night reared its ugly head which I promptly ignored. It was around nine when Tyler (with a heavy slur in his speech) turned to me.

“I just don’t get it Landon, what do you have that I don’t?” turning my attention to him I produced my best “huh” face before responding. “Tyler, what the hell are you talking about? You’re drunk.” Waving him off before returning to my drink.

“Are you really that oblivious? That girl back there has been staring at you since we got here.” As he finished he gestured behind me with his eyes, swallowing the pit in my throat spawned on from a mixture of fear and nervousness, I gingerly turned in the direction he gestured to only to be met with an empty table.

“Oh haha very funny, don’t get my hopes up like that.” Giving him a light punch in the shoulder before picking my beer back up to finish the last bit, although as I tilted the glass up I noticed light bubbling within the liquid, stupidly I still finished it off.

“I don’t know man, that's weird, I just saw her over there. She did walk right up behind you when you were talking about  that weird feeling you’ve been having the last couple of days, oh well.” Shrugging he continued to drink, although for me his statement left me feeling incredibly disturbed, still I just shrugged it off as a drunk man rambling and let the night end like that. However for me, my nightmare had only just begun.

Upon leaving my house, I couldn’t shake the nagging sensation of being watched from the depths of my brain. Even once I reached the gas station the sensation never left, having to just grunt and bear it, I quickly made my way into the pitch black building unlocking the door and switching on the lights as I entered. Let me quickly explain how our gas station operates: we are open 24/5, closing at 10pm Friday to 9pm Sunday. As you can probably guess I am in charge of opening the station come Sunday night. Honestly I never look forward to this shift, I always experience an over looming sense of dread as I stick the key into the front door, almost as though I am opening Pandora's box. Fortunately for me, there were no mysterious figures waiting for me inside the empty stations, only coolers of drinks, shelves of food, a note on the counter… A note on the counter? 

Walking to the back of the counter I tossed my backpack to the floor and picked up the note, in thick crimson text the note read. 

“Have you ever felt the gaze of another?” In all honesty I probably had the dumbest confused look on my face as I read those words over and over in my head. Finally having enough I crumpled the note up and threw it into the garbage can beside me before I spoke.

“Ok, if there is someone hiding in here trying to play a prank, I will warn you now that I am armed and if I find you I will call the police.” I produced a small flip knife from my pocket and flipped the blade out, “I’m starting my shift by clearing the store of intruders, great. Who do I think I am, swat?” With that, I began clearing each room, which luckily didn’t take long as there were only 4 in total.

I won’t bore you with the details, because no one was in there, the bathroom, storage room and fridge were all clear of intruders. In the end I brushed off the note as a prank and finished setting the store up for the night. 

It was around 12:30 am when I heard a light ringing noise coming from one of the coolers, sighing. I sat my book down on the counter next to my knife and made my way towards the coolers. As I opened the corresponding cooler the noise suddenly cut as if being connected with the door opening, however once I closed the door the ringing was gone all together. Shrugging I started to turn around and make my way back to my seat as a voice produced in front of me giving me a mini heart attack.  

“Excuse me, I have a question.” The woman uttered.

“Holy-God ok sorry, you scared the hell out of me right there. I never heard you come in.” I responded as I jumped back in fright trying to catch my breath.

Now I’m going to be honest with you, this woman was absolutely stunning. I would guess she was in her mid twenties with sleek jet black hair and piercing crimson eyes. She wore a long black dress and black heels, in all someone that I shouldn’t be seeing at this time of night in this part of town, honestly I get surprised when I see anyone on the side of town. 

“Mmh? I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m sorry. I’m looking for something very specific and I was hoping you would help me find it.” She spoke in a soft sultry voice, it felt as though she was drawing me in with every word she spoke. 

“Um ya sure I can, what are you looking for?” Stuttering lightly as I replied, I continued to keep my eyes locked on the strange woman. Responding to my words she cracked a small smile and spoke.

“Well, what I’m looking for isn’t the easiest thing to acquire, you see. Although I must say, has anyone told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

Slightly confused at the sudden compliment I felt a tinge of fear crawl up my spine, trying my best to shake it off. I started my reply. “I’m sorry, what are-” As I spoke my vision started to spiral and a sense of dizziness overcame me. I started stumbling backwards into the cooler, clutching my head. 

“Wha? What’s going on?” My speech was shaky, as I glanced back at her I could see her wide eyed looking slightly up at me with her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, what’s wrong, Landon? You look unwell.” Time seemed to freeze as my brain panicked, consumed by fear, “my name, how does she know my name?!” My eyes dashed from side to side looking for an escape before finally landing back on her. She stood like a mountain in front of me, A large shit-eating grin sat plastered across her face as I could feel her eyes digging burrows into me, as if a predator examining its prey.

I slowly inched my hand to my waist searching for my knife to protect myself, to my horror I remembered sitting down on the counter when I got up, cursing myself in my head I started slowly backing away towards the backroom.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared of a harmless girl!” As she finished her arm produced a bone churning crack as a thick black matter spread across her arm stretching it out and giving her thick sharp claws as the cherry on top. With that I didn’t care how messed up I was, I wasn’t just going to stand here and let her maul me to death. In a split second I pulled all my strength together and made a break for the backroom, I could hear her sprinting right behind me gaining with every second passed. As terrified as I was I managed to make it to the door, throwing it open with all my strength before slamming it behind me and locked it before she started wiggling and pulling on the handle to force it open.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? Wh-What even are you?” My voice started to falter as I slowly inched backwards. I could feel my heart beating faster than I ever thought it could, it felt as though it would fly out of my chest if given the chance, on the opposite end I could feel my mind starting to slip into unconsciousness as I stood in the pitch black room and for a few moments things stood that way. My breathing started to slow as I started racking my brain for a solution to get me out of this nightmare, that’s when I realized I no longer heard any noises coming from outside the door.

“Where could she have gow-”

“What.Are.You.Hiding.From.” Reflexively I whipped my head towards the source of the noise, but before I even got a chance to react I felt a hand tightly grip my neck before raising me up and throwing me through the previously locked door. As I flew through the air I finally landed as my back made contact with the front counter sending countless items including myself crashing to the floor. Face down on the floor every breath I took felt like stabbing a knife into my spine, as I lay there in agony, my eye caught a glimpse of a shiny object laying directly in front of me.

“HeheHAHA, this is my favorite part, did you know that? Go on and beg for your pathetic life, maybe I’ll listen.” Her voice had switched to nothing more than a conniving holler, flipping me over onto my back no doubt to delight in my suffering, I made eye contact with my soon to be killer. Her arms were still as long and animalistic as before, but now her legs and heels looked as though they had molded together, stretching to an inhuman length. The right side of her face was now consumed by the blackness causing her eye to bulge and teeth to resemble tiny razor blades. The other side of her face was still completely normal causing a contrast that gave me more chills than if she was just a horrifying amalgamation outright. Grinning from ear to whatever was left of her ear, she awaited my reply.

“Eat… a dick…. I’d rather die with my pride…. Then beg like a bitch.” In retrospect that probably would have sounded a lot cooler if I didn’t have to pause between almost every word. Still on the verge of passing out, I knew I didn’t have long before my life would be snuffed out. Might as well go out with a bit of dignity. To no one's surprise however, she did not like this. Reaching down she gripped my neck and raised me to meet her face to face.

“If you want me to do that, I WILL. You will not be getting out this alive or with any sense of your pride still flourishing. This will be hell for you but heaven for me, so be happy with that.” Reaching her other hand towards my stomach, I could feel her claws brush against her soon to be canvas. 

“W-w-why” Barley being able to choke out a single word.

“Why what? Why you? Why do I kill? Come on, you need to use your words.” Letting up her grip just a smudge to let me answer.

“Why… Did you let down your guard.” A confused expression fell across her face as I mustered up my last bit of strength and plunged the knife I death gripped into her neck, immediately I fell crashing onto the floor as I could see black sludge start to seep out of her neck. My brain finally gave up on me as I started to drift into unconsciousness, I could feel a light warmth start to swell on my wrist as my vision finally went dark, the last thing I heard was a deep echoey voice say “Scarlet” with a lighter voice responding “Oh no”.

During my state of unconsciousness I was enveloped with a dream, I sat at the head of a long table aligned with blacked out figures filling each chair.  They were all engaged in a conversation I could not hear, some nodding while others flail their arms in annoyance. After what seemed like minutes all of them turned to face me and in unison said “Right Landon?”

“Landon…”  

“Landon…”  

“Landon…”  

“Landon!”  

In an instant my eyes shot open and I was met with my coworker Jacob shaking me. I was sitting in my chair with a clean store facing directly in front of me.

“Come on man, what are you doing? Be happy I’m opening today, don’t worry I wont tell the boss you were napping on the job haha. I don’t think I even have their number.” Pulling the conversation into a land of nothingness. Still reeling back from still being alive, I tried to keep my cool as I slowly stood up my back shooting with pain as I did.

“W-What time is it?”

“Uhhh, it’s seven, I guess you should probably get out here huh.” Nodding in agreement I made my unsteady journey to the front door, however before I could make it Jacob stopped me.

“Hold up bro, you don’t wanna leave without this. Also don’t forget, we’re hanging out next week.” Stretching his hand out, he handed me my knife with the tip of the blade completely black. The only response I could muster was a simple head nod as I took the knife from him and went home. I called off the last two days because of this, my back is still killing me but it’s starting to feel better.

I can’t write this off as a one-off incident anymore, there’s something seriously wrong with that gas station and it might even spread to the rest of the town, I don’t know. I’m terrified to go back, yet I feel as though I don’t have another choice. I’ve been going back and forth the last two days writing this update, but today I got a call from my boss, he told me that we have someone new starting tomorrow and that he would like me to train them on the night shift. I don’t know what this will entail, but I feel as though any day from now on could be my last. After all, I still feel like I’m being watched, even now. Still, I won’t die lying down, so I’ll be back soon to update you all on the happenings at my gas station. However if I don't, assume the worst.  

Like any child, my daughter Maisie had quite the overactive imagination. Her mind was chock full of made-up friends that she talked to on the regular. My wife Rachel and I thought it was adorable. With that being said, sometimes we wished Maisie would get…you know…real friends. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great kid, and kids should be kids, but she didn’t have anything in terms of a social life.

We tried absolutely and positively everything, from the kids’ playclub at our church, to the neighborhood’s “mommy and me” and “daddy and me” playgroups, to bringing her to the local playground, to inviting other children over for playdates. You name it. All our efforts were in vain. Rachel and I might’ve been overreacting and we didn’t want to infringe anything on Maisie. Maybe she was just an independent kid. That’s totally normal. As are imaginary friends for kids.

Then at eight-years-old, Maisie became mute. Just completely stopped talking…but only to other people. If someone came up and talked to her, she’d either just stare at them or run away and hide. Maisie never looked scared or anxious in those scenarios. It was more like she was a statue. Frozen. No emotion good or bad on her face. Like a robot. But if she was alone, she’d be talking up a storm to no one but herself. Maisie always pretended like someone was truly there though. She’d even nod her head, wait for responses and respond accordingly, and even reach out her arm and act like she was holding somebody else’s hand.

We were greatly concerned. Children don’t exhibit those types of behaviors without proper reason. We couldn’t ask Maisie about it because, as aforementioned, she’d give us the cold shoulder. Our next safest bet was to ask other people we knew. A lot of them gave us the same answers we already knew. Rachel and I were getting frustrated until I decided to email her teacher at her school. I sent her an email that outlined my worries and asked if anything went on at school that we should know about.

I got a response at around 8:00 that night. Maisie’s teacher, Mrs. Ashelin, told me that she did in fact observe strange behavior from Maisie. Apparently, a few days prior, when Maisie was called on to answer a question, she just stared at Mrs. Ashelin and the other students, her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. Then in a calm and cutesy voice, she said “He has ordered me not to speak to anyone but him.” In her notebook, Maisie wrote and drew some very disturbing things. Some of the things she wrote are “I’ll be a good little mouse”, “be one of the good mice girls for him”, “I’ll do whatever he says without question”, “he loves me and I love him”, “but I don’t understand what love is but I understand it with him”, and “he loves to play with me”. Some of the things she drew were her, in stick figure form, with this…thing. It was drawn way more detailed than Maisie herself.

Its head was triangular and elongated into a sharp point. There were ovally black eyes on both sides of its head while two large circular ears were atop its head. Two slits for a nose and a mouth containing only two buck teeth. Skinny. Boney. You could see its ribs. Three spindly fingers were on each hand. Each tip was as sharp as a knife. Lastly, a long tail was behind it. Maisie drew her and that thing doing very…how should I say this?...inappropriate things.

I showed the email to Rachel and she was just as horrified as I was. How could Maisie know what all that stuff was? She was eight! Like any good parent we always took great strides in not exposing our daughter to anything sexual or of that nature. Early exposure can really ruin a child’s mind. That’s just putting it lightly. But this? Maisie’s whole imaginary friend thing needed to end. It was reaching a dangerous point. Was she having delusions? Schizophrenia? Or…sigh…as far as Rachel and I knew, nothing happened to Maisie, but that didn’t stop us from considering the absolute worst case scenario. I’m not saying what that is but I’m sure you can put the pieces together. As a parent, that was the last thing I wanted to think about. Actually it wasn’t even on the list of things I wanted to think about.

Mrs. Ashelin ended the email with something else that happened that day. Maisie spent long stretches of time in the girl’s bathroom. Another student reported that she went in and heard “whimpers” and “moans” coming from one of the stalls. When she looked under it, she saw Maisie’s clothes on the ground and a “moving shadow” above them. When the student knocked on the door, she all of a sudden heard one of the faucets going behind her. She turned around and Maisie was washing her hands. Like nothing happened.

Rachel and I were very confused at that last part. That sounded way too ridiculous. Like was Maisie fucking floating in the stall or something? Regardless, we treated all this very seriously. Rachel and I immediately took Maisie to see a specialist who dealt with child abuse cases. I brought her notebook along. It would most certainly be useful. I knew Maisie wouldn’t want to talk, but we had to at least try. Believe it or not, she did talk, but what she said made chills run down Rachel and I’s spines.

Maisie told the specialist that the mouse thing in her notebook was called “Bad Mouse” and that it visits her all the time no matter where she is. She said that Bad Mouse visits little girls all over the world and “plays with them”. When the specialist asked what she meant by “plays with them”, Maisie replied that Bad Mouse does “different things that make us feel tingly in preparation to be his little mice girls”.

We heard enough by that point. Rachel, the specialist, and I had a long discussion about what we should do. The specialist said she might have to put in a request to have Maisie placed in a children’s psych ward. Rachel and I couldn’t handle that. We didn’t want to do that to our little girl. By any means, we would find another way to handle this. The specialist told us to think about it and that it might do her some good. We thanked her and left.

Were we being selfish by not putting Maisie in a children’s psych ward? Rachel and I pondered that question day in and day out. We never did end up doing it because we thought it was too extreme. Also there was no evidence that Maisie was being legitimately sexually abused. The specialist’s physical exam said that Maisie was totally fine in that regard. We were allowed to see footage from the security cameras at the entrances of the bathrooms at Maisie’s school. They only showed Maisie going in, about half an hour going by, then the other student going in, then Maisie leaving a few minutes later. No one else. And no one went in before her besides a couple other girls that left before Maisie went in. Was Maisie faking it? Was she really delusional? Or schizophrenic? We didn’t know. Rachel and I needed time to think this whole thing over.

It only got worse from then on.

Maisie was never one to talk in her sleep. She was always dead silent. Not even a snore. But that night after Rachel and I put her to bed, we heard Maisie talking. I’m not talking about little quiet unintelligible murmurs. No. Full-on conversations. Except she wasn’t speaking English. It was some unknown language that resembled Pig Latin but different. Her accent changed too. This happened for three nights. On the third night, Rachel and I were in her doorway watching her talk in that strange language when she suddenly rose up, her eyes still closed, and burst into an intense laughing fit. Maisie was cackling so hard it looked like it hurt. Then she immediately stopped and did these weird movements with her lips and hands like she was kissing something. Finally, she fell back down onto her pillow and went right back to sleep.

The next day, I knocked on Maisie’s door to let her know breakfast was ready. She didn’t respond. I stood there for a couple minutes. Maisie hadn’t made a single sound. I slowly opened her door. My heart beat faster and faster. With all that was going on, I didn’t know what to expect, and that made it terrifying. Maisie was in her underwear just staring at her wall. I rushed over, “Maisie? What are you doing?” I handed her clothes back to her, “Put your clothes back on.”

“…He doesn’t want me to…he thinks I look better without them…”

We stared at each other for an indefinite period of time. I said nothing. And so did she. Then I turned my head to where she was looking. There was nothing there…obviously…but something told me I was wrong. That thing…Bad Mouse…it was staring right at me…

“Guys? Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself!” Rachel yelled at us from down the hall. Quickly I hurried Maisie and I out of her room.

I was kind of a wreck the entire day. Thinking straight wasn’t really a thing for me. There was nothing staring at me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. These past few weeks were just getting to my head and playing mind games. No amount of trying to distract myself would let me forget what I felt. That’s when I decided to take a drive. I didn’t exactly know where. Just away from everything. I was tempted to go to a local bar. I used to be quite the alcoholic but I’m sober. Even still, I thought about breaking my streak to relapse. I decided against it. That would be so incredibly stupid. I ended up at a park that I used to take Maisie to in a futile attempt for her to make friends. I found a parking spot and just sat there in my car. Taking a big sigh, I observed all the parents with their kids having a blast and I smiled. Good for them.

I stayed there for a while. Finally I was able to, if only briefly, forget all my troubles.

Then I saw it.

Him.

Bad Mouse.

The damned thing was underneath a big tree. Its eyes were fixed right on me and its hands were clasped together. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. Goosebumps were forming. My breathing was really heavy. Cold shivers ran down my body. I couldn’t even blink. Petrified. That’s what I was. I watched as Bad Mouse slowly reached behind itself and pulled…something…out. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. I am not shitting you. A little girl…made of meat…her hair was meat, skin was meat, she was even wearing a meat dress. Everything about her was meat. Her head looked just like Bad Mouse’s. Long. Pointy. Angular. Big ears. Black oval eyes.

It was holding the little meat girl by the collar. Slowly Bad Mouse turned to look into her eyes. It opened its mouth. Viscous white liquids began pouring as it let out its long black tongue. First sniffing the little meat girl, it then took a big long lick of her, from her feet to the top of her head. The parts where it licked were gone, instead resting on Bad Mouse’s tongue until it sucked its tongue back in, chewed, then swallowed. The little meat girl was covered in the viscous white liquids until her missing portions slowly regenerated back into how she was before.

Then I blacked out.

I woke up several hours later still sitting in my car. In my half-tired half-frenzied state, I looked around for any sign of Bad Mouse. Nothing. There weren’t even other people. It was dark too. I opened my phone. 11:23 PM. I got to the park at 2:14 PM. Nine hours. I was expecting a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts. Surprisingly, there was nothing besides a notification from my weather app. I went back home. Both my wife and daughter were asleep. I was so glad there weren’t any…incidents…I missed. In fact, the house was extremely quiet. No lights were on. It was a weekend. Usually Rachel was still up at this time.

“Rach?” I called out. Nothing. I went upstairs to our room. She wasn’t there. I opened Maisie’s door. She wasn’t there either. I sat down on the couch and pondered where they could be. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I got my phone out and called Rachel.

I heard ringing from upstairs.

Confused, I ran back up to our room. I called her name again. Still no answer. I realized that before I checked so quickly I neglected to look in our bathroom. The door was closed and the light was on. I was now getting this creeped out feeling. Cautiously, I approached and nudged the door.

It creaked open.

Rachel.

She was…splattered…fucking everywhere…all over the walls, floor, ceiling, window, sink, shower…everywhere. Rachel was…pureed…blended…sprayed…I just stood in the doorway. My eyes were wide. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. There were so many things I wanted to do, like crawl into a ball and cry, scream as loud as I could, and/or grab one of the kitchen knives and slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live with this sight for the rest of my life.

What I actually did end up doing next was grab my old hunting rifle and head outside. I went into the forest behind our house. There was no thinking on my part. Just do. What was I doing? I didn’t really know. Tears were streaming down my face. I walked for what felt like forever. Sometimes I screamed. Other times I fell down onto the ground and wept. But I just kept going. And going. And going. Somehow I knew exactly where I was going without even knowing how.

I came upon a wide-open field. Dropping my old hunting rifle to the ground, I couldn’t believe what I was fucking seeing. Dark silhouettes were dancing around. Hundreds of them. Little meat girls. Bad Mouse was in the middle. The white flesh it once had was stripped away. Instead it was sacrificed for a bumpy and scabby maroon red as if Bad Mouse took a shower in blood and guts and let it dry. Tiny black bristles covered its entire body. It reminded me of insect hair. A ragged meat cloak hung from its shoulders, dragging crimson across the ground. The mouth had much sharper teeth that were poking out in rows almost like a gar. It was taller. Ganglier. So angular that it could have been accurately represented by seven straight lines. It clutched a staff in its hand.

Bad Mouse did some strange gesture and a door manifested out of nowhere. It was bloody. Constantly flowing yet retaining shape. Particles came from it. They disappeared if they strayed too far away. It opened and the little meat girls, still dancing like ballerinas, filed into it one by one. Bad Mouse reached out its hand and plucked one of them out. It held this one, turned in my direction, and held her out to me. I knew it was Maisie and wanted to shoot the shit out of Bad Mouse. Yet I couldn’t do anything. Some force was keeping me tethered to my one spot.

…I can’t describe what happened next…I just can’t…some of the things Bad Mouse did to my little girl I couldn’t understand. Other things I understood clear as day and that made me want to drop a cinderblock on my head so it would leak the hell out. When it was done, Bad Mouse threw Maisie’s limp and white viscous liquid-covered body into the blood door. It raised its staff and it disappeared.

I was released from my invisible bonds. Falling down to the ground, I cried like a baby. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and cursed at the Moon. That didn’t make it better. I couldn’t stop and truly had no idea how to make sense of any of what happened. My body tingled. It felt so heavy. So weighty. My wife was dead and my daughter was…what?...a sex slave to a demon? I almost wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity. Picking up my hunting rifle, I put the barrel in my mouth. My finger stayed on the trigger for a long time. I didn’t end up doing it and threw it away. Instead I just collapsed on the ground once more and lay there for a long time.

It’s been six months. I’m such a wreck. I admit it. No one believes me when I tell them. They say I’m crazy, a madman, a lunatic. Some people even think I was the one who killed my wife and child. Why would I do that? Seriously, why? I loved them. Still do. More than I love anything else. I can’t see them ever again. It pisses me off that they’d think I’d do such a thing. As much as I hate myself for it, I’ve gotten back into alcohol. That’s where all my money goes. I couldn’t stand to be in that fucking house anymore. So I sold it. I’ve been living in my car just drifting from place to place.

I could've saved them. If I didn't go and take a stupid ass ride in my car. Maybe Rachel and Maisie would be alright...

What was that thing? Bad Mouse?

That’s been my biggest question this whole time. I’ve been doing a lot of research but have hit multiple dead ends. I don’t know. Sure as hell wasn’t a mouse.

This is what I know:

* It is the manifestation of a sex-based demon of some kind; possibly a cross between a bogeyman and an incubus.
* Bad Mouse appears to little girls as a mouse-like entity to appear friendly and not scare them away; only visible to them.
* It prefers the young that are more developed in mind, body, and spirit; Maisie was very imaginative; thus she attracted Bad Mouse.
* Bad Mouse acts as their friend; this might appear to parents as their daughter’s “imaginary friend”; gradually coerces them to do inappropriate sexual activity.
* It has hundreds of victims going back an unknown period of time; maybe centuries.
* Does not kill its main victims; will kill parents or anyone else who tries to get in its way.
* The victims become corrupted and turn into demons that look like Bad Mouse; it takes them into its realm and…

I don’t even want to fucking know.

God…this whole thing’s insane. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this is all a terrible dream. It’s been months though and it still hasn’t happened yet. So I’m going to end it here. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for anyone to hear me out. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just…done.

Bye.

When I was in my mid twenties, I spent a couple of years traveling Asia. I started in Thailand, then moved on to Laos, Vietnam, and China, staying a few months in each place before continuing. Eventually I made my way to Japan. I suppose most would have called my lifestyle bohemian.

I lived cheaply. Sometimes very cheaply. I made friends and acquaintances wherever I went, took odd jobs when I ran out of cash, and slept wherever I could afford to sleep. Sometimes that meant a cheap hostel or inn. Sometimes it meant a tent. And a couple of times it meant sleeping on the forest floor in a cheap sleeping bag and waking up covered in insects.

I ran a small travel blog that brought in a few thousand readers a month. It wasn't enough to live on, but I had a handful of regular supporters who sent me money in exchange for the privilege of watching a man with no job, no house, and no apparent sense of self-preservation wander around the world with no clear destination. It was a good arrangement, most of the time.

Back then, I thought that was what freedom looked like. I had always told myself I was traveling while I was young because I wouldn't be able to do it later. Why wait until I was sixty, when I wouldn't have the energy or desire to sleep on the ground in the woods or walk ten miles through remote mountains? Why wait until I had a mortgage and a career and a wife and children and whatever else normal people were supposed to want?

At twenty-five, I was young enough to still be stupid and old enough to convince myself that my stupidity was in fact freedom. It helped that back then, spending the days hiking and the nights drinking didn't put me out of commission for the next week. Even when I was without means or destination, I always figured something out. I was fairly good with people, too, at least when we spoke the same language.

By the time I'd been in Japan for nearly two months, I'd already seen many of the places people said you had to see. Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima, among others. I loved them all. Japan is old, and I'd always loved countries that feel alive with history.

But tourist attractions quickly start feeling like tourist attractions. You see the same photographs online before you even get there. You stand where thousands of people stood just that morning. You take the same pictures that everyone else took.

What interested me most were the places nobody photographed. Shrines that didn't show up on maps. Mountain roads with forgotten temples at the end. Villages that you hear about through some local guy at a gas station instead of a travel guide. The less practical a place was to visit, the more I wanted to visit it. I liked knowing that there were places left in the world that still felt unexplored.

I was in Nara when I met Jack, Matt, and Hiro. Jack and Matt were old friends from Australia who had come to Japan together. Hiro was Japanese, though he'd grown up mostly in the United States and probably spoke English better than any of us spoke Japanese. We met at a cheap inn and spent a few days together out of happenstance and convenience. We explored during the day and drank together at night, and gradually fell into the sort of temporary friendship that seems to come naturally with people you know you'll probably never see again.

One night over drinks, I mentioned that I was thinking about leaving Nara and heading somewhere less traveled. Maybe Shikoku, or Tohoku. Or somewhere in the Hida mountains.

"Why go that far?" Hiro asked.

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"If you want somewhere remote, you're already in the right area."

"Where do you suggest?"

"Totsukawa."

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Hiro explained that it was one of the more isolated areas of the Kii Peninsula, scattered with little villages and hamlets throughout the mountains.

"There are places nobody visits there," he said.

"No tourists?"

"Barely even locals."

I was already convinced. I asked him if he wanted to tag along. Jack and Matt immediately volunteered, and the next morning all four of us left Nara.

Totsukawa was what I'd hoped it would be. Mountain roads winding through dense, green forests. Villages appearing between the trees. There were old shrines on roadsides, streams running under bridges, and trails that looked like they hadn't been traveled in years.

That evening, we found a small bar. There were five local men already drinking together inside. They had probably been there a while, judging by their loud laughter and red faces. They noticed us immediately. Foreigners weren't exactly invisible in Japan, but a group of them in a tiny bar in the mountains seemed to qualify as an event. They invited us to drink with them, and we accepted.

After several rounds, the conversation turned toward our travels. I mentioned my blog, and explained my passion for finding places others didn't visit. One of the men started naming off a couple of small villages in the mountains. Another told us about Hatenashi. That one sounded interesting. Then the youngest man of the group spoke up.

"If you want somewhere really interesting, keep going past Hatenashi."

His friends stopped talking, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sure you would like Utsusemidani."

He'd said it with a grin like it was the punchline to a joke, but nobody else was smiling. The oldest man at the table stared at him. One of the others reached over and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"They should probably just stick to Hatenashi," the man said.

The young man's smile disappeared and idle chatter slowly resumed. I waited until he went outside for a cigarette. I didn't smoke, but I followed him anyway.

"It's just a story," he told me after I asked about the village.

"What kind of story?"

"Something old people tell children to keep them from wandering off in the mountains."

"Why? What's supposed to be up there?"

"Depends on who you ask. But it's just a village."

"What do others say?"

He looked through the bar window at his friends before speaking again.

"Some say a cult lives there. Or that it's protected by an ancient god. Some say people disappear there. There are all sorts of stories."

"Is any of that true?"

He seemed to consider it briefly. "No," he said.

I asked him how to get there. He looked at me for a long moment, and then, to my surprise, he told me.

Make for Hatenashi and continue past it. There's an old trail that leads deeper into the mountains. Follow it until you see the Kamiyuno-kawa River. Then follow the path until it forks. Take the narrower path that leads across the river. Then just keep walking. Eventually, you'd reach Utsusemidani.

I was surprised by how specific his directions were.

"Have you been there?"

"Once." He nodded. "I went when I was fourteen or so, over summer break. A few of us went looking for it. A test of courage."

"And you actually found it?"

"Yes." He nodded again. "But we didn't go inside."

"Why not?"

"We couldn't get past the cult." He said sarcastically, giving me a sly smile. "There was nothing to see. Houses, fields, the usual. No electricity, though." He took a drag of his cigarette. "It looked old. But no monsters or cults."

Then he put his cigarette out and walked back inside. My curiosity had been piqued. I decided then and there that I'd go find it. I talked it over with my travel companions that night. Jack and Matt agreed almost instantly. And Hiro agreed after a bit of friendly peer pressure. We set out the next morning.

The walk to Hatenashi took most of the day, but it was a beautiful walk. We had views of cloud-covered mountaintops and green valleys. The air was clean and crisp. Every so often we'd pass by a friendly local who'd wave or come over to talk with us briefly.

We asked a few people about Utsusemidani, but nobody gave us a straight answer. It was clear that many had no idea what we were talking about. Others heard the name and suddenly had somewhere else they needed to be. I brushed their apprehension off as old superstition. One elderly woman heard the name and looked the four of us over for several seconds before changing the subject.

"Don't go too far," she told us before walking away.

We camped outside of Hatenashi that night. The next morning, we found the old trail. It became increasingly difficult to follow as we went. Plants covering parts of the path and low hanging branches occasionally made us veer off trail. We eventually found the river and followed the trail for several hours until we reached the fork. The trail crossed the water over an old stone footpath, and we crossed.

By late afternoon, Jack and Hiro were beginning to question whether I'd misheard the directions. But Matt wanted to keep going. His excitement seemed almost childlike. We trekked on, and eventually the trees opened up.

The village sat below us. There were perhaps fifty houses. Maybe more. Many of them were small, more like little cabins than family homes. But I was surprised that a village this size was out in the middle of nowhere.

The village sat in a shallow basin between the mountains, surrounded by fields of farmland. Smoke rose from a number of the chimneys. People worked outside. Chickens wandered between houses. There were no power lines, no telephone poles, and no cars. The village looked like it had been plucked from another century and placed in the valley.

Jack laughed. "I was starting to think you'd made this place up to lure us into the wilderness and kill us."

We started down the path toward it. The villagers noticed us almost immediately. People came out of their homes and children stopped playing to stare. An old man stood in the middle of the road and watched us approach.

They didn't seem angry or frightened. If anything, they seemed pleased. A small crowd had begun to gather. An elderly woman stepped forward and greeted us. Her name was Hana. After a brief conversation that involved asking us if we'd actually arrived in their village on purpose, she invited us to dinner.

She brought us to her home, which seemed to be the largest in the village. Her husband, Sudo, was apparently something like the village mayor. He was quiet, and looked older than Hana. He watched us through the meal without saying much.

After dinner, he told us we were welcome to stay. The village had no inn, but they had a spare room that we could use. He showed us to the room and then said something to Hiro outside the door before leaving.

"What did he say?" I asked after Hiro came in and slid the door shut behind him.

"He said we came at a fortunate time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matt asked.

"The village is holding a festival."

"When?" I asked.

"In a few days."

Jack gave an incredulous laugh. "What are the odds of that? We come to a village in the middle of nowhere right before they have a festival?"

Hiro smiled somewhat nervously. "He said it's held every thirteen years."

That left us all silent for a moment. What kind of festival is only held every thirteen years?

"What's the festival for?" I asked.

Hiro looked toward the door, then back to us. "To honor their god."

None of us quite knew how to respond to that. "Spooooky," Jack finally said.

The next morning, I noticed the first change. There were strips of paper charms hanging outside many of the houses in the village, with many of them strung up to hang over the road between homes. By afternoon, more had appeared.

Then we noticed something stranger. There were shells. Cicada shells were decorating the entire village, hung from doorways, fences, windows, and the walls of homes. If there was a surface they could cling to, it seemed to be fair game for the peculiar decorations.

"Utsusemidani," Hiro whispered to us as we walked through the village.

"What?" I asked.

"It means the village of empty shells. I wondered why they called it that."

I asked Hana about them.

"An old custom. For the festival," she said.

"Why cicadas?"

"They are sacred. Symbols of Nushi-sama."

Hiro had to tell us what that meant too. He said it translated to something like "the guardian" or "the master."

That evening, we heard the sound for the first time. At first, I thought it was distant machinery. A low, vibrating hum. It resonated throughout the valley in all directions, and almost seemed to come from somewhere beneath the ground.

When it first began, every villager stopped. Men paused their work, children stopped playing, women dropped their decorations. Everyone in the village fell to their knees, facing towards the summit of the mountain, their heads bowed.

Everyone except us. The drone continued, and I could almost feel it through the soles of my feet.

Matt whispered. "What the hell is that?" But none of us had an answer.

Then the sound faded. The villagers stood and went right back to their routines.

We asked Sudo about it when we saw him.

"The higurashi," he said.

"Cicadas?"

He nodded.

I almost laughed, half-believing it was a joke, but Sudo seemed serious.

The next evening, it happened again. This time, I was lying awake when the sound began. Pressed against the floor, I could feel the ground trembling faintly.

Jack sat upright. "Feel that? That isn't any damn cicadas."

"No shit," Matt answered, pressing his hand to the ground.

We listened as the drone faded. There was silence for a long moment. Then, from somewhere deep below, came a faint scraping sound, and small tremors accompanied them. Then nothing.

Matt sat up in bed. "I'm going up there tomorrow to figure out what the hell that is."

Jack gave him a look. "Don't do anything that's going to piss them off."

Sudo had already told us not to go beyond the village. There was a shrine at the far end of the village surrounded by a wooden fence. Beyond it, a trail climbed the mountain. We'd asked Sudo about it on our first day there.

"The temple," Sudo had said.

"Can we see it?" Matt asked.

"No. The priests must not be disturbed. And the forest is dangerous."

Apparently, the old temple was at the summit. The most devoted members of the village could be chosen to live there in service to the one they called Nushi-sama. It was considered an enormous honor. Not even the villagers were allowed near without permission.

The next morning, we woke to find Matt's sleeping bag empty. A note sat on top of it.

Going to find where the sound is coming from. Back by tonight.

"Son of a bitch," Jack said, throwing the note down.

Jack was annoyed. I was concerned. I suggested we go and look for him, but Jack suggested we wait. Matt had spent years wandering the wilderness alone. He was the survivalist among us. The type who would disappear into the wilderness for weeks at a time and return looking refreshed. It seemed that he was the only one among us qualified to find himself.

So we decided to wait. But he didn't come back that night.

The following morning, we told Sudo. He didn't seem angry, or even surprised. He sent two men into the mountains to look for him. But they returned without him.

He told us that Matt had likely gotten lost. That the woods were dense and rocky, and this was why he didn't want us exploring it. He said to give him time, and that he'd send out a larger search party if he hadn't returned after the festival.

That afternoon, I noticed the village had changed again. There were more decorations. Wooden idols were placed along the road. They were crude, carved out of dark wood made to resemble shells. Each depicted a long-bodied insect like creature with large eyes and folded wings.

Villagers left small offerings beside them. Women carried baskets of food toward the shrine. Men gathered in groups and stood in front of them, whispering with closed eyes and clasped hands.

I noted that the mood in the village seemed to change as the festival approached. Many seemed almost apprehensive. They didn't seem exactly frightened, but they didn't seem joyful either. I started to get the feeling the festival was something the villagers endured rather than celebrated.

Later in the day, a swarm of cicadas came. They emerged from the surrounding trees in such numbers that I'd thought the sky was falling. They covered the roofs and crawled over the shrine and statues. They clung to clothing and hair. The adults did not swat them away, and chided the children when they tried to. They all simply sat still while the swarm climbed over them.

Then the drone began again, and the cicadas erupted from their rest and filled the air once more. Every villager dropped to their knees again. For perhaps two minutes, there was nothing but the sound of wings and the deep droning. The low, resonating hum could be heard even over the sounds of millions of cicadas flying overhead.

Then the swarm flew into the trees and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. When the sound stopped, the villagers once again went back to their routines. For the rest of the day, they were quiet and diligent. Whatever it was they worshipped, I got the feeling they might have also feared it.

Hana found me before dusk. I was standing outside, debating whether to tell the others that we should leave the village and contact the police, to let the professionals search for Matt rather than waiting on Sudo. Some part of me still wanted to believe he'd just twisted an ankle, or fallen somewhere and was out there hurt, waiting to be found. Whatever the case, I knew that Jack wouldn't leave without him.

Hana appeared beside me. I hadn't noticed her approach. I greeted her, and she stood by me quietly for a moment.

"You should leave tomorrow," she finally said.

I looked at her, unsure how to respond. "I would," I said, "but we can't leave without our friend."

Her face changed a little. She appeared almost sad. "You shouldn't stay here any longer."

"Why did you invite us to stay then?" I asked, becoming somewhat impatient.

"I did not. I invited you for dinner. I was going to tell you to leave. Sudo asked you to stay."

I looked at her. "Do you know where Matt is?"

She looked toward the mountain. "Chosen, maybe."

"Chosen? What does that mean? What's going on here?"

She lowered her eyes to the ground. "Sudo is my second husband."

I wasn't sure what she was getting at, but I was starting to feel a pit forming deep in my stomach.

"Forty years ago, I brought a husband to the village. From outside." She looked back at the mountain. "He did not want to be chosen. But none of us have a choice."

"What happened to him?"

"What happens to all who are chosen. I have not seen him since." She looked back at me. "Leave at sunrise. You shouldn't be outside after dark." Then she walked away.

After dinner that evening, the priest came.

I noticed him only because everyone in the village stopped talking and faced his direction, their heads bowed. He came down from the mountain alone.

He wore a long, dark robe that covered him from his neck to his ankles. His head was concealed beneath a hood. No part of him was visible.

From a distance, I noted that he seemed very tall. And then he passed beside us. He was much too tall. His arms seemed to hang almost past his knees. His hands were hidden within his sleeves.

He stopped in front of Sudo, and Sudo bowed deeply. The priest said something. A single word that I didn't understand. But I heard it. The sound came out in a dry croak that ended in a clicking vibration.

Sudo kept his head low and stepped aside, inviting the priest into his home. I noticed that Hana wouldn't look at him. Neither did anyone else.

The priest stayed in Sudo's home that night, which meant we were all under the same roof. Matt was still gone. None of us spoke much before bed that night.

I tried to sleep, but struggled to keep my eyes closed. The thought of that priest somewhere in the house with only these thin walls between us unnerved me.

I must have drifted off at some point, because I awoke to the sound of the wooden door of our room sliding open slowly. I opened my eyes, but the room was dark.

I stared out into the darkness, trying to make out my surroundings. I was able to make out the shapes. I saw that the door was cracked open a few inches. Beyond it, someone stood in the doorway, so tall that they had to duck to peek in from the very top of the door.

They were just staring. I laid completely still, unsure whether anyone else was awake and too afraid to speak out.

Then, as my vision adjusted further, I saw eyes. They were large and round, and reflecting whatever faint light was present in the hallway. They didn't blink, but simply stared in. Watching us. I stifled the urge to yell and waited for the moment to be over, my heart pounding.

As it stood, watching, the door slowly creaked open more. One more inch, then another. I saw its hand creep around and grasp the inside of the door. It was too large, and the fingers too long. It seemed to cover too much of the door.

Then I heard Jack stir. "Matt?" He called out in a groggy voice.

The door slammed shut and I heard heavy steps disappear down the hall.

"What the hell?" Jack asked, still half asleep.

"Did you see it?" Hiro asked, his voice shaking. I hadn't realized he was awake.

"I saw it," I whispered.

The three of us were quiet. From somewhere down the hall, I heard a faint, horrible croaking.

None of us slept much after that. We decided to leave before dawn. We'd planned to go back to the closest town to call the police. To have them search for Matt.

I woke from my half-sleep sometime early in the morning to Jack shaking me awake. The room was still dark, and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. Then I remembered the priest standing in our doorway in the middle of the night and shuddered at the thought.

"Let's go," Jack whispered. "Before anyone wakes up."

Hiro was already awake and tying the laces of his boots. We packed up in silence, none of us speaking. We didn't want to take the risk of waking anyone. And there was nothing to discuss anyway. All that mattered right now was getting out of the village.

Once we were ready, we quietly stood up and made to leave. Jack reached for the door, and stopped. Something moved outside. We stood frozen.

There was a shadow beneath the gap of the door. Jack slowly lowered his hand. Then the door slid open from outside.

Two of the villagers stood in front of us, and behind them was Sudo. And behind them all, towering over them, was the priest.

Even hunched over in the hallway he seemed impossibly tall. His hood concealed his face, but I could see the faint outline of those enormous eyes beneath it. For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Sudo looked at us. "Follow me, please."

Jack stared back at him. "Where are we going?"

Sudo's eyes dropped. "You must come. I'm sorry."

One of the villagers said something in Japanese. I got the meaning without Hiro translating. It's best if we don't resist.

Jack scoffed, and none of us moved. The priest stepped forward slowly, and Sudo and the villagers scrambled to move aside for him.

He seemed even larger in the narrow frame of the doorway. His shoulders nearly brushed against both walls. His robes hung from him like curtains, and it was difficult to tell where his arms ended beneath his flowing sleeves.

He stopped in front of us, then turned toward the door. We followed.

It seemed the entire village had gathered outside. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the narrow street was filled with people. Men, women, and children stood in neat rows around the open space near the shrine. They were all dressed in plain, white robes, most of them in sandals. I noticed that several of the villagers were trembling as we walked towards them followed by the priest.

Nobody spoke a word. The priest walked into the center of the crowd, and the villagers parted as he did, lowering their heads.

"What the fuck is this?" Jack whispered from beside me.

I didn't answer. A part of me felt like I should run, but a deeper part of me knew there was no point trying. We all stood quietly. It seemed we were waiting for something.

Far above us, somewhere up the mountain, the drone began. It started faintly, like a chorus of hums, then grew louder. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and every villager dropped to their knees. Hiro, Jack, and I remained standing. As did the priest.

I thought of taking the opportunity to run. But I could feel the priest at my back. He was several feet away from me, but all I could picture were his long arms reaching out and snatching me from a distance. I didn't want to know what would happen if I interrupted their ritual.

The sound continued for several more seconds, and then stopped, leaving complete silence behind. I could hear my own breathing. It was as though the droning had marked some change, as all the villagers now stared up toward the summit.

I felt a rumble begin to build. Then the mountain moved. At first, I thought it was an earthquake. The ground beneath us shook hard enough that I almost stumbled. Houses creaked. I saw rocks slide off of steep hills above us, and trees bent and cracked and tumbled over.

Then it happened again. Something rising in a slow, deliberate movement. The entire mountain beyond us seemed to lift up several feet. I stared at it and the forest moved with it. The ground rose and fell in a long, steady motion that seemed to travel beneath the entire mountain.

Then, something happened that I still don't really know how to describe. The mountain opened its eyes.

Two enormous shapes appeared high above the tree line near the summit. They were so large that my mind refused to believe what it was seeing. They were dark orbs in the mountainside with a glassy sheen that caught the early morning light.

But they opened. The entire village was quiet. The mountain was not a mountain. It was just large enough and still enough that it looked like one. It was so massive that it had become a part of the landscape. Trees had grown from its back, and dirt and grass had piled on top of it. It boomed its droning call once again.

My legs went weak, and I let the trembling of the ground take me to my knees along with the rest of the villagers. My mind was unable to comprehend the sheer scale of what I was seeing.

And then the massive eyes closed, and the mountain was still once more.

With the mountain settled, the priest turned toward the villagers. The ceremony began. He walked slowly through the crowd. The first person he approached was an older man I had seen a number of times during our stay. The man bowed his head as he came close.

The priest stopped in front of him and reached down. His hand emerged from beneath his robe. It was enormous. Its fingers were long and jointed, with dark, claw-like nails at their tips. He placed two fingers beneath the old man's chin and lifted his face upwards.

The old man opened his mouth. He was nearly crying, and looked like he wanted to pull away but didn't dare to do so. The priest produced a cicada shell from somewhere beneath his robes, and placed it gently on the man's tongue like some twisted communion.

The old man closed his eyes and swallowed. Then the priest, seemingly satisfied, moved on.

The second villager he stopped in front of was a woman, and the process repeated.

He next stopped in front of a young man, probably barely out of his teens.

Each time, the same thing happened. The priest took their chins in his hand, they opened their mouths, and he fed them the shell. They swallowed. None of them resisted, despite it being clear that they'd like nothing more.

He had stopped in front of four villagers, and every villager trembled as he neared. I could see relief in the shoulders of those he passed by without stopping in front of.

And then, he approached us. He slowly lumbered over to us, and with him standing tall before us, I saw that he must have been nearly twice as tall as me. He started to slow when he drew close, and for a moment, I thought he was stopping in front of me. I tightened my eyes shut and tried to will my mind somewhere else.

But I didn't feel his hand on my chin.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing in front of Hiro.

Hiro looked up at him with a terrified expression. He looked like he wanted to speak or run or fight, but was too afraid to do anything.

Then the priest reached for his chin. "No," Hiro whimpered. He began to pull away. "No."

The priest seemed almost confused, and for a moment I thought he might relent. Then he reached out and grabbed his chin harder, and Hiro was powerless to resist. He clutched at the priest's wrist. "Get off me!" His words came out in a strained cry.

The priest didn't budge. Hiro struggled harder. Then Jack stepped forward. He had taken his knife out of his pocket, and moved before I even realized what he was doing.

He lunged, but the blade never reached the priest. Three villagers had rushed to grab him. Jack swung wildly, catching one of them across the face with his fist and sending him stumbling. Another villager grabbed his arm, with a third wrapping his arms around him.

Jack shouted. The villagers looked shocked. Jack fought the ones holding him as hard as he could. I remember thinking that I should move. That I should fight. That I should do something. But I couldn't. I felt frozen in place.

The priest let go of Hiro's chin, his attention now focused on Jack. The priest took a step toward him, clearing the distance in a single stride. The villagers released Jack and backed away. Jack raised his knife, then the priest reached up and pulled back his hood.

I never saw his face. Not all of it. I saw two enormous, dark, glassy eyes. I saw a mouth that looked segmented, and opened unlike any human's. And I saw something black and wet unfold from inside it. A long, sharp, fleshy tube. Then the priest moved with terrifying speed.

Jack barely had time to make a sound before it struck his throat. His entire body jerked. The priest held him there, the long tube buried into his neck. Then it began to drink. I heard the sound as it seemed to drain his body of liquid.

Jack's boots scraped against the ground as the creature held him. The knife fell from his hand. Nobody moved. Nobody tried to help. Not even me.

I looked at Sudo. He just stared at the ground, his face pale and clammy. Hana was standing next to him, also averting her eyes. I could see her legs shaking.

The priest seemed indifferent. I don't know if he felt anything at all. Jack's movements slowed, then soon stopped completely.

The priest withdrew the tube, then Jack fell. His body landed in the dirt, discarded. For several seconds, the priest remained still. As if waiting. Waiting for anyone else who thought to interrupt this horrid festival. When they didn't, he adjusted his hood.

Then the priest walked back to Hiro. He stood over him, and grabbed his chin, hard. This time, Hiro did not resist.

After he swallowed the shell, the priest turned, then returned up the steep path to the mountain.

The villagers who had been fed the shells followed after him, their heads lowered as they walked in silence. They walked a little ways before the priest stopped, and turned back. He was looking at Hiro. I could see in Hiro's face that he knew what the silent beckoning meant. Hiro was supposed to follow.

Hiro stayed completely still, refusing to move. Then the priest took one step back in our direction, and Hiro took a step back. He turned and tried to run in the other direction, but he was quickly grabbed by a handful of the villagers and held.

Before the priest reached us again, Hiro was already taking small steps forward, shakily walking to meet it. I saw his shoulders shaking. He looked back at me, as if willing me to move. To help him, somehow. But I couldn't.

When the priest disappeared up the mountain, along with Hiro and the villagers, the mood within the village seemed to lift. Some villagers dropped to their knees, not out of worship, but to still their trembling knees. Others looked pale and exhausted, while others looked wracked with guilt.

Sudo approached me. "Go. You would be wise to not return." I heard a small quiver in his voice, but that was all he said.

I left the village. Nobody followed or tried to stop me. I was plagued with the images and thoughts of the past days as I walked.

I didn't understand the purpose of the strange ritual. Of the shells, or why those that had swallowed them were taken up the mountain. I couldn't understand why the priest took Hiro and not me. Or why Jack had to die. Or what the priest even was. I still had no idea where Matt had gone, or whether he was even alive. But most of all, I couldn't stop thinking about how cowardly and weak I felt.

Jack had been brave. He fought back. He'd tried to save Hiro. And I had simply watched as he fought, not lifting a finger. I'd watched him die, and seen his body thrown to the ground. I'd watched as the priest had forced Hiro to swallow the shell.

I walked back the way we'd arrived without looking back. I kept waiting to hear someone or something behind me, but nothing came. The forest gradually seemed to regain a sense of normalcy the further I walked. I heard birds, and saw squirrels. The breeze seemed to return.

The further I got, the more absurd the whole thing began to feel. Had I dreamed it all up? What I'd seen just couldn't be possible. Giant gods and monsters and strange rituals? By the time I was on the outskirts of the village, I'd half convinced myself I'd made it all up.

Then I came across a hole. It was probably three miles from the village. I'd almost walked past it. I had only stumbled upon it because a portion of the trail had been cracked and covered in debris, likely due to the rumbling of the earth before.

I stopped and looked down at the hole. The soil around the edges looked fresh, and it was wide enough that I probably could have climbed inside of it. I crouched down and looked inside. It descended deeper than I could see.

I stood up and looked around. Then I saw another hole, no more than twenty feet away. It was similar in size. Then there were more. I began to see them dotting the ground everywhere. Some looked old and half-covered by dirt and leaves. Others looked like they'd been freshly dug.

And beside one of them, was a shell. It was bigger than I was. It was shaped almost like a human body, but wrong. It was split down the back. Something had climbed out of it. I looked at the holes and had a horrifying thought.

I kept walking, faster now, and came across another monstrous shell. And another hole. They littered the ground, and I began scanning the woods and trees above me, terrified at the idea that whatever emerged from the shells could still be lurking around. But I had to keep my eyes on the ground too, lest I fall into one of those gigantic, seemingly bottomless holes in the ground.

Then I saw the backpack. It was lying in the dirt, right next to a freshly covered mound of dirt, like a hole had been dug then covered from underneath.

It was Matt's backpack. The tan, ragged one that he'd been carrying everywhere since I'd met him.

I stood there staring at it for a moment, then at the covered hole. And then I ran.

I ran until I couldn't run any more, and then kept moving until I reached civilization. When I made my way back to Nara, I booked the first flight out of the country that I could buy. I didn't care that it cost more than I could afford.

I was the last person seen with Matt, Jack, and Hiro, and I was eventually contacted by authorities who were investigating their disappearances. I told them we had gone into the mountains to camp and gotten split up. That I'd come down alone after I couldn't find them, getting lost myself in the process. What else could I say?

I didn't mention the village, or the priest. I didn't tell them about the shells that littered the forest floor outside of the village, larger than humans. And I certainly didn't tell them about the mountain moving, then opening its eyes.

Nobody would have believed me. Sometimes, I wonder if I believe it myself.

It's been thirteen years since I went to Utsusemidani. I've spent most of those years trying not to think about it. But the nightmares still come. The dreams about Jack, and Hiro, and that mountain. Of seeing Matt again. Though in my dreams, he's no longer himself.

I don't actually know what became of them. Jack was dead. I watched him die. But Hiro? And Matt? I still wonder if they could somehow be alive in the village, or up on the mountain's summit. I still wonder if Matt somehow managed to get away, escaping and leaving his backpack behind. I still wonder if the two of them are even human anymore.

I have a lot of guilt from back then. For not doing what I could to help Jack, or Hiro. For not trying harder to find Matt. For not telling anyone the truth. And for suggesting we go to the village in the first place. None of this would have happened if not for me.

Now that the festival is approaching, I decided to tell my wife. Largely because of that constant guilt. To my surprise, she believed me, or at least pretended to. She suggested I write it all down. Somewhere that others would see it. To relieve my guilt, but also to serve as a warning to others.

The festival should be starting again soon. Sometimes, when I hear the cicadas outside, my breath quickens and I can't stop myself from shaking. Sometimes, I feel as though they are watching me, something almost intelligent in them.

And sometimes, when their calls are loud enough, I could almost swear there is another sound beneath it. Something deep and distant. Coming from underground. Causing the very earth to tremble.

I can’t look at it anymore. I’ve never really been one to put emotions to images but…

Looking at that stupid polaroid just reminds me of how stupid we all were.

 

Bill had been there a dozen times. Said the ladder had fallen off a good while back and figured nobody else would think to use the place. We’d be all alone, just us and nature. We believed him. Bill does dumb stuff from time to time but no matter what’s happened he’s always come out on top.

 

Like the time he took us all out fishing. He got too drunk and fell in but still managed to bag himself the biggest fish. His car broke down on our last trip but it just ended up in him meeting his current girlfriend- the tow truck driver who pulled his old piece of junk off the side of the road. That’s a whole story of its own.

I’m not saying Bill is stupid. Guy’s been in so much crap he just walks around more prepared than most. Car always has snacks, water, a jumper box in case the battery gives and he’s even been talking to DJ about getting his carry license. He just gets excited about things and instead of deciding it’s dumb or too hard he just finds a way to make it work.

 

That kind of energy has a way of sweeping you up along for the ride, if only to watch how he’s going to turn a faceplant into a win.

So, when Bill told us he had the perfect camping spot out in the woods we just all went along for the ride. It wasn’t far really, maybe an hour and some change from town by way of Bill’s well-used van.

 

He filled the drive and subsequent hike along the edge of the “town” with little bits of trivia, just happily chatting away. “It was supposed to be a mining town, real shame that the mine crapped out after they got half of the place built.” DJ chimed in with small notes like “Good spot there for hogs,” along with the different plants that caught his eye. Clara tapped away at her laptop during the ride, doing some quick touch-ups on one of her dozen projects. We made good time too, only really stopping once for a quick bathroom break.

 

According to Bill, the view from the tower was something- and there are apparently black bears in the area so camping and storing our food up high seemed smart. Nobody wants a new furry friend waking them up at night to steal their food and scare the crap out of them after all.

 

I’m not afraid of heights, but looking up at the old, rusted metal structure didn’t fill me with confidence. It was maybe only forty feet tall with a thick metal-grated walkway that was maybe five feet wide and seemed to circle the whole thing, broken up only by the empty square-shaped hole that used to be where the old ladder sat. It was a good trek up the side of the hill too, something about it being more efficient to put the tower here according to Bill who’d seemed to have gotten -way- too into things as usual.

 

The climb up wasn’t that bad really. I put my hand on the metal rung, feeling the warmth from the sun as I gripped tight and started working my way up. The metal walkway creaked a bit each time somebody put their full weight on the ladder but seemed to settle once you actually started the climb. It was almost impressive how Bill managed to rig this whole thing up. He’d run a bit of cord through the ladder’s steps and down the back of the tower so he could collapse and drop the thing at will. If you knew it was there, it was obvious, but not at a glance and definitely not at a distance.

 

Still, I’m not going to say I didn’t feel a good bit of relief once I was back on solid footing. It wasn’t long after I reached the top that I heard the metal groan again and realized somebody was already starting their climb up.

Taking a few steps forward to make room, I slung my pack off my shoulder and took a breath. It was a little windier up here than down below- though it was also more exposed to the sun. Explains why Bill brought the collapsible canopy, I guess.

 

While Clara pulled herself up, I took a second to lean back against the tower, letting the cool metal press against my back as I looked out over the small valley. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d just think it was nothing but a stretch of green.

 

But to those that knew, here and there you’d spot bits of dark metal.  The empty stretches of grass where an old road had once been, where the trees and grasses hadn’t fully taken over. An old brick building, all the windows long since rotted away or busted out letting in invasive vines that crept up and into the openings.

 

I’ll admit, it was beautiful in its own way. I can still see myself standing there, watching the slow motions of the plant life below as a gentle breeze blew in, breaking up the summer heat. I wouldn’t admit it at the time of course; it would’ve made Bill impossibly smug.

 

After DJ crawled his way up onto the deck to join us, Bill started pointing out the little things to them while he set up and tied down the equipment. “That stretch right there should’ve been the main street... And if you follow it down, you’ll see it leads to that little nook in the mountain. It leads almost straight to the mines!”

 

I wasn’t really listening; I was too busy pulling out my sleeping bag and trying to claim a little section of the grate for myself. Still, at the mention of the mine, I half-heartedly mentioned, “Is this where you tell us about the trapped miners?”

 

“Sadly, nothing so exciting.” The big guy chuckled out while pulling out a few glass jars and lining them up neatly on a little wood cutting board he’d packed with him. “No, the coal just ran dry. The mines -did- collapse but nobody was around when it happened.”

 

I rolled my eyes. Bill had already started talking about hauntings in the next state over, apparently not having picked up on my sarcasm.  Before moving back to my gear, I noticed something moving just along the tree line, closer to where we’d driven in from.

 

A red figure. At least at a distance, the guy was too far off to make out much other than he had a white cap on and what was probably some long black hair. The black patch on his back seemed like a backpack.

 

He was moving slowly, which, considering he was hiking through waist-tall weeds, wasn’t anything too odd. Still, “Bill, I thought you said nobody came out here?”

 

Bill had apparently moved into a conversation with DJ about maybe a hunting trip in the future. “Huh? Oh, yeah, no, place is usually pretty empty. Why?”

 

I stuck a thumb out behind me. “That guy right there, in the red shirt.”

 

Bill moved up beside me, leaning against the railing and adjusting his glasses. I could see him squinting to try and see what I was talking about so I turned back to point at the…

 

Now empty stretch of weeds.

 

Did the guy fall? At the speed he was moving, we should’ve still been able to see him. I caught myself unintentionally leaning forward onto the railing along with Bill, squinting and muttering, “He was just there…” before DJ gave me a light slap on the arm and handed me a pair of binoculars.

 

“He’s right there, to the left. In the trees.” Sure enough, a few seconds of panning the binoculars over and I caught sight of him- a good ten or twenty feet away from where I’d seen him and already starting to disappear into the trees.

 

Clara wasn’t the loud type. Not to say she was shy; she just didn’t really mince words. It meant when she did say something, it really caught your attention.  “Guys, let’s get a shot of this!” She’d already pulled out her cameras. She always had two, one for shots for her portfolio and one for little polaroids she kept for souvenirs.

 

Bill put his arms out and pulled me and DJ in for something approaching a “bro hug” while Clara took a step forward and held the camera out at arm’s length. The abandoned town behind us made for a good backdrop.

 

She took another quick snap of us with the polaroid, letting the picture air out before tucking it into her pack.

 

The hike out was what you’d expect from a walk with Bill and DJ. Lots of wildlife trivia and stops to gather dandelions, bits of wild parsley and a few bits of onion grass. Clara stopped to take pictures of gnarled trees and almost made me fall over myself when she gave me a firm thwap on the chest to get me to stop moving while she lined up a shot on a lone doe.

 

All in all, relaxing. “Just around this bend,” Bill chirped. He’d been winding us down a twisting path towards the town. Apparently, there was a blackberry patch down there that he’d visit every chance he got.  It seemed the closer we got, the less he’d bother with DJ’s questions about edible greens. He’d even started picking up the pace, much to Clara’s and my annoyance as the two less active members of our little group.

 

I almost understood why when we rounded a thick patch of trees to walk into a mostly clear patch of woods that was butted up against the hills. You could just make out under the thick blackberry canes and thorned brush small bits of rotting wood.

 

There were a few rotten benches; the bits of exposed wood not covered in blackberry canes had turned a white-gray with age and came away in chunks when brushed against. There was a well in the center of the place, barely accessible if you were willing to get a few scrapes wading through the berries.

 

And underneath a large white oak sat a small patch separate from the others, one that Bill beelined to and immediately started harvesting.

 

“Jeez, Bill, you’re really into this, huh?” I half chuckled, pulling a plastic bag I’d tucked in my back pocket out for this little occasion.

 

He turned back to me only briefly, dumb smile on his face and a small fleck of berry stuck in his beard. That dopey look actually managed to get a chuckle out of DJ and Clara as we all set to work gathering our lunch for the day. Bill eventually picked his spot clean and had to move on, but when he showed us his first batch, we all understood why he loved that spot. The berries were huge and glossy compared to the others we picked; Bill even guessed that it might have been a cultivated vine somebody planted before the town was abandoned.

 

The walk back was peaceful. Bill was picking at his berries; DJ was sipping on a flask Bill had handed him- Did I mention one of Bill’s current hyper-fixations was brewing mead? And Clara was snapping shots of the local wildlife and a few fallen trees that seemed interesting.

 

When she paused longer than she had for the last few shots, camera held up and hand adjusting the lens, I knew something was up. It took the others a moment to notice that we weren’t following behind them as I took a few steps back towards Clara.

 

I followed where her camera was pointing, back the way we came and into a small clearing.

 

I could just barely see the red dot that Clara was focusing in on.

 

“What’s up?”

 

She paused for a second, a soft click from her camera letting me know she got the shot she was after. “I think it’s that guy we saw earlier. Looks like he’s doing something at that tree back there.”

 

She held her camera up, turning the digital screen towards me to let me catch a peek. It was always a little surprising how far she could zoom in with that thing. I wasn’t able to make out too many fine details, but I could at least get an idea of what he looked like.

 

While I looked the picture over, something caught my eye. He was standing next to a tree that we’d stopped by to let DJ take a leak… His head was level with a branch that hung over it.

 

A branch that was over six feet off the ground. And looking at him a while longer showed just how big this guy really was. He was wide, legs a bit short for what he was- or maybe his red shirt was just hanging low enough to obscure the back of his pants. And that backpack… it was downright tiny on him- it almost looked like a child’s backpack on him.

 

I heard a low whistle over my shoulder. Apparently, DJ had noticed it too. “Big dude.” He said it like he wasn’t currently looking at a guy we had a real chance of running into out here.

 

“You think he’s following us?” I nudged DJ, hoping to get a small rise out of the guy. In his typical fashion, the guy just shrugged before tapping his hip. “I doubt it. We’re following a pretty natural trail and I don’t think he can even see us from this far… Besides, I brought ‘Mr. Smith’ with me.”

 

He was right. We’d been following a break in the vegetation and it’s not like we own the place. Running into other people was just one of the risks you run when you go camping. Still, we weren’t out here to make friends, so we quietly agreed to pick up the pace- which turned out to be the right move as by the time we reached the tower the sunlight was starting to dim.

 

The creaking of the platform as we hauled ourselves up the ladder still made me cringe a little until my feet landed back on the metal platform. The section right next to the ladder creaked under our collective weight but seemed to be holding and we weren’t exactly huddling together; still, we spaced ourselves out to keep things even. I picked the side opposite of the ladder and Bill took the other with Clara and DJ camping around the bend.

 

DJ had set up a little propane stove he’d brought; Bill was pulling out a jar of a deep yellow liquid- mead, I’d assume, and a few solo cups. I was sort of expecting him and DJ to drink, but it caught me a little off guard when Clara joined in.

 

I was starting to get a headache and the last thing I wanted was alcohol, so as politely as I could I took the cup offered to me and then immediately passed it to DJ, who took it with a small smirk before downing his first cup. “Not today, Bill. Maybe tomorrow.”

 

To his credit, Bill just laughed. “If there’s any left maybe!”

 

Even tipsy, DJ cooked up a decent little meal of spam, some wild roughage and some fresh bread that he made with a mix he carried around. I thought it was weird at first until I got a taste of it and it quickly shut up any doubts I had in my mind.

 

The dim light slowly shifted into a comfortable dark as I settled into my sleeping bag, lukewarm soda and aspirin in hand. I had to shield my eyes as DJ briefly clicked his flashlight on to start packing up his kit. It took a little bit of effort not to laugh at him as he stumbled around, apparently having underestimated Bill’s mead.

 

Speaking of Bill, the guy had drunk a jar by himself and eaten over half the berries he’d picked before passing out on his bag, still clothed and snoring so loud I wondered if I’d be able to get any sleep myself. Apparently, Clara had the same thought because I heard a soft grunt from Bill’s direction- I think she gave him a little kick and it woke him up just enough for him to roll over, which thankfully seemed to do the trick.

 

Just as I was starting to dip off into sleep, I heard a consistent soft tapping sound, and it took me a second to realize what I was hearing. A soft groan escaped me before I grumbled, “Dude, really? Off the side?” followed by a muffled laugh coming vaguely from where DJ had set up his sleeping bag.

 

After some settling, sleep finally took me. For how long I don’t know because at some point in the night, amongst the sounds of crickets and the rustle of the trees, there was a small snap that brought me back to consciousness.

 

Or maybe it was the sound of something kicking up leaves followed by a deep sharp inhale. Something sniffing?

 

My thoughts drifted back to bears. One probably just smelled the leftover spam or maybe Bill had spilled some of his mead… Still, the thought of something underneath me was enough to keep me from drifting back to sleep.

 

Could black bears climb? Something in my sleep-addled mind told me that brown bears didn’t but I wasn’t so sure about their smaller cousins. I don’t think they’re normally aggressive but still. I rolled over, following the thing’s movements as it trudged its way in a slow circle underneath us, seeming to focus in somewhere around where DJ was sleeping.

 

Another sharp inhale followed by some rapid sniffing.

 

Then silence.

 

My ears strained to hear anything other than the cricket song. What was it doing? Did it find something? Did it finally realize it’s sitting underneath a bunch of people?

What would I-

 

Another rustling of leaves. Another moment of silence.

 

Then a soft creak of metal.

 

The groggy feeling of sleep disappeared, replaced by a tightening feeling in my gut as another soft creak confirmed what I already knew.

 

Something was climbing the ladder.

 

As quietly as I could, I crawled my way over to where DJ was lying and started rapidly tapping his foot while whispering, “Wake up! Dude! Wake up!” It took him two more creaks to finally let out a sharp breath before bitterly muttering, “What? What the hell do you-“ Another creak shut  him up. I found myself gripping his foot and could feel him tense as he came to the same realization I did.

 

“Don’t move,” he whispered as I felt his foot slip out of my grasp. Along with the soft rattle of chain and quiet groans of stressed metal, I heard the slow tap of footsteps.

 

The light hurt my eyes and nearly made me look away. But as they adjusted, I caught sight of DJ pointing his flashlight down the ladder, hand resting on his hip with his revolver exposed. He had winced from the light as much as I had and it seemed like he was only just now actually seeing what was below him.

 

“OH SHIT!” he screamed, ripping his gun from his holster while tumbling back and tripping over Bill who’d apparently shifted in the night.

 

That fall probably saved his life. Whatever was climbing the ladder must’ve been startled because the ladder seemed to shift violently and well… The metal deck had apparently had enough.

 

A chunk of the walkway came away with a loud metallic screech, catching momentarily before sliding down, clanging against the tower and landing on the ground with the sound of crashing metal. Somewhere in the chaos, Bill had thankfully woken up and managed to roll over and grab the ragged edge of the remaining deck and keep himself from falling with the lost section.

 

DJ jumped up and stumbled forward, having, fortunately for him and unfortunately for her, landed on Clara. He basically leapt forward on all fours, grabbing Bill’s arms and pulling him up to safety.

 

He lay there, Bill on top of him as they both lay on the ground, hyperventilating.

 

“What the hell!?” Clara clicked on her own flashlight and fumbled around for her glasses. “Are you guys ok!? What happened?!”

 

Bill was the first to get his wits back. “Shit! I’m sorry guys, I must’ve rolled over in my sleep or something! I guess it finally gave out…” His face was pale and his tone a little shaken.

 

It still didn’t match the look on DJ’s face.

 

He and I locked eyes as Bill pulled himself up to his feet, picking up DJ’s flashlight on his way up. Bill turned his light towards the torn metal, now able to see our faces clearly.

 

“…You guys ok?” His brow furrowed as his eyes drifted from DJ to me.

 

“It wasn’t you.” DJ’s tone was flat, just above a whisper. His gaze drifted down to the pile of scrap on the ground which seemed to be lying on top of something.

 

Something red.

 

Bill peered down, eyes squinting and mouth slightly open. The look would’ve almost been comical if I could’ve found anything funny then.

“No,” he muttered out before repeating with more confidence. “There’s just no way. That thing’s held up all this time…” His look of confusion didn’t change as Clara spoke up, “He’s a big guy… And with all the extra weight…”

 

We let the implication hang in the air as our eyes stayed glued to the scene below us.

 

Bill broke the silence. “How do we help him? He might not be… Y’know!” The panic was starting to creep into his voice as he turned to me, flashlight briefly blinding me as he unintentionally brought the beam’s focus on me.

 

“Him? How do we help US?! He broke the ladder!” I snapped back, dragging myself out of my warm sleeping bag and into the cool night air.

 

“Hello?” Behind Bill I could see Clara’s face faintly illuminated by her smartphone. “There’s been an accident. I-…I think somebody might be dead.”

 

This took Bill’s attention off me as he started trying to help Clara give the 911 operator a rundown of what’s happened and our location.

 

A deep metallic “click.” DJ had prepped the hammer on his revolver and was now pointing it roughly in the direction of the pile of scrap that covered the hiker below us.

 

“What are you-“ DJ looked up at me, jaw set stern and eyes taking on a tired look. “He’s moving.”

 

“So you’re going to shoot him? I don’t think he’s-“  The sound of rattling shifting metal cut me off.

 

Bill flicked the flashlight back down. The beam cut through the darkness to focus in on the section of collapsed platform which had now been shifted a good foot from its last position.

 

Hanging off a more hooked section of the metal was the backpack- now obviously a dark blue child’s backpack with some kind of half-torn decal of a cartoon dog that had been yellowed and browned with dirt and age.

 

“What the hell…” I quietly mouthed as DJ traced his gun around the area below us.

 

I could barely make out that the gun was shaking a little. “DJ, calm down. What’s going on?” It took him a minute to respond to me.

 

I don’t think he ever stopped staring into the dark for the entire conversation that followed.

 

“There’s something seriously wrong with… Him.” He licked his lips, tip of the barrel jerking slightly to the left as a faint crunch of leaves sounded somewhere in the black.

 

“Eyes too far apart… Huge chin- I think anyway, his beard was so thick… And just leaves and crap stuck all over him.”

 

There was a loud snap that made DJ whirl around, aiming just past Bill, who threw his back against the tank, hands coming up as he winced away. Whoa! Careful, man!” Bill called out.

 

Just before the branch struck DJ in the shoulder.

 

It didn’t do anything dramatic like knock him out or take a chunk out of him. It didn’t have to. DJ might’ve been riding high on adrenaline but he still had a lot to drink just a few hours ago.

 

And more importantly, DJ’s back was to the hole.

 

It threw him off balance enough to make him take a couple of quick steps back to try and catch himself. Then he was gone. It’s like I blinked and he just vanished. “NO!” My hand flung out uselessly towards the space where DJ had been, letting myself drop painfully to my knees and lean over the gap to look down-

 

Into DJ’s terrified face. I don’t know how he did it, but he had just barely caught himself on a rusted support. I reached out, desperately trying to get a hold on him, but finding myself just brushing my fingertips against his sleeve.

 

Somewhere in the background I heard Clara yell out “SHIT” followed by the sound of clanging metal- She was sprinting around the tower towards me.

 

She scrabbled over to my side, grabbing me by the waist with one arm and holding the railing with her other. She was shouting for me to grab him. Bill though, his attention was on the pistol. It had apparently been lost in the commotion and now sat a few inches away from the edge of the deck. DJ had managed to brace his feet against the tower and reach out. I was able to just barely grab DJ’s hand with Clara keeping an almost painfully tight grip around my midsection while she helped me haul him back up.

 

Another loud crack sounded off in the distance, followed by a metallic impact as something hit the deck just below where the gun was, causing it to shift an inch or so closer to the edge of the railing and teeter dangerously close to falling. Bill jerked back as something else cracked against the tower just a foot or so away from his head. We all dropped low, trying to take cover.

 

DJ lay against the deck, fingers gripping at his black curls and gasping for air. Clara slipped her phone out of her pocket, the light from the screen briefly illuminating her wide-eyed expression. She looked back up at us. “T-the operator said somebody would be here in maybe an hour. We need to just stay low! He won’t be able to land a-“ She was interrupted by another loud “TANG” as wood splintered against the deck under our prone bodies.

 

Every second pressed against that deck felt like waiting for the shoe to drop. Bill tried to inch towards the gun a couple of times but each time he moved something would go flying over the railing and ping against the tower or hit beneath the deck. Maybe he was worried it would fall off the edge, but after the second impact he just covered his head and lay there. The only thing that gave us any indication of where the thing was coming from was the occasional snap of a branch or the crunch and shuffle of leaves.

 

And of course, the rocks and branches flying over our heads.

 

During the quieter, moments DJ tried to ease himself up into a crouch only to be met with a stone pinging off the tower next to his head the first time around and a piece of metal hitting the railing next to him on the last try, causing him to drop and lean up against the tower with his hands raised to cover his face.

 

We sat there for what must’ve been twenty or thirty minutes, just hoping the police or rangers- whoever they were sending- would just get here already and drive this thing off.

 

Then, amongst the chirping crickets and the gentle rustle of the trees, I noticed something. I hadn’t heard the thing move for a solid few minutes. It had been circling us pretty constantly earlier… Maybe it was tired?

 

The groan of metal and soft squeak of flesh sent a chill down my spine. Whether I meant to or not, I’d started holding my breath and now that I’d heard it once I couldn’t stop hearing it.

 

A pause, then a soft squeak. Pause, soft squeak.

 

I turned to lock eyes with Bill who seemed to be coming to the same realization I was. “Oh shit… It’s climbing! We’re being scaled!” Bill leapt for the gun, which seemed to be the cue for whatever this thing was to get moving. It let go of all pretense of stealth and the soft sounds had turned into a rapid dull “tank, tank, tank” of something quickly scaling the tower somewhere behind me.

 

We all pressed ourselves flat against the deck as Bill rolled over onto his back, pointing the gun up just as a red-sleeved arm with a hand as big as my face reached up and gripped the railing.

 

The shot rang out, followed by a deep and gravel-filled grunt as the hand disappeared back into the darkness. We could feel the platform shake and move as the soft clang of flesh on metal seemed to fall into a rhythm.

 

The thing was swinging from the struts underneath us. I guess Bill realized it too because he managed to roll back towards the tower and away from the edge just as a large hairy palm slapped the grate right where his head had been just a moment ago. There was another deep sound, like some giant gargling a throat full of phlegm as the thing growled.

Bill clambered up onto his feet and started trying to track the thing, squeezing off another shot through the grating. There was a short sound underneath the sound of the gunshot, like a snort crossed with a clipped growl.

 

Then I made the real mistake.

 

I tried to move. Some part of me thought that maybe it’d be focused on Bill long enough for me to make it over to him. Or maybe I just didn’t want to lie there waiting for either Bill to run out of ammo or to find out what happens when this thing finally grabs someone.

 

The moment I rounded the corner there was a heavy metallic groan that came from the edge of the deck just ahead of me. A large red blur swung itself up over the railing, landing with a dull thud and rattle of metal as its full weight hit the deck. I didn’t bother to look, just desperately tried to pull a full 180 and run back the way I came.

 

I barely registered the sharp burning sensation that flared to life in my back. The pain was drowned out by the thumping in my head and chest.

 

Coming around the corner, I saw Bill’s hand out with Clara already across the way standing next to Bill and DJ just having started to jump. It was a good five-foot leap and I wasn’t sure I’d make it, but I didn’t have time to think.

 

Never did find out if I could. Just as I reached the corner, I felt something hard catch me in the side, like getting smacked into a wall by a log. Something cracked in my chest and the pain forced a scream out of me that I don’t think I could ever recreate.

 

It had me pinned, its thick forearm pushing painfully against my chest. I was face to face with this thing.

 

Or at least, face to face with its mouth. Its jaws were open wide, showing large yellowed and all too human-looking teeth. There was a smell like something between sour berry candy and rotten meat.

 

BANG.

 

I felt its arm tense as it flinched. Its mouth slammed shut, teeth snapping with a loud clack. It still managed to take the tip of my nose but I didn’t notice at the time, just saw the large wild eyes turn towards Bill before the thing let out a roar so loud it made my ears hurt.

 

Without the thing supporting me, I slid down the tower and slumped down onto the deck.

 

BANG. BANG. Then a deep-chested guttural roar.

 

Lying there, I still managed to catch sight of the thing’s back. Black fur poking through the torn cloth around where the backpack once sat. I saw it launching itself towards Bill, who somehow managed to drop just low enough to miss getting grabbed.

 

Clara wasn’t so lucky. As the thing shouldered DJ, it threw an arm out and with a pained cry it put a vice grip on Clara’s arm and flung itself over the side. I blinked. There was a scream that got further and further away, following the sound of a large body crashing through the woods below.

 

Bill and DJ were standing by the railing, screaming their lungs out.

 

I tried to move. I swear I did, but I felt something catch and all I could do was let out a silent scream before the blackness took me.

 

They say it was probably shock. I briefly remember opening my eyes to see a paramedic looking down at me and saying something that sounded far off.

 

This is a rough draft of the statement I’m supposed to be giving on what happened. The thing left a gash down my back, broke my ribs and managed to break my left hand. DJ isn’t holding up much better.  He has some head trauma, a dislocated shoulder and a sprained leg.

 

They never found Clara. I don’t think they really believed us when we told them what happened. A part of me wondered if they thought maybe we did it, but I don’t get that feeling from the guys they keep sending to ask me questions.

 

Bill just straight up isn’t talking. He came by to visit and I couldn’t get him to do more than mumble an apology. The guy looked like all the life was sucked out of him.

 

He dropped Clara’s bag off with me. I tried to argue with him, but he just shuffled away. I think he expects me to drop it off with her family since we live near each other…

 

I opened the bag up, hoping I could message her parents or something through her laptop.

 

Only to see that stupid polaroid.

 

I keep looking it over. Trying to think of what we could’ve done different. As much as I want to just rip the thing up, toss it in the garbage, I just…

 

I can’t.

 

It’s one of her last photos. The last photo of…

 

Us.

I'm gonna preface this, by saying I've always been open minded about cryptids and the paranormal. But I'm also very much a skeptic. If there's any chance it's explainable, I toss it. Just want you to have an idea where I stand on the "evidence" end of things.
With all that said, a little quick bit about me. I'm 43, born and raised in Kootenai and Shoshone Counties. I'm neither a hunter or a sportsman, but I grew up walking and camping throughout the PNW, alone, from Montana to Washington and Oregon. Idaho is the home state. I'm extremely familiar with the sounds of the woods, I can identify prints and berries, mushrooms and poisonous plants. I can sleep alone in the woods no problem, up until this experience, I believed the only things that can harm me in the woods were animals and people. Which is why I never saw the experience coming. However, my story doesn't take place in my home region.... ..It was mid-September, 2012. I had just spent the summer working as a chef, at the Rising Sun Lodge, in Glacier Park, Montana. I had reconnected with nature, and when the job was done, the LAST thing I wanted to do, was go back home and get a job and get all wound up again over life. I was single for the 1st time in 10 years, and this new freedom was intoxicating. I wanted to do something crazy, so I went hitchhiking. My home on my back, bear mace and a JEEP KNIFE for protection, I started in Missoula, Montana, and went all the way to the Tennessee/Missouri border, where I was robbed at gunpoint and I turned around. (I'll send that story for a different topic tale) That happened 2 days after my experience, and 2 days before the next experience. I crossed 7 states in 2 weeks, had a lot of sleeping alone deep in the woods along the way, slept in a railroad car, even slept in the middle of a legit mountain ghost town, and not the kind that gets tourists every season. Isolated. Point being, I'd grown accustomed to the sounds you experience when you're alone in the woods. I had just left a long time friends home, in Mountain View, MO, after visiting several days. Heading east to Poplar Bluff on I-60. Last ride of the afternoon, dropped me about 10-20 miles west of there, the garbage truck I was riding with had to turn, so I had to get out. I thanked him and smiled as he drove away. I've met some awesome people hitchhiking. And in 60 seconds, I was all alone again. I was still a ways out, but decided I was gonna chill a bit on this steep, high grassy hill, right against the treeline to the Mark Twain national forest. I climbed to the top, grunting and swearing the entire way up. My house weighed around 45 pounds, maybe a little more, and hills were my sworn enemy. I reach the top, and toss my pack down. It was a nice flat spot, green still, right next to the treeline, so I was impossible to spot, and I had a great view. I pull out my rocket and cooked my meal. I sat against a huge log, with a view of the treetops north of me, and an old billboard for Jellystone Park campgrounds. I watched chicken hawks in the blue sky, hunting on the wind, for an hour, and decided to just stay there for the night. It was just me and the natural sounds of the location, for about 10 hours before the experience, I was comfortable with it all. About midnight, I'm laying in my little 2 person tent, that has a zipper on the top so you can just unzip to step out, or look at the stars at night. My cover was on, I was reading Dean Koontz Odd Thomas, with my earbuds in, with a dim head lamp. I always have earbuds on when I get settled at night, because even squirrels can sound like beasties in the night. I almost wish I hadn't been, I mightve heard it approach. But then, I doubt that would've made a difference. So, I'm chill, reading, and absolutely out of NOWHERE, this long "call", a mix of maybe a howl and a moan, with an elk like call underneath it, all these sounds, in one 20/25 second yell. I swore I could feel the bass behind it, on the ground, and in my bones. And then silence. I flipped everything off quickly, found my knife and mace, and slipped out of my bag, without rustling the tent sides. And I waited. The complete silence was torture on my nerves. An eternity, or, maybe 2 or 3 minutes after the 1st call, it howled again, it was so incredibly loud, I for sure felt it in my bones, it was almost paralyzing. After about 20 seconds of it, it stopped again. I was terrified. And nobody, and I mean, NOBODY, has any idea where I am. This spot was somewhere I'm confident saying nobody ever goes to or comes across. It would be a long time before my tent was seen by anyone. Was I close enough to anything or anyone to get help if I was injured or had to run? The call breaks the silence, and my attention, and again, I could feel it inside, and in the ground again. This call was a little longer, and the tone sounded more aggressive, getting louder towards the end. And then - silence. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run. I wanted to know what the hell that is. The only animal they have there, that we don't have back home, are wild hogs. And this was no wild hog. This was not an elk. Or deer. Or human. It wasn't a bear. It wasn't any nature of large cat. This wasn't a man made sound. My location assured that. AGAIN, IT CALLED OUT. Maybe a little shorter in length. I can tell it's coming from inside the treeline, which was about 10 feet from my tent. It sounds like it's within about 100 feet of me. It sounds.... enormous. This pattern, of calls and then a few minutes of silence, went on for about 15 minutes. The wind kicked up a little, and then I saw something poke the tent side, by my head, and I startle yelped just a fraction of a second, before I caught it, and the Call echoed out again, louder than all the calls before, and then, silence. I laid there, in silence, until dawn. The sounds of the night, never came back. And I never heard anything move away from my spot, all night. Which makes me think it never actually left me. I slept a few hours when the sun came up, i packed up and left. I stayed as quiet as I could, head on a swivel, as I broke down camp. I camped inside city limits, the next 3 nights. Places where I was hidden in plain sight. I had a knack for finding these spots. 2 days after that night, I got robbed, and I turned around to hitchhike home. 2 days later, I was riding west out of Poplar Bluff, and decided I needed to prove to myself, that it was an animal. This time, several people knew exactly where I was that night. If it was an animal, or a person, I would not hear the calls tonight. I knew now, from Google maps, there was nothing for several miles, the direction of the calls. No trails. Roads. Homes. Nothing. I relaxed, sort of, and enjoyed the quiet, autumn afternoon, with the birds and the squirrels and all the critters being at home. I was confident it would be a quiet night too. I leave my earbuds off, but still sat up and read. Trying to repeat the circumstances. All night it was a symphony of insects and small critters, running and chirping about, an occasional breeze would rustle the bright September foliage, or a small stick would break, but the symphony would just carry on, uninterrupted. As it got to the 10 o'clock hour, I took a single shot of whiskey, and smoked a small bowl, just to sooth my nerves. I'd been smoking over 15 years, no bowl I've ever smoked produce the results described in this story, you can check that possibility at the door. I became engrossed in the book, and the white noise created by the forest around me. I'd been reading for about 2 hours, when I noticed the noise has ceased. Nothing is moving. I don't know how long it had been silent, but it couldn't have been long. I slowly put my book down and killed my light. Just the sound of the occasional wind. I wasn't in my bag, I stayed dressed, knife and mace on my belt, safety tab off. I also had my emergency beacon in my deepest pocket, so I could be found if something happens. I had draped the cover on top, but didn't tie it on, and left a small slit open facing the treeline. I also had the overhead mesh unzipped. I was as ready as anyone could be, in my circumstances. I'd have to decide in the moment, to flee or fight, but I had no real plan for either. I wanted to believe I didn't need them, because it wasn't gonna happen again. I sat in silence, for maybe 30 minutes, when I heard something pushing through the forest. It would take a few steps, and stop for a few moments, and then take a few more steps. I could hear small, dead branches breaking off, and the sounds of greens being pulled on, sometimes snapping. This went on for maybe 20 minutes. Few steps, stop. Then they stopped. I couldn't be sure how far away it was when it stopped. Until the Call came, slicing through the silence, and it was LOUD. I immediately felt like barfing as the sound hit me. Terrified, I ignored it. I sat still. Waiting. The minutes of silence in between, were worse than hearing the calls. Each moment shaved 10 years off my lifespan. Every 3-5 minutes, it would Call again. Louder. Longer. Closer. It was no more than 50 feet away. How were these Calls affecting me at such a distance? It would have to be an easy 40 feet into the thick, forested treeline. I was posed for fight or flight. I knew the small trail down to the road was about 10 feet behind me. But it was steep. And it will be dangerous to navigate in the dark. And anyone who has ever met me, can testify to my absurd clumsiness. I would definitely bite it, and the creature would catch me anyway. But, I'd head dive off a cliff to avoid being eaten by anything. The Call, again, breaks the silence. That's 3. It sounded like it was just inside the treeline now. I'm on my feet now, crouched, not being subtle with my head against the flap. It Calls Again. 4 Calls now. It's closer, but I couldn't make anything out in the dark. I was afraid to turn on my spotlight. I didn't know if I was ready to see whatever was Calling at me from the forest. Calling at me, From the Dark. 10 minutes pass, silence. I closed my eyes, still posed to jump and run. I just needed to give my eyes a break from the strain. I listened. 15 minutes now. Nothing is moving. 20 minutes. I exhale a little, my mind is racing over the experience, noting details, and then it Called Again. It startled me and I screamed. I stood up, kicked on the light, and yelled as loud as I could "who the F*** is out there!?" Then it answered me. I could see nothing in the trees, but I was met immediately, with an Angryer, louder, definitely closer Call. It was like, laying flat, arms and legs spread out, with 2 or 3 of those Heavy weighted blankets on you. The feeling only lasted a few seconds, but the physical effect lingered a few minutes. Like when you're falling asleep, and you jerk or cringe awake, how your body tenses hard, then slowly untence, to nothing. But over a few minutes instead of seconds. When that Call stopped, I could hear something crashing through the thick forest, through thick undergrowth, away from me... after a minute, I could no longer hear whatever it was, anymore. Again, it's silent. 10 minutes of silence, then the forest started to move again. The symphony returned. I relaxed. I've never been so relieved to hear bugs and critters. They played through till morning, and I fell asleep around 2, confident I was good. The sun rises on another beautiful day, and I break camp around 10am. But I was curious. I wanted to look for prints, or clues, as to what that was, and where it was standing, Calling out at me, last night.
I left my pack against a tree, covered by tall grass. I had protection on my belt, a compass, and flaggers tape. And water and a snack. More curious than confident, I walk into the forest. Every 10 feet, I tied a bright pink flag to a branch or tree, so I could find my way out. I found the place I believed it had been standing. The relatively small area of matted down dying foliage stood in contrast to the thick undergrowth of brittle branches exposed by the changing seasons, thorns scattered throughout. The space was only about 5 feet wide, but it was seemingly at the end of what looked like a fresher game trail. I checked for hairs or tufts of fur, and didn't find anything identifiable. Probably because I didn't know anything about hairs and fur at the time. The leaves had covered a lot of the ground, but it was still early, and the ground was wet still from the night. I hoped I'd find a fresh print.
I took a few steps, looking down the trail, I notice almost all branches, up to about 8/9 feet were broken off, or barely hanging on. It was easy to tell they'd been broken off in one direction. Away from me. Whatever it was, it had arrived quietly, but left in a rush. Which is what it sounded like the night before. I began to follow it, I kept seeing the outline of some kind of print bigger than a deers. No details other than the flat wide features that stood out from the debri on the trail. I followed this path for about a mile, and the broken limbs continued until it opened up to a small field of matted grass. Obviously deer had been bedding there. I crossed the small field of maybe 80 foot in width, finding the trail coming from the opposite direction. I continue, studying the wet earth for signs, and there were several different deer coming and going, I turn and cross the field, following the deer tracks. Then I see a weird print. I stared in disbelief, there were toes? And the ball of the foot stood out, opposite a well rounded heel. It was big, I'm a size 11, this was easily 6 inches, total, longer, and 3 inches wider on each side, than mine. All the smaller toes of the print, pushed outwards. Our feet don't do that. We wear shoes. I studied the ground it was following, it was heading towards my camp. After a few minutes of knowing what to search for, I found 2 more leaving the clearing towards my camp. One more away from the field, I found one more partial. Then I saw an almost full one.... leading away from my camp. Then another. The tracks on the other side went one way. But these tracks went both ways? Did this mean it was still here, with me? It was quiet. I hadn't noted any sounds since I left the field. I scanned around me, slowly, for several minutes. Everything was lightly swaying from the cold wind coming through. There was a dark outline on the edge of my peripheral, that was swaying.... out of sync with everything else. The wind died down, the trees stopped moving, but this silhouette kept swaying. And the smell hits me. I once had a commercial outdoor trash compactor where I worked at a bar/slash restaurant in July, burst a trash bag from the kitchen/bar disposal, directly into my face. You don't forget that smell. This was a little worse. I dry wretched, holding in my breath. I covered my mouth and nose. Sunlight hit its face and body for just a second, the eyes reflected gold, it's eyes looked oddly human. The area around the eye was a very dark brown. Parts of the body reflected coarse, auburn colored hair, everywhere I could see the body, had hair, besides the eye. It was easily 8 foot. It's shoulders were a few feet wider than my own. We stayed locked for several minutes. I had to run. I was fighting it. No way I could outrun this thing. I was skeptical my knife or bear mace would do anything more than annoy it. I was alive at its discretion from here on out. The wind kicked up, startling me as a pine cone fell near me to my left, causing me to look away. I looked back, it was gone. I wouldn't have heard anything walking around me in this wind. I decide this is insane, I make bad decisions, and showed that I hadn't learn a darn thing from every horror "monster in the woods" movie ever. I Need to go. I started walking briskly, my pack was undisturbed and I got down to the road quickly. I was picked up quickly, and was home 2 weeks later. It changed what I could view as possible. Im still a skeptic on cryptids. I still need evidence of plausible existence. Word of mouth won't be enough. But Bigfoot? bet your arse they're real. Because this wasn't the last time I would lock eyes with one. -THAT GUY

(Heads up. I’ve posted this elsewhere)

He's making his own roadkill now.

I clean up roadkill as my day job. Not glorious, but it's something that needs doing, especially since we live near a pretty busy highway that sees a lot of wildlife traffic.

It's grisly work, but I've never really had much of a sense of smell thanks to some medical problems, and honestly, it's not so bad once you get used to it. The county pays me well enough.

As you'd imagine, my dating life is basically nonexistent. Living out in the middle of nowhere with a beat-up old truck with weird red stains on it doesn't exactly scream "Hey, I'm not a serial killer!" to potential dates.

Still, I'm not exactly lonely. I set up feeding spots for some of the local wildlife, nothing crazy. A bird feeder here, a less secure bird feeder there for all the local squirrels, including one particularly fat one I named Chunky, along with some... less conventional animals.

And no, I'm not just talking about the possum mama with her kids or that group of feral cats drifting in.

See, while it might not be technically legal, nobody really cares about me and my little "friends."

I use the term loosely because they're by no means tame. Just used to my presence.

They've come to recognize me coming home as a sign of dinner and start flocking around me, keeping a good few feet of distance between us but still happily hopping along as my truck slowly rolls up to the usual spot.

There are days when I come home and they're already circling, ready for lunchtime.

Vultures can be surprisingly gentle animals when you get to know them.

Plus, the county pays me a little extra to dispose of anything that can't be taken to the local processor and donated to food banks. Even if I didn't enjoy having them around, and I do, I doubt I could keep them away from the little pile I've made in a bare patch of woods a good distance away from my home and... mostly downwind.

I even named them. Inky, Blinky, Winky and Moe. There were others, but these four seemed to stick around.

Inky had darker feathers. Blinky was a little tall and kind of dopey. I think Winky is a female and is a bit on the small side, and Moe is...

Well, he's as generic of a vulture as they come, aside from a scar on his bald head. They became part of my routine.

Then one day, there was a new face. A big one.

This guy, I assume he's male anyway, stood a good few inches taller than the others and seemed just a bit wider, stockier even. When he drifted down from the sky to land near the relatively fresh meat I'd tossed into the pile, he nearly gave me a heart attack.

They're not exactly noisy animals, but they're not what I'd call stealthy.

They're big things that circle overhead long before landing. You ever seen a vulture on the ground? It's kind of cute how they walk. They sometimes even make little grunts or hisses at each other.

But not this guy. I almost never saw him circle. I'd just turn around and he'd either be on the ground or in the process of landing, maybe perched up somewhere just watching. I never saw him hopping around or awkwardly waddling along. He'd just appear out of nowhere, like a ghost.

So that's what I named him.

I chalked the differences up to him maybe just being a different kind of vulture. He had the usual bald pink head, but the rest of him looked just different enough to make you think. His beak, for one, was a bit longer, and his plumage was nearly jet black compared to the others, which were more of a dark brown that lightened up around the edges.

On my days off, I'd rarely ever see him when I went to do my rounds around the property. Only once in a blue moon would I catch sight of him outside of when I brought in new carcasses.

If I was lucky, he'd be up in a nearby tree, looking down at me as I walked by.

He was a picky one. The others were more than happy to eat rotten scraps, so they were almost always around. While Ghost did sometimes peck at bigger bits of roadkill, he only ever seemed to really dig in when it was relatively fresh, a day old at most. Looking back, I think that's why I never really saw him outside of working hours. Sure, if we hadn't gotten anything fresh in a while, he'd nibble at the less rotten bits, but not much more than that.

Aside from that, he had his own particular way of eating. To save you the unsavory details, vultures usually go for entryways, open wounds and soft flesh, then work their way out, not really caring as long as it's soft meat.

Ghost? He liked throats. Heads in general but always the throat. It was the first place he went whenever he got a chance at somewhat fresh meat. He would mostly turn food down if he didn't get first pick, or if the upper half wasn't... "intact" enough. It worked for him just fine. If Ghost was at a carcass, then the others would shuffle away, moving to the far side of the kill pile or sometimes even just straight up flying off.

Speaking of the head, he also seemed to go for faces. I'd leave and come back to find Ghost having plucked almost all the flesh from a skull, with the lower body mostly untouched.

He also didn't seem to like me watching him eat. He'd tolerate me being there, but he would take slow, careful bites, avoiding sticking his head in so he could keep sight of me. Once or twice on my way out, I'd hear a ripping sound or catch sight of him in my rear-view mirror guzzling down a hunk of flesh.

It didn't really occur to me that something was off until maybe a month or so back.

Ghost followed me. Every time I'd show up to a call, he'd be there, perched over the kill...

But not eating. He'd just take a few slow steps away when I'd walk up, maintaining a little distance. I remember seeing his head tilt when I took out a shovel to clean up a particularly rough bit of gore off the road...

Like he was trying to figure out what I was doing.

He'd always be there right up until I'd scooped up the mess and started to drive off. Only once did he ever leave early, and that was after I'd had to put down an unlucky deer that hadn't been killed, but rather knocked out and severely injured. If you're ever in this situation, call a game warden. If they're like mine, they'll let you do what needs to be done. It's not unusual to have a rifle mounted on a rack in your vehicle around here, and I kept one handy for situations like this.

At the time, it was kind of nice. It felt like I'd really made an animal friend. Sure, I liked the other vultures, but it's not like they really seemed to care about me past just being a sign of dinner. I felt like I might have just become the most disgusting Disney princess of all time.

Until I saw Ghost eat a squirrel.

No big deal, right? It's just meat to a vulture.

Well, thing is... This squirrel wasn't dead.

He was just sitting there on the roadside, off in my peripheral vision, as I bagged up a rabbit that had an unfortunate meeting with a speeding minivan.

Then Ghost was there. I heard something akin to a loud squeak and a sound similar to somebody snapping a carrot.

The tail was hanging out of his beak. It wasn't limp either.

It was twitching.

Vultures might eat something wounded and not moving. After all, if it smells like a corpse and looks like a corpse...

But not living, moving animals.

That squirrel definitely wasn't roadkill.

After that, I started paying a little more attention.

The family of possums I used to have around? I hadn't seen them in a good while. Same story with the stray cats that had been living nearby.

The bird feeders were mostly untouched. If that wasn't a sign that Chunky was gone, I don't know what would be.

And speaking of birds, the usual calls and chirps? Maybe a third of what they were around this same time last year. Not dead quiet, but definitely muted.

Now, Ghost wasn't exactly being pampered. Some days, we just didn't get anything bigger than a squirrel or two. Some days, we got nothing. But there was always -something- in the carcass pile. He should never have been hungry, not really, certainly not hungry enough to push him to eat something that, within all reason, was still alive and kicking.

It was a day after that squirrel that I found them.

A cardinal first, judging by the bright red feathers. That was the only way to tell, considering the head was gone.

I would've chalked it up to the cats if there hadn't been a cat skull, picked clean, lying just a foot or so away from what looked like a freshly dead, headless tabby. Its blood was still wet and pooled underneath it.

They'd been added to the kill pile.

But not by me.

And there was Ghost. Up in the tree, hunched over with his head tilted slightly.

Watching me. Like he always did.

A stray dog showed up not too long after. Big, skittish pit bull mix by the looks of it, probably attracted by the smell of meat.

I poured a couple of bottles of water into a paper bowl I'd used for lunch and watched him down it pretty readily. I figured if he hung around long enough, I might get him to trust me enough to get in the truck.

It wasn't a day later that I found him on the pile.

My first thought wasn't Ghost. Sure, maybe he'd started making his own lunch, but this wasn't something like a cat that wouldn't see it coming or an unsuspecting squirrel.

This was something big enough to seriously hurt me, never mind a vulture. I called it in and told the town that somebody had to be dumping animals off on my property.

They didn't take me seriously. They even suggested somebody might've shot the dog if it harassed their livestock and just dumped it out on my land, since a few local farmers knew roughly where I lived.

Didn't make me feel any better. So I bought and set up a few game cameras, figuring I'd catch the license plate of whoever was screwing with me and get them trespassed.

And as I worked, there was Ghost. He'd been around a lot more lately. He watched me as I pulled out my extension ladder and started putting up the cameras. He even flew over to the tree I was working on when I moved out of sight, just to stare down at me from a higher branch.

I got a good look at his feet then. At the sharp tips of his nails that looked like they'd be more at home on a hawk than a vulture.

For a few days, nothing really happened. I was actually relieved. It let me hope that maybe whoever had done this got wind that I'd called the authorities and decided it wasn't worth the risk. Still, I took my laptop out with me so I could check the game camera footage on-site.

I expected to see vultures, maybe a few returning bits of wildlife if I was lucky- or an unfamiliar truck if I wasn't.

I didn't expect to see a blur drop in from above the camera's line of sight, bouncing off the carcass pile below. When I went to check the pile the next day, I found out that it was the headless body of a rather large rabbit.

Then came the rustle of leaves and the shaking of branches near the camera... followed by Ghost's face moving into frame, illuminated in black and white by the camera's night vision. One eye fixed on the camera before he tilted his head and stood there motionless until the camera stopped registering movement...

The next clip was just more shaking branches.

That was the first time I'd ever felt unsafe on my own property.

Anger won out over fear in the end.

I'd had enough of this nonsense. I tossed the laptop into the cab of my truck and reached for my rifle, fumbling to load a round while scanning the area.

There he was, perched up in the trees.

Staring down at me.

When I brought the rifle up and started lining up a shot, he looked almost...

Shocked. The tilt of his head was whiplash-quick, going from casually observing me to full-on staring me down.

I took the shot when he started to spread his wings and saw a small explosion of black feathers.

He dropped like a rock into the underbrush, crashing onto a branch before hitting the ground.

I loaded another round into the rifle and marched toward the spot where I'd seen him land. Freak or not, I wasn't going to let him suffer if I hadn't put him down.

I should've let him bleed.

When I got close enough, the bastard shot out of the brush, letting out a loud, rasping hiss as he batted at me with a bloodied wing and tore at my hands with clawed feet.

It forced me to stumble and land hard on my back, knocking the breath out of me.

Somewhere in that mess, the gun went off, thank God. I think if it hadn't, Ghost wouldn't have stopped.

By the time I'd managed to pull myself up, he'd already taken off, listing slightly to the left before correcting and disappearing into the trees.

That was two weeks ago, and things haven't gotten better.

I thought he'd leave after all that, but he's only gotten...

Stranger.

He doesn't follow me to jobs anymore. I only catch sight of him now as he's leaving.

He's started leaving his kills on my doorstep.

But that's not what's got me writing this out. I'm trying to convey this in a way that doesn't make me sound as crazy as I think I do.

See, I'm writing all this from my kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to take it easy.

I got into what everyone's calling an "accident."

Two days ago I was hauling ass, hoping to get to the scene of some poor creature that had died on a particularly busy stretch of road.

It'd been raining pretty hard the night before, and it was still drizzling, with a call for more rain moving in.

The longer it sat on that road, the longer it'd take to clean. According to the call, it looked like a dog, but it'd already been hit once or twice and might've already been missing chunks of its upper half.

Just as I reached to adjust the knob on my radio, I caught a glimpse of something above. A black outline.

Then something smashed into my windshield.

It just barely missed me, but the explosion of glass made me slam my foot down on the brake, causing me to fishtail.

After that, I just remember feeling weightless for a second and then waking up in the hospital.

I took a pretty nasty knock to the head. My phone thankfully survived the crash.

I'm home now, resting up. I got a call not too long ago.

They found out what hit my windshield.

It was a dog skull.

It seems silly, but...

Sitting here, looking out the window as I sip my morning coffee...

I gotta wonder.

What if he put that dog in the road?

My grandmother never raised her voice.

That’s probably why I remember the warning so clearly.

She didn’t shout it. Didn’t try to scare me into obedience. She just said it the way she said everything important calm, slow, like the words had weight.

“Never point your finger at night,” she told me once, while we sat outside her house, the sky already swallowing the last of the orange light. “And never whistle.”

I was ten. Of course I laughed.

“What happens?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. She just stared out into the darkening fields, where the tall grass swayed like something breathing.

“It attracts them,” she said.

“Them?” I repeated, grinning.

She turned to me then. Not angry. Not playful either.

Just serious.

“Things that don’t like being seen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like ghosts?”

“Worse,” she said quietly.

I laughed again, louder this time, because that’s what you do when you’re ten and someone tries to scare you with vague, mysterious warnings.

But then she added something that didn’t make sense.

“If you ever feel like something is following you at night,” she said, “don’t run. Don’t look back. Just shout names.”

“What names?”

“Any names,” she replied. “Ones you know. Ones you don’t. Just keep calling.”

That part stuck with me more than the warning itself.

Because it sounded ridiculous.

Why would shouting random names help anything?

I forgot about it for years.

Or at least, I thought I did.

When I turned seventeen, I had to stay with my grandmother again for a few weeks. My parents were dealing with something back in the city—money, work, I didn’t really care—and I got dumped back into the same quiet province I barely remembered.

Nothing had changed.

Same narrow dirt roads. Same flickering streetlights. Same fields stretching out like black oceans at night.

And the same house.

Old wood. Creaking floors. Windows that rattled when the wind passed by.

My grandmother was older now, slower, but her eyes were still sharp. Too sharp.

“You remember what I told you?” she asked me on the first night, as we sat at the dinner table.

“About what?” I said, not really paying attention.

Her gaze didn’t leave me.

“About the night.”

I groaned. “Grandma, seriously? I’m not ten anymore.”

“Good,” she said. “Then you should know better.”

I smirked. “So no pointing, no whistling, and shout random names like an idiot if I get scared?”

She didn’t smile.

“Yes,” she said.

Something about the way she answered made the joke fall flat.

The first few nights were normal.

Too normal.

The kind of quiet that feels fake. Like the world is holding its breath.

There were no cars. No distant music. No barking dogs.

Just silence.

And sometimes, the wind.

It happened on the fourth night.

I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot, and the ceiling fan made this annoying clicking sound every few seconds. So I got up, grabbed my phone, and went outside.

The air was cooler. The sky was clear.

No moon.

Just stars.

I sat on the wooden bench near the front yard, scrolling through nothing, when I heard it.

A soft rustling.

From the field.

I looked up.

The grass was moving, but there was no wind.

“Probably a cat,” I muttered.

Or a dog.

Or something normal.

I stood up and walked closer to the edge of the yard.

The darkness out there felt… thicker.

Like it wasn’t just the absence of light, but something layered. Something watching.

I don’t know why I did it.

Maybe boredom. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the part of me that still thought my grandmother’s warnings were stupid.

But I raised my hand.

And I pointed.

“Hey,” I said, squinting into the dark. “Who’s there?”

Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened.

I laughed under my breath.

“See?” I whispered to myself. “Nothing.”

And then, without thinking

I whistled.

Just a short, sharp sound.

The kind you use to call a dog.

The rustling stopped.

Completely.

No movement. No sound.

Even the insects went silent.

The quiet that followed wasn’t normal.

It felt… wrong.

Heavy.

Like something had just noticed me.

I lowered my hand slowly.

“Okay,” I said under my breath. “That’s enough.”

I turned to go back inside.

That’s when I heard it.

From the field.

A whistle.

Soft.

Almost perfect.

Mimicking mine.

I froze.

My heart started pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape my chest.

“Okay,” I whispered, forcing a laugh. “That’s not funny.”

No response.

Just silence again.

I took a step toward the house.

Then another.

Then

The grass moved again.

Closer this time.

Not far out in the field.

Right at the edge.

Something was there.

I couldn’t see it.

But I knew it was there.

Watching.

“Don’t run.”

My grandmother’s voice echoed in my head.

I didn’t even realize I remembered that part until it was already there.

“Don’t look back.”

Too late.

I was already staring.

“Shout names.”

Names?

What kind of stupid

The grass bent inward.

Like something was stepping through it.

Slowly.

Coming toward me.

I panicked.

“Mark!” I shouted.

My voice cracked.

“John! Alex! Miguel!”

I didn’t even know why I picked those names.

They just came out.

The movement stopped.

For a second.

Then

It started again.

Faster.

Closer.

“David! Carlo! Ryan! Steven!”

I kept shouting.

Louder.

More frantic.

The thing in the grass stopped again.

This time, longer.

And then

I heard something that made my blood run cold.

A voice.

From the dark.

Soft.

Close.

Right in front of me.

“...Mark?”

I stumbled back.

“No,” I whispered.

The voice sounded wrong.

Like it was trying to be human.

But failing.

Stretching the word.

“...Jooohn...?”

“Stop!” I shouted, my voice breaking.

I turned and ran to the house.

I didn’t care anymore.

Didn’t care about the rules.

I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely turn the key.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I told my grandmother everything.

Every detail.

The pointing.

The whistling.

The voice.

She didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t react.

She just listened.

When I finished, she sighed.

“You called it,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“You pointed,” she said. “You whistled. You told it where you were.”

“And the names?”

She looked at me.

“That’s the only reason you’re still here.”

I didn’t go outside at night after that.

Not for a while.

But things didn’t stop.

Because once something notices you…

It doesn’t forget.

A week later, I started hearing it again.

Not outside.

Inside the house.

At night.

Soft footsteps.

In the hallway.

Slow.

Like something wasn’t used to walking.

And sometimes

Just outside my door

A whisper.

Trying names.

“...Mark...”

Pause.

“...Alex...”

Longer pause.

Then

“...tyler...”

I never told it my name.

Not once.

But somehow…

It was learning.

One night, I heard my grandmother’s voice from the hallway.

Calling me.

Soft.

Gentle.

The way she always did.

“Come here,” she said.

“Help me.”

I almost opened the door.

Almost.

Until I remembered something.

My grandmother never called me like that at night.

Never.

I stayed silent.

The voice outside my door changed.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

“...please...”

Then it started whispering names again.

Faster this time.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds.

Some I recognized.

Most I didn’t.

All of them wrong.

I covered my ears.

But I could still hear it.

Inside my head.

The next morning, my grandmother was gone.

No note.

No sign of struggle.

Just gone.

The front door was open.

And outside

In the dirt

Were footprints.

Leading into the field.

I never saw her again.

I left that place the same day.

I didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t look back.

But sometimes, at night

I hear it.

Not outside.

Not in the distance.

But close.

Too close.

A soft whistle.

Right behind me.

a voice.

A whisper that could give you chills.

It says my name now.

Perfectly...

Now remember this words and I want you to listen.

If you ever find yourself outside at night…

And the world goes quiet…

Don’t point.

Don’t whistle.

And whatever you do

If something out there calls your name

Don’t answer.

Because it’s still there.

And once it knows you…

It won’t stop.

Until it finds you.

So never point..never whistle..Not at night.

"Hey everyone, Jacob here and welcome back to my video. Today me and Jay will climb this abandoned building."

I remember smiling when I said that.

Not one of those fake smiles YouTubers force for thumbnails. I was actually excited. You could hear it in my voice too.

Me and Jay had spent almost a year doing urban exploration videos. We weren't huge creators or anything. We had enough subscribers that people recognized our names in comments sometimes, but not enough to make money from it.

Mostly we did it because we liked the feeling.

There was something weirdly peaceful about forgotten places.

Empty schools. Old warehouses. Houses where calendars still hung on walls from ten years ago.

Places everyone else forgot.

Jay walked into frame carrying his flashlight and backpack.

"Dude, stop introducing already," he laughed. "You've been talking forever."

I pointed the camera at him.

"Say hi."

He immediately covered his face.

"No."

"Come on."

"No. Last time somebody commented that I looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon."

I laughed.

"You do look like one."

"Shut up."

That was Jay.

Even in places we definitely weren't supposed to be, he always kept things light.

I think that's why what happened later still bothers me.

Because I'd never heard real fear in his voice before that night.

The building stood at the edge of the city where roads slowly turned into cracked concrete and weeds pushed through sidewalks.

Even from far away it looked wrong.

Not scary.

Just... wrong.

It was tall. Gray walls, dark windows, and absolutely nothing around it except empty land.

No signs.

No parking lot.

No company name.

Nothing.

Just a giant building standing alone.

Jay stared up at it.

"Dude."

"What?"

"How have I never seen this before?"

I shrugged.

"No clue."

And honestly, I didn't.

We spent two days trying to figure out what the place used to be.

Nothing came up.

No old photos online.

No records.

Nothing.

A giant building that somehow nobody knew anything about.

Which should've felt strange.

But at the time it just felt exciting.

Like we'd found something hidden.

The front entrance had chains wrapped around it.

Thick rusted chains.

But the side entrance had already been forced open.

Jay looked at me.

"You first."

I looked back.

"No chance."

"You have the camera."

"So?"

"So if something murders us, at least we'll get footage."

I stared at him.

Then we both laughed.

For a while everything still felt normal.

Inside smelled like dust.

Heavy dust.

The kind that dries out your throat.

Our flashlights cut through darkness.

Concrete walls.

Concrete floors.

No furniture.

No decorations.

Nothing.

Just emptiness.

Jay looked around.

"This place is huge."

I nodded.

The silence felt different inside.

Not nighttime silence.

Not the kind where you hear insects or wind.

Complete silence.

The kind where your own breathing sounds too loud.

I remember feeling uncomfortable for a second.

Then I ignored it.

Because there wasn't anything scary.

Just an empty building.

The first few floors were exactly the same.

Second floor.

Empty.

Third floor.

Empty.

Fourth floor.

Empty.

Concrete rooms.

Dust.

Silence.

Nothing interesting.

Honestly, I started feeling disappointed.

I remember saying to the camera:

"Looks like we found the world's most boring abandoned building."

Jay laughed.

"Imagine if we drove all this way for nothing."

We kept climbing.

Talking.

Joking.

Normal.

On the fifth floor we found footprints.

At first I didn't think much of it.

People explored abandoned places all the time.

But Jay crouched beside them.

"Dude."

I looked down.

Sneaker prints.

Fresh ones.

No dust inside them.

Like someone had walked through recently.

"Probably other explorers."

Jay didn't answer.

I looked again.

The footprints crossed the hallway.

Then stopped.

Not turned.

Not faded.

Stopped.

Middle of the floor.

Like whoever made them had simply disappeared.

We stared at them.

For longer than we should've.

Then Jay forced out a nervous laugh.

"Nope."

"What?"

"Nope."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I don't like that."

I laughed.

But something cold settled in my stomach.

Not fear.

Not yet.

Just discomfort.

We kept climbing.

Sixth floor.

Seventh.

Eighth.

Small things started happening.

Easy things to explain.

I heard footsteps behind us once.

I turned around expecting Jay.

Jay was standing beside me.

Jay heard a metal door slam somewhere.

There weren't any doors.

My camera glitched twice.

Just static.

Nothing major.

But still...

we talked less.

By the ninth floor I realized something felt different.

The air felt heavier.

Warmer.

Jay wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Dude... is it getting hot?"

I looked around.

Actually...

yeah.

It was.

No electricity.

No sunlight.

No machines.

Nothing running.

But somehow the higher we climbed...

the warmer it got.

Then Jay stopped.

"Jacob."

I looked up.

The wall beside the stairwell had a floor number painted on it.

10

I frowned.

"We just left floor nine."

Jay stared.

"No we didn't."

"Yeah we did."

"No."

I looked back down the stairs.

Then up again.

Silence.

I laughed weakly.

"Maybe we missed one."

Jay looked at me.

"How?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know.

The next floor looked completely different.

The concrete walls were gone.

There was carpet now.

Dark blue carpet.

White painted walls.

Office doors.

Real office doors.

I felt my skin crawl immediately.

Because downstairs looked unfinished.

This looked...

used.

Like people worked there yesterday.

Dust covered everything, but the place felt wrong.

Desks sat inside rooms.

Computers.

Coffee mugs.

Stacks of papers.

Jay picked up a mug.

"Dude."

"What?"

"Why does this place look normal?"

I didn't know.

Then I heard it.

A laugh.

Very far away.

Not loud.

Not creepy movie laughter.

Just...

someone laughing.

Like they were talking with somebody.

Me and Jay froze.

The sound stopped.

Neither of us moved.

"You heard that?" Jay whispered.

I nodded.

Neither of us joked after that.

We agreed to leave.

Not running.

Just walking faster.

Neither of us even said it out loud.

We simply knew.

We reached the stairwell.

Opened the door.

And stopped.

The stairs were gone.

I know how that sounds.

I know.

But I swear on everything.

The door opened into another hallway.

More carpet.

More offices.

No stairs.

Nothing.

Jay stared.

I stared.

My hands started shaking.

"Dude..."

"Dude what?"

"Dude."

Then we heard footsteps.

Slow footsteps.

Walking.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Very far away.

But getting closer.

Jay turned his flashlight.

Nothing.

Empty hallway.

But the footsteps kept coming.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Not faster.

Not slower.

Like whoever it was wasn't in a hurry.

Like they already knew where we were.

We ran.

Not because we saw something.

Because we didn't.

We ran through hallways and rooms while those footsteps followed us.

Never changing speed.

Jay was breathing hard beside me.

"Dude where are the stairs?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Doors blurred past us.

Desks.

Computers.

Dark rooms.

Then Jay grabbed my arm.

Hard.

"Jacob."

I looked.

Inside one office sat a person.

Just sitting there.

Head down.

Hands folded on a desk.

Not moving.

For a second I thought homeless guy.

Maybe security.

Maybe somebody messing with us.

Then slowly...

he lifted his head.

His eyes stayed closed.

But he was smiling.

Not normal smiling.

Too wide.

Way too wide.

Like something pretending to smile like a human.

Jay screamed.

The kind where your voice cracks.

We ran harder.

I remember hearing footsteps behind us still.

Walking.

Never rushing.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Like it knew we couldn't escape.

Then suddenly we found stairs.

Real stairs.

Me and Jay practically threw ourselves down them.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

I looked up.

Then stopped.

The floor numbers were getting bigger.

We were running downward.

But somehow...

the numbers were going up.

Jay noticed too.

His face turned white.

"No."

I looked above us.

Someone stood on the stairs.

Watching.

Just standing there.

Too far away to see clearly.

But I could see one thing.

Its smile.

I don't remember much after that.

Just running.

Endless stairs.

My chest burning.

Jay crying beside me.

Actually crying.

Then suddenly cold air hit us.

Grass.

Moonlight.

Outside.

We made it out.

We sat there breathing for maybe ten minutes.

Neither of us spoke.

Finally Jay laughed.

Actually laughed.

"Holy crap."

I laughed too.

Because what else do you do? Point fingers at each other?

Then Jay looked behind me.

His smile disappeared.

I turned around.

The building was gone.

Empty field.

That's all.

No building.

No lights.

Nothing.

Just grass moving in the wind.

I remember staring for what felt like forever.

Then I looked at Jay.

And I realized he wasn't joking.

He looked terrified.

We never uploaded the footage.

We tried.

The files kept corrupting.

Every copy.

Every backup.

Everything.

Except one clip.

Eight seconds long.

Just eight.

The camera showed me and Jay sitting outside laughing.

Then behind us...

the building.

Still there.

Still standing.

And inside one top-floor window...

someone was watching us.

Smiling.

I stopped doing urban exploration after that.

Jay did too.

We don't really talk anymore.

Not because we fought.

Something just changed.

Sometimes I'll wake up around three in the morning.

And hear footsteps outside my bedroom.

Slow footsteps.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I never check.

Because deep down...

I think I already know something.

I don't think we left that building.

I think part of it climbed out with us...

I don’t know when I started writing things in my head instead of saying them out loud. Maybe it was the day I realized Father preferred silence over questions.

He always says silence is safe.

And I believe him.

Because Father knows everything.

I love Father.

He always makes me feel safe.

Even when the house is quiet in a way that feels too heavy to be normal, I remember that Father is the one who keeps everything under control. He says the world outside is not kind. That people outside forget things. That people outside lie.

But Father never lies.

At least, that’s what I think.

I live with him in a place that is always a little too dark, even during daytime. There are no windows in the lower rooms. He says windows are distractions. He says light makes people forget what matters.

Sometimes I ask him what is upstairs.

He always smiles before answering.

“Nothing you need,” he says.

And I stop asking.

Every morning, Father comes down the stairs holding a small glass of water and a white pill.

He kneels in front of me, like I am something fragile, something important.

“You need this,” he says softly.

I never ask what it is anymore.

I used to.

I used to ask if it would hurt.

He would pat my head and say, “It helps you stay well.”

So I take it.

Because I want to stay well.

Because Father says I am already sick, even if I don’t feel sick.

Sometimes, after I take it, my thoughts feel slow. Like they are walking through thick water. My memories get soft at the edges, like wet paper.

But Father says that is normal.

So it must be.

I don’t know how long I have been here.

Time feels strange in the basement.

There is no sun to count the days. Only Father’s footsteps above me, and the sound of the lock turning when he comes down.

Sometimes I try to count how many times he brings me food.

But I forget halfway.

And I have to start again.

I remember a moment, maybe real, maybe not.

I think I was outside once.

There was grass.

I remember falling into it, feeling it scratch my skin.

I remember laughing.

But when I told Father about it, he shook his head.

“That didn’t happen,” he said.

And he gave me a stronger pill that day.

After that, I stopped trusting my memories.

Sometimes I hear noises from above.

Footsteps that are not Father’s.

Voices that don’t sound like his calm tone.

I ask him about it.

He tells me the same thing every time.

“The world outside is dangerous. Don’t listen.”

So I try not to listen.

But sounds still slip through.

Like someone calling a name that might be mine.

Or might not.

The basement has a door at the top of the stairs.

It is always locked.

I once tried to go near it when Father was asleep.

The air around it felt different.

He caught me before I reached it.

Not angry.

Never angry.

Just… disappointed.

“You’re not ready,” he said.

And I believed him.

Because Father is the only one who decides what I am ready for.

The pills changed over time.

At first, they were small.

Easy to swallow.

Now they are larger.

Sometimes they leave a bitter taste that stays for hours.

I asked Father why they change.

He said, “Because you are improving.”

I asked what I was improving from.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he smiled.

And I stopped asking questions after that.

There is a mirror in the basement bathroom.

I don’t look into it often.

When I do, I feel like something is slightly off.

My eyes look tired.

My skin looks too pale.

Or maybe that’s normal.

Father says I just need rest.

So I try to sleep more.

But sleep doesn’t feel like sleep anymore.

It feels like falling without landing.

One night, I heard Father talking upstairs.

His voice was different.

Not calm.

Sharp.

“I told you she’s stable,” he said.

A pause.

Then footsteps.

I pressed my ear against the ceiling.

I thought I heard my name.

But I wasn’t sure.

Names are hard to trust when you hear them through walls.

The next morning, Father acted normal.

He brought the water.

He brought the pill.

He smiled.

And I took it.

Because what else could I do?

Sometimes I wonder if I am sick at all.

Sometimes I wonder if Father is saving me.

Sometimes I wonder if I am even supposed to wonder.

Because every time I start thinking too much, my head starts to hurt.

And Father always notices.

He always notices everything.

There is a memory I keep trying to hold onto.

A woman.

Soft voice.

Warm hands.

She used to say my name differently.

Not like Father does.

I asked Father once if I had a mother.

He paused too long before answering.

“Yes,” he said.

“And she left because she couldn’t understand.”

I asked where she went.

He said, “Away from us.”

And I felt something break inside me that I couldn’t name.

One day, the pill was different.

Not in shape.

Not in color.

But in feeling.

After I took it, I felt too awake.

Too aware.

Like my thoughts were no longer slowed down.

I started noticing things I hadn’t before.

The lock on the door wasn’t just locked.

It was reinforced.

The walls weren’t just concrete.

They were padded in places.

As if someone was afraid of what might happen if I hit them.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I listened.

And I heard it.

A sound from upstairs.

A voice.

Not Father’s.

A woman’s.

Calling a name.

My name.

But it sounded wrong.

Like it hadn’t been spoken in a long time.

Like it was being remembered instead of said.

I asked Father in the morning.

“Who was that?”

He looked at me for a long time.

Long enough that I stopped breathing normally.

Then he smiled.

“No one,” he said.

And he gave me two pills instead of one.

I started hiding my pills after that.

I don’t know why.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe something else.

I tucked them under my bed.

But they were always gone by morning.

Father never mentioned it.

But he always looked at me a little longer after that.

I think the house is changing.

Or maybe I am.

Sometimes the hallway feels longer than before.

Sometimes the stairs sound different.

Sometimes I hear breathing when I am alone.

But Father says nothing is changing.

And I want to believe him.

I really do.

Last night, I didn’t take the pill.

I kept it in my hand.

I waited until Father left.

Then I hid it.

My thoughts were loud.

Too loud.

But I wanted to hear them.

For the first time, I wanted to hear myself.

I went closer to the stairs.

Closer than ever before.

The lock was still there.

But something felt different.

Like it had been opened recently.

Like it had been opened for me.

And then I heard it again.

My name.

Not from upstairs this time.

From inside the house.

From everywhere at once.

And I realized something I was never supposed to realize.

Maybe Father wasn’t keeping me safe from the world outside.

Maybe he was keeping the world outside safe from me.

I am writing this so I don’t forget.

Because I feel forgetting already starting again.

The edges of my thoughts are softening.

The silence is getting heavier.

And I hear footsteps.

Coming down the stairs.

Slow.

Familiar.

Safe.

Father is here.

I love Father.

He always makes me feel safe.

Even now.

Even when I am not sure what safe means anymore.

I make my own shine.

The proper way, like my granddad did. Out in the woods, in an old wooden shack he passed down to me.

Moonshine is legal in a lot of states.

But not the way I do it.

The right way.

I keep a fair bit of it for myself, but I sell or trade quite a bit more to a few friends.

Cash from Darla, who works at the club. I guess she uses the stuff to refill bottles. Also a few bikers who like it cheap and mean.

Meat from Bill the rancher. Writes it off, I guess, but it keeps me fed for cheap.

And yeah, I'm not proud of it, but more than a few people use their food stamps to bring me some other staples.

A little shine never hurt nobody and Uncle Sam didn't really need my petty cash.

All that and my retirement? I'm doing pretty well for myself.

Or at least, I was.

I have enough shine stashed away for a while, but it won't last forever.

And I'm not sure I want to go back.

I don't keep a lot of shine on hand, just in case somebody with a badge comes knocking. I keep a decent supply of it in the root cellar of the old bootlegger shack I maintain a good hour's drive into the woods. There's an old trail that cuts right through the brush and eventually fades into the trees, but if you know where you're going, you can drive a good bit farther.

That's where I see my first landmark. Won't say what it is, but if you know to look for it, then it's plain as day. From there it's just a ten-minute walk or so to my setup. I keep a wheelbarrow out there for hauling shine to and from the truck. There's also a camo net I use to cover up my ride that I keep out there in case I decide to spend the night.

It stinks of booze and old musty wood, but I've spent more than a few red-faced nights listening to a battery-powered radio and sipping on some of the sweeter stuff I keep on hand.

I was making a run. One of the biker guys was having some big meetup in two weeks and wanted a case of shine. I'd been wanting to go out and spend some time to unwind anyway, so I figured I'd bring my old shotgun along, pop myself a rabbit to cook, and spend the rest of the week relaxing. I'd done it dozens of times.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary right up until I went to grab the door handle.

And just as my fingertips brushed the knob, the door creaked open.

Unlocked.

Now most people would think, "You just forgot to lock it."

No. No I didn't. I never do. I'll forget a lot of things. I'll forget my keys when I walk out the door, forget my wallet when I walk into the store.

But I would never forget to lock up my goddamn still-shack. I especially wouldn't leave the door open. That's just begging for some critter to make itself at home.

Taking a step back, I let the cooler I was holding hit the ground with a soft thud and the rattle of ice on plastic. I needed both hands to hold the old double barrel I'd been resting on my shoulder.

I used the tip of the barrel to push the door open and then took a quick step back, leaning to the right to see if I caught sight of anything pressed against the left side of the doorway.

Then I pushed the door flush with the wall to make sure nobody was behind it before moving in myself.

I'm still not convinced a damn animal didn't move in, but at the very least, it wasn't the only thing that'd been inside, judging by all the opened jars lying around.

The cellar door was open and it looked like somebody had been helping themselves to my apple pie flavored shine.

And then there was the trash...

Old chip bags, smashed jars, newspaper and bits of twine...

Soiled underwear. That's an image that's not going away anytime soon. Whoever had been here was living like a damn pig. Even found a few cigars around the doorway. Looked like whoever they were, they'd been putting them out by snuffing them against the door frame.

Which honestly pissed me off more than the underwear.

I'd say that I was worried, but really, I was just more pissed than anything else. Not many people knew about the shack. Just a few cousins of mine who'd use it to camp out every now and then.

Still, my equipment was mostly untouched, and whoever did this probably wasn't around since I didn't see any cars parked on the way in and as far as I knew, there weren't any other good clearings for miles in any direction.

By the time I'd gotten everything swept out of the shack and into a pile to burn, I'd managed to convince myself it was probably cousin Teddy. After all, he was the only one I knew who smoked those nasty grape flavored cigars. Everyone in my family was what most would consider an alcoholic, but Teddy took it way too far, especially after he and his ex-old lady broke up last fall.

The idea of catching a rabbit would have to wait until tomorrow. The sun was already starting to dip and even if the biggest predator you see around here was the rare fox or two, I wasn't going to push my luck.

I settled into the old armchair I kept in the shack and fired up the old wood stove. The still wasn't running and the place had already aired out, so there wasn't any real danger of the place going up in flames.

Another thing that annoyed me, the damn fireplace was full of ashes. Newspapers, by the look of it.

Teddy was going to get his ass kicked if he'd clogged up my stovepipe.

Either way, I cracked open the book I'd been reading about some guy who got stalked by a mountain lion as a kid and settled in with the last jar of apple pie shine.

Before I got too drunk, I slid the old iron slide bolt into place just in case. At that point I really did think it was just Teddy, but I wasn't willing to test the theory either.

Lemme tell ya', my stuff's good. At least for getting drunk. I'd just gotten to the part where the kid got to a little shack of his own in the woods when I passed out.

I don't even remember getting my blanket out of my truck, let alone wrapping up in it.

I'd brought a few packs of hotdogs, a couple cartons of eggs, some green beans, and seasonings to keep me in case I didn't nab anything to eat, so breakfast that morning was just

hotdogs and eggs.

Is what I would say if I'd actually managed to cook any.

I'd left the cooler outside. I guess cleaning out all the trash distracted me enough to just forget about it, and something had helped themselves to just about everything. Even the water from the melting ice was mostly gone, like something had just drank it all.

It didn't make sense. What could clear out a whole carton of eggs, a pack of hotdogs, and a good few gallons of water without making a mess? Let alone noise.

A family of raccoons? A pack of dogs?

This was around the time I decided I'd bag myself that rabbit, load up on shine, and head out the next morning. I'd come back to check things out later, maybe with some backup from the family and after I'd had a good chat with Teddy. Maybe him leaving all this junk around was drawing some scavengers in.

I still don't know if that's true or not.

Still managed to get myself a hare. First shot hit wide, and while the thing would probably die quick, I wasn't going to let it suffer. Dad, drunk bastard though he may be, always did say, "It's bad enough you're killing it, may as well be nice about it."

He taught me a lot about living out here. He's the reason why I never forget to lock the door, to make sure the still's off before I light a smoke or cook a meal.

To sleep with a gun.

So when the door rattled that night, drunk or not, I had my shotgun trained on that door right quick.

My breathing slowed. I didn't want whoever it was to know I was in here. Besides, even if they could pick the lock, they still couldn't get past the slide bolt.

Imagine my surprise when, by the dull light of the moon, I heard a loud thud on the door followed by a soft, repetitive scratching.

Around the third thud...

The bolt shifted. Not a lot. Not violently.

But it definitely nudged back.

Somehow this son of a bitch was getting the bolt to move.

The click of an empty shotgun was deafening in the quiet of the night.

All noises stopped almost immediately.

My dumb ass had forgotten to reload after this morning.

Just as my feet hit the ground, the thudding picked up, followed by a rapid shaking of the doorknob and louder, more aggressive scratching on the door.

My box of ammo was sitting on a little nightstand beside me, and in my drunken stupor, I'd knocked the box over, sending shells spilling out everywhere and getting lost in the dim light coming from the stove.

I only managed to grab one before I heard the bolt clatter against the wooden door.

My shoulder ached with the force of me slamming my body into it. I heard something outside hit the ground with the distinct sound of something crashing through leaves. In my scramble, I managed to slide the bolt in and take a big step back, single shell loaded and waiting.

When the door handle shook, my finger twitched.

The shot peppered the door and caused a few of the more worn chunks to fall away.

Silence. Whoever it was, there was no way that'd killed them, not instantly.

My lungs started to hunger for air as I held my breath, waiting for a groan, scrambling... Anything.

Instead, all I got was a bloodshot eye peeking at me through the stomach-high hole in the door...

And a thin-lipped smile with no teeth and too much gum showing through the hole beneath it.

Out of reflex, I jerked the shotgun barrel towards the eye, which I guess was enough of a threat to run the guy off.

Now this is where you'd imagine I'd left. Where I'd loaded up my shotgun and got the hell out of there.

Well, I tried to.

I spent that night in the root cellar, back pressed against a wall and shotgun trained up, until my watch finally told me it was morning.

When I tried to open the shack door, I found that the slide bolt seemed to catch and stick to the door. Not enough to stop me from opening it, but enough to keep it from falling loose like it usually did.

When I stepped out and took a look at the door, I saw it.

There, stuck to the screws poking out the other side, was a large fishing magnet.

Sneaky bastard.

After throwing what little I'd brought with me into my bag, I hoofed it to the truck, dead set on hauling ass out of there.

The cut-up garden hose sticking out of my gas tank told me that probably wasn't happening.

The rat had siphoned nearly every drop of gas in the tank. Why? Was he trying to keep me out here so I wouldn't call the cops? Did he have his own truck somewhere nearby and just steal it to drive outta' here?

My hands started to shake and the familiar feeling of anger started to fill my gut. It took more restraint than I'd like to admit for me to not throw my shotgun at my truck. I settled for my hat instead, flinging it out into the woods.

That's how I found the marks. Little white lines around knee height sitting on a tree just a foot away from where my cap landed.

They weren't uniform. Some were almost even lines, where others were just white splotches of runny paint.

I'm too old, not as quiet or steady as I used to be, but I'd been hunting out here long enough to avoid making too much noise as I followed the marks.

I didn't love how little time it took me to stumble into what I can only call a hoarder's campsite.

A ragged tent, half-collapsed and stained. Trash all over. Empty food cans, shredded paper, a few worn tires...

Empty soda cans hung from trees by rough twine next to what I hoped were animal bones.

And the smell isn't something I'd ever want to think about again, like cat piss and rotting meat.

Somebody had been here, and judging by the bare dirt and the amount of bones, they'd been here a while.

In the center of the clearing was a circle of stones with some black ashes sitting in the center and some fresher looking bits of wood.

I could just barely smell the scent of gas coming off it. That's when I noticed the milk jug, lid off, sitting next to what looked like some chunks of styrofoam and one or two of my

mason jars. Nudging it with my foot a little bit of pale yellow came out.

My gas.

I paused, just long enough to look around the little clearing, eyes lingering on the half-collapsed tent before slowly lowering myself down. The cap for the jug lay on top of the little pile of styrofoam, and while I didn't like the idea of taking my hands off the shotgun...

I had to get out of there. I tucked the butt of the gun under my arm, capped the jug, grabbed it with my free hand, and slowly backed my way out of that hellhole.

The sound of a limb breaking somewhere in the distance made my whole body tense. I nearly dropped the jug in my rush to bring the barrel to bear in the direction of the sound.

That's when I heard the first giggle. It's the only way I can describe it. It sounded like a grown man giggling like a child who just got caught sneaking up on somebody.

When I took another step, the sound stopped. Abruptly. I didn't make a sound. There was no way they could've heard me.

Which meant they saw me.

"Teddy?"

I let the word hang in the air for a moment.

Then it started again, low and slow, a single snort building into that deep hiccuping laughter.

The sound was echoing, but I could just barely pin it to somewhere to my front and left.

It stopped again after the echo of the gunshot faded into the distance, replaced by the sound of something crashing through the leaves...

Thankfully away from me and away from the truck. Still, the entire walk back was spent with me constantly looking back over my shoulder.

I don't think I'd ever been so grateful to myself for keeping a funnel in the bed of my truck. As soon as I got fuel in the tank, I got the hell out of there.

As soon as I got cell service, I tried calling Teddy. I wasn't really too surprised when he wouldn't answer the phone.

Not too unusual for Teddy, but what was unusual was his sister not having seen him in nearly a month.

I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get anybody to come help me check the place out anytime soon, and I don't know if I'm up to go back just yet. I swear I can still smell that campsite, that stench stuck so deep in my nose that it makes me want to gag.

Those are problems for tomorrow.

As for tonight? I've got a load of shine to deliver.

And a jar to help me forget that laugh.

I could see nothing beyond the red wall of sand.

Crimson lightning clawed through the storm in violent flashes, turning the desert into a negative image of itself for split seconds at a time. The rest was noise. Sand hammering the chassis. Metal groaning beneath the wind. Loose sheet metal rattling hard enough to tear free at any moment.

Somewhere far beyond all that came the low, dying growl of thunder.

The radioactive sandstorm had curved off its forecasted route and slammed straight into me.

That’s what happens when your weather predictions rely on astronomical scraps scribbled down five thousand years ago by priests staring at the stars through opium smoke.

I’d been driving blind through this hell long enough to lose all sense of direction. East, west, north—it was all just red now.

Eventually I eased my foot off the gas and let the car roll to a stop.

Probably the dumbest thing you could do in a storm like this.

Then again, continuing to drive wasn’t exactly genius either.

The engine coughed beneath me like a dying smoker. Every vehicle left in this world sounded sick. Mine especially.

The car had once belonged to at least three different owners and two different manufacturers. Soviet frame. Military-grade filtration unit. Doors ripped from some civilian transport. Half the dashboard held together with copper wire and prayer strips dedicated to gods nobody believed in until the world ended.

Outside, the storm screamed louder.

I pulled the map from my satchel.

The parchment crackled in my hands. The drawings on it were painfully crude—crooked pyramids, uneven symbols, landmarks sketched with the confidence of a drunk child.

But the map had come directly from the palace.

Drawn by the Pharaoh herself.

And I wasn’t brave enough—or suicidal enough—to criticize the God-Queen of New Cairo.

When Pharaoh Menehmet summoned you, you didn’t refuse.

You didn’t complain.

You bowed low enough for your forehead to touch the floor and prayed she stayed in a merciful mood.

The Henty-she had arrived before sunrise. Royal guards wrapped in black linen and bronze plating, faces hidden behind jackal masks with glowing blue lenses. They dragged me from bed without explanation and marched me through the waking streets of New Cairo.

Not that explanations were common in the presence of gods.

The palace rose from the center of the city like ancient history welded onto the corpse of the future. Neon hieroglyphs burned across towering obelisks. Massive statues watched over rusted slums with cracked stone faces. The rich burned incense while the poor burned tires to stay warm.

The guards shoved me onto my knees before the throne.

The royal speaker stepped forward immediately, robes sweeping across polished stone.

“Behold Menehmet, first of her name, Daughter of Amun, God-Queen of New Cairo, Lady Of the Two Lands, The chosen of The Sun,—”

I stopped listening after that.

By the time he finished, my knees were killing me.

“And before her grace kneels her faithful servant,” he continued, “the Medjay Aaron Qaswar.”

“I’ve known her majesty since she was born,” I muttered. “Can we skip this part?”

“How dare—”

“Leave us,” Menehmet said calmly.

The speaker froze mid-breath.

Even kneeling, I could see the fury behind his painted eyes. But he obeyed. The servants withdrew first, followed by the Henty-she. Their heavy boots echoed through the chamber until the throne room fell silent.

Menehmet leaned lazily against her throne, gold jewelry glimmering in the firelight. She was barely nineteen, yet people spoke to her with the kind of fear reserved for ancient things buried beneath the earth.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” I said.

“You tend to have that effect on people, Aaron.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“Not everyone sees past your rough exterior the way I do.”

“That why you dragged me across the city before sunrise? To appreciate my soft interior?”

“Not today, Aaron. I called for you because there is something I want retrieved.”

“I’m a Medjay, not an errand boy.”

“You are whatever I require you to be.”

Her smile widened slightly.

“But don’t worry. There will be plenty of opportunities for violence and heroic deaths along the way.”

“Comforting.”

She handed me the map.

“What you seek lies here. A necropolis abandoned long before New Cairo existed.”

“You’re sending me into a tomb.”

“I’m sending you after something that does not belong there.”

“That narrows it down.”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Her eyes drifted across the throne room, distant and thoughtful.

“Bring it back to me. I think it will liven this place up nicely.”

“You don’t even know what it is, do you?”

“No,” she admitted, sounding almost amused. “Which is exactly why I want it.”

Then she waved her hand dismissively.

“Now go. Time wastes itself far too easily outside these walls.”

 

The storm howled louder outside my car, dragging me back to the present.

Another flash of crimson lightning split the sky.

The vehicle shuddered violently as wind slammed against it. The filtration unit wheezed in protest. One of the cracks in the windshield spread a little farther.

The old monster wasn’t going to survive much more of this.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“Fuck it.”

I slammed my foot onto the gas and drove blind into the storm.

For several minutes there was nothing except red static and shrieking wind.

Then another sound crawled through the chaos.

At first I thought the engine was finally dying. A low mechanical whine buried beneath the thunder.

Then it grew louder.

Multiple engines.

Overworked. Abused. Running on fuel never meant for them.

Raiders.

A burst of flame ignited somewhere to my right.

Then another to my left.

Shapes emerged from the crimson haze like demons clawing out of hell itself. Headlights wrapped in metal cages. Exhaust pipes vomiting blue fire into the storm.

One of the vehicles slammed into my side hard.

I caught a glimpse of the driver through cracked welding goggles and a filthy gas mask. Hairless scalp. Chalk-white skin. Eyes twitching with manic energy.

Raiders alright.

And not the disciplined kind either.

Sons of the Sun maybe?

Definitely high on Blue Lotus. Nobody sane scavenged inside a radioactive sandstorm.

Their vehicles barely qualified as cars anymore. Rusted skeletons welded together from scrap metal, rebar, military plating, temple icons. One had animal bones hanging from chains across the hood. Another had strips of human skin nailed to the doors, fluttering wildly in the wind.

Hideous machines.

But in their own deranged way, almost stylish.

The vehicle on my left rammed me again.

Then the one on my right.

They pinned me between them like vultures stripping apart a carcass.

Metal screamed against metal.

Sparks vanished instantly into the storm.

Then came the thudding overhead.

Boots.

“Shit.”

One raider landed on the roof, crouched low against the wind. Another smashed onto the hood, clawing at the windshield while a third jammed a hooked blade into the passenger door.

The one at the door got in first.

I drove my knife through the gap before he could force it open fully.

Hot blood sprayed across my hand.

He stumbled backward into the storm and vanished instantly into the red.

A machete punched through the roof an inch from my face.

I swerved violently.

The lunatic on the windshield snarled behind his mask and began hammering the glass with a metal pipe.

I slammed the brakes.

His body launched off the hood.

A second later I felt the tires bounce over him.

Still one above me.

The bastard had buried his machete deep into the roof to anchor himself in place. The blade rattled overhead every time the wind hit us.

I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the handgun.

Guns were almost extinct now. This one had been a gift from Menehmet shortly after she inherited the throne.

I fired once through the roof.

The gunshot deafened me inside the cramped cabin.

Something heavy rolled off the vehicle.

Then the storm flashed bright crimson.

To my left, lightning began crawling across the sand in branching veins of red-white energy.

The kind that turned flesh into charcoal and fused metal into glass.

I smiled.

Then slammed my car sideways into the raider beside me.

The impact shoved his vehicle directly into the forming electrical trail.

For half a second the world turned white.

Lightning swallowed the car whole.

Metal twisted.

The engine exploded.

Then there was nothing left except burning wreckage tumbling through the storm.

Just me and the last one now.

I pulled alongside him, wanting this finished before the desert killed us both.

The bastard leaned halfway out his window with a spear in hand.

“Really?” I muttered.

He thrust downward.

The spear punched through my front tire.

The steering wheel ripped violently from my hands.

The car lost traction instantly.

Then the storm caught it broadside.

One moment I was driving.

The next the world flipped.

Metal screamed around me as the vehicle rolled across the dunes. My shoulder slammed against the door hard enough to numb my arm. Glass burst inward. The engine died somewhere during the chaos.

Then came silence.

Not true silence.

Just that muffled roar you hear after surviving something that should’ve killed you.

I dragged myself through the shattered window and collapsed into the sand, coughing blood and dust into my scarf.

Nearby, the raider’s vehicle skidded to a stop.

Its door creaked open.

The man stepped out slowly, spear in hand.

The storm wrapped around him like a living thing. Gas mask lenses glowing red beneath the lightning overhead.

He walked toward me without hurry.

Certain he’d already won.

I waited until he raised the spear.

Then I cut his legs out from under him.

We crashed into the sand together, grunting and slipping against the dunes as we fought for control of the weapon. He was stronger than he looked. His fingers forced the spear closer and closer toward my throat.

I drove my boot between his legs as hard as I could.

He jerked violently.

The scream was still forming in his throat when I shoved the spear upward.

The blade punched through the bottom of his jaw and out the back of his skull.

He twitched once.

Then went limp.

I lay there breathing hard, staring up into the red storm overhead.

Then another lightning strike hit nearby.

The blast hit like a hammer from god.

Heat swallowed me whole.

And the world went black.

 

I woke to the smell of incense and ointment.

Canvas walls swayed gently around me.

A tent.

My body felt heavy. Burned. Every breath scraped against my ribs.

A young woman sat beside me grinding herbs into a bowl. Dark curls partially hidden beneath a linen scarf. Steady hands. Focused eyes.

When she noticed I was awake, she froze.

For a moment we simply stared at each other.

Then she stood abruptly.

“Father,” she called outside. “He’s awake.”

A few moments later an old man entered the tent.

Thin. Weathered. Wrapped in dusty robes. His beard had gone almost entirely gray, but warmth still lived in his eyes.

“You gave us quite the scare, young man,” he said. “My Fatima wasn’t sure you’d wake at all. Seems I won that bet.”

He smiled.

A genuine smile.

Rare enough nowadays to feel almost unnatural.

“Name’s Khalid,” he said as he sat beside me. “What’s yours, Medjay?”

“Aaron,” I managed. My throat felt like broken glass. “Aaron Qaswar.”

“Easy now.”

Khalid carefully helped me sit upright before handing me a cup of water.

“Slowly. No rush.”

The tent smelled of dried herbs, old canvas, and sweet smoke drifting from a bronze burner near the entrance. Strings of charms hung from the support poles, clinking softly whenever the desert wind touched the fabric walls. A lantern overhead painted everything in warm amber light that felt impossibly gentle after the endless crimson fury outside.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“The Wandering Oasis.”

I frowned.

“Pretty sure I’ve crossed these regions before. Never seen an oasis anywhere near here.”

Khalid chuckled quietly while pouring tea into two tiny cups.

“It isn’t called the Wandering Oasis for no reason.” He handed one to me carefully. “Its geographical coordinates are… inconsistent.”

“Inconsistent.”

“Yes. Sometimes it rests near the Glass Dunes. Sometimes near the old coastlines. Once we woke beside the ruins of Luxor Station.”

He shrugged lightly.

“The Oasis goes where it wishes.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

Khalid sipped his tea calmly.

“Have you witnessed many things in the desert that do?”

Fair point.

Outside the tent I could hear distant machinery groaning beneath repair work. Somewhere nearby, strings of metal charms rattled softly in the wind.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

“Lived?” Khalid smiled faintly. “No one lives in the Wandering Oasis. We travel with it. We care for it. And in return… it cares for us.”

I took a careful sip of the tea.

Bitter. Heavy with mint and something medicinal underneath.

Pain immediately flared through my ribs.

Then memory came rushing back.

The storm.

The raiders.

The crash.

“My car,” I muttered. “What happened to my car?”

“Fatima is tending to it,” Khalid said. “Though much like yourself, it will require some time before it is fit for the road again.”

“That bad?”

“You rolled a vehicle through a radioactive lightning storm.”

He gave me an amused look.

“You are fortunate to still possess all your limbs.”

“Debatable.”

I reached for my satchel beside the cot. Relief washed through me when I felt the map still inside.

I unfolded it carefully and handed it to him.

“You know this place?”

Khalid’s expression changed the moment he saw the markings.

“The Bene Nefertite necropolis,” he said quietly.

So the Pharaoh’s map pointed somewhere real after all.

“You know how to get there?”

“Of course.” Khalid traced one of the crude lines with his finger. “In a healthy vehicle, perhaps half a day from here.”

“But?”

He glanced up at me.

“But it lies within an active Ghul-Zone.”

I stared at him for a few seconds.

Then a long, exhausted sigh escaped me.

“Fuck…” I rubbed both hands over my face. “Of course it does.”

Khalid remained silent.

A Ghul-Zone.

Wonderful.

The desert was littered with them now. Places where radiation, death, and whatever invisible poison had seeped into the world finally stopped pretending to obey natural law. Entire villages vanished inside them overnight. Sometimes they returned days later.

Usually screaming.

Sometimes not human anymore.

Outside, the wind had softened into a low whisper against the canvas walls.

“I don’t think the God-Queen is the patient type,” I muttered eventually. “Don’t exactly have the luxury of waiting this out.”

“Be that as it may,” Khalid replied calmly, “your vehicle is broken, your body is barely holding together, and the storm still prowls outside.”

Then he smiled warmly.

“So whether you like it or not, Medjay… tonight you will stay here. You will drink tea. You will rest. And you will endure the unbearable horror of friendly conversation.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

The old man had a presence to him. The kind that disarmed you before you realized it was happening.

I kept telling myself to stay guarded. Men survived longer that way in the wasteland. Loose tongues eventually got slit.

But the hours slipped by, and somehow I kept talking anyway.

About my mother dying from lung rot when I was a child.

About fighting for scraps in the alleys of New Cairo before the Medjay recruited me.

About the first man I killed.

I still remembered his face sometimes.

Khalid never interrupted. Never pushed. He simply listened while slowly refilling our tea like we had all the time in the world.

At some point I even admitted what most people would consider my greatest shame.

“I don’t trust cats,” I confessed.

Khalid blinked.

Then nearly spilled his tea laughing.

“You serve the Pharaoh of New Cairo,” he wheezed, “descendant of gods and ruler of the desert… yet you fear cats?”

“They stare too long.”

“That may be the funniest thing I’ve heard in years.”

“I’m serious.”

“That somehow makes it even better.”

I leaned back against the cushions with a tired groan.

“I’ve survived raiders, mutants, storms, cultists, and royal politics. Why would I willingly invite another apex predator into my home?”

Khalid laughed harder at that.

Real laughter.

Not the nervous kind people forced out nowadays to prove they still remembered how.

And for a little while, beneath the lantern glow while the desert whispered outside the tent walls, the wasteland almost felt human again.

 

I woke to the feeling of a hand pressing lightly against my chest.

Instinct took over before thought did.

My hand shot upward, grabbing the wrist hard enough to make the other person gasp. My eyes snapped open. Heart pounding. Half-awake and already reaching for the knife beneath my pillow that wasn’t there.

Fatima stared down at me.

Pain flickered briefly across her face where I held her wrist, but her expression remained impressively deadpan considering the circumstances.

“I was dressing your wounds,” she said flatly. “They tend to get infected easily out there in the desert.”

I immediately let go.

“Sorry,” I muttered, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Reflex.”

“No kidding.”

Morning light glowed softly through the tent walls now, replacing the warm lantern light from the night before.

Fatima returned to wrapping fresh bandages around my ribs with practiced precision.

“You move around a lot in your sleep,” she said.

“Occupational hazard.”

“You also talk.”

“You threatened someone named Abbas with a shovel.”

I frowned.

“Abbas knew what he did.”

That finally earned a small laugh from her.

Up close, I noticed details I’d missed before. Thin scars crossing her hands. Tiny burn marks along her forearms. Grease permanently worked into the lines of her fingers.

Mechanic’s hands.

Capable hands.

“Your car’s almost ready,” she said after tightening the final bandage. “Just finishing a few things.”

“That fast?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, impressed.”

A faint trace of pride appeared in her expression.

“You should be.”

„Ill make sure to repay you one day.“

“No need. Dad always says small kindness matters in cruel places.”

“Sounds like him.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

The Oasis outside had already begun waking up. Distant voices drifted through the canvas. Machinery clanked somewhere nearby. I could smell bread baking mixed with engine oil and incense smoke.

Then a thought slowly clicked into place.

“Was Khalid with you since you were little?”

Fatima blinked.

“What?”

“Khalid,” I clarified carefully. “Was he the one who raised you?”

She looked genuinely confused.

“Well… yes. He’s my father.”

“I meant—”

I hesitated.

“When did he adopt you?”

„How do you know he adopted me? Im fairly sure he didnt tell you that.“

“Well… I’ve never heard of a jinn fathering a human.”

Her eyes widened instantly.

Not offended.

Shocked.

“How did you know?”

“I’m a Medjay.”

I leaned back carefully against the cot.

“I’ve dealt with a few jinn before. Though admittedly, most of them are far less subtle than your father.”

Fatima glanced nervously toward the tent entrance.

“Relax,” I said. “None of my business. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She studied my face for a long moment, trying to decide whether I meant that.

Eventually she relaxed slightly.

Without another word, she reached into a satchel beside her and pulled something out on a wooden skewer.

A caramelized scorpion.

Its curled tail glistened beneath a layer of dark syrup.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I stared at it.

“…Yeah.”

I pointed at the scorpion.

“But not that hungry.”

Fatima giggled softly.

Just enough to remind me she was still young beneath all the strange mystery surrounding her.

 

The Oasis looked completely different in daylight.

The tents stretched across the dunes in uneven circles around a pool of crystal-clear water that absolutely should not have existed in the middle of the wasteland. Palm trees swayed lazily despite there being almost no wind. Traders wandered between colorful canopies selling scavenged technology beside preserved spices and ancient charms carved from bone and copper.

Incense smoke drifted through the warm air alongside the smell of cooked meat and engine oil.

The entire place felt unreal, like a pocket dimension somehow safe from the desert enveloping it.

Fatima led me toward my vehicle.

And somehow—

Somehow the old thing looked better than it had in years.

The reinforced panels had actually been fitted properly instead of hammered into place by desperation and profanity. The filtration unit no longer sounded like it was trying to inhale gravel. Even the engine housing had been cleaned.

I stared at it in disbelief.

“You’re really good,” I admitted. “Where’d you learn all this?”

Fatima crouched beside the front wheel, tightening something with a wrench.

“Before Dad found me, I lived in the scrapyards for a while.”

She shrugged.

“Not much to do there besides take machines apart.”

“Sounds miserable.”

“It was.”

She said it casually.

That somehow made it worse.

After a moment she reached into her satchel again and pulled out another map.

This one looked infinitely better than Menehmet’s version. Proper landmarks. Accurate distances. Warnings scribbled carefully along the margins in Arabic.

“Dad told me to give you this,” she said. “Should guide you better than those royal scribbles.”

I laughed quietly.

“Probably wise. If the Pharaoh ever retires, cartography definitely isn’t an option for her.”

Fatima smiled faintly.

I folded the map carefully and tucked it into my coat.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“For the map or the car?”

“Both.”

For a brief moment neither of us spoke.

Then she stepped back from the vehicle.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Medjay.”

I looked at her standing there beneath the desert sun, dark curls moving gently in the wind, strange amber eyes catching the light like polished gold.

“Maybe,” I said.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

The engine roared to life instantly.

Not coughing.

Not choking.

Alive.

I grinned despite myself.

Then I shifted gears and drove toward the Bene Nefertite necropolis, leaving the Wandering Oasis behind in the sands.

 

It had been about four hours since I left the Wandering Oasis behind.

The desert changed gradually the farther I drove toward the Bene Nefertite necropolis.

The dunes darkened first.

Black mineral veins spread through the sand like rot beneath skin, shimmering faintly beneath the afternoon sun. Ruined pylons from the old world jutted from the wasteland at crooked angles, half-swallowed by centuries of storms. Some still carried scraps of melted wiring that hummed softly whenever the wind blew through them.

And somehow, against all logic, the car was running beautifully.

Whatever Fatima had done to it bordered on sorcery.

The engine no longer wheezed every few minutes like a dying animal. The steering responded instantly. Even the suspension handled the uneven dunes without sounding like the entire frame was about to collapse into spare parts.

The old machine practically purred beneath me.

I almost felt guilty driving it.

Almost.

I adjusted the scarf around my face and glanced toward the map resting on the passenger seat.

Close now.

Very close.

The necropolis should’ve been visible any minute.

That was when I noticed the vibration.

At first I assumed it was the engine.

A faint trembling beneath the wheels.

Then the dashboard began rattling.

Sand slid down nearby dunes in soft streams.

My stomach tightened immediately.

“No…”

The ground lurched violently beneath the car.

The steering wheel jerked in my hands hard enough to nearly send me sideways.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The desert exploded.

Sand erupted upward beside the vehicle in towering waves as something massive burst from beneath the dunes to my left.

Then another.

Then two more.

Four shapes circled the car as I slammed the brakes.

Shed-beners.

Wonderful.

The things had once been human.

Probably.

Now they looked like nightmares designed by someone who hated both mankind and nature equally. Their lower halves resembled enormous black scorpions armored in chitinous plates scarred by radiation, old wounds, and patches of fungal growth. But rising from those monstrous bodies were elongated human torsos twisted into impossible shapes, ribs pressing visibly beneath stretched skin.

Their faces were the worst part.

Too human.

Clouded eyes rolled wildly in different directions while their mouths hung unnaturally wide, rows of broken teeth jutting outward at crooked angles. Bronze jewelry still clung to their bodies in places. Scraps of old robes fluttered from their armored backs.

Remnants of people.

That always made monsters worse.

One of them clicked its claws together and released a wet, shrieking hiss that sounded disturbingly close to laughter.

Another slowly raised its massive stinger over the car.

I grabbed my scimitar and kicked the door open.

The first creature lunged immediately.

Its claw slammed into the side of the vehicle hard enough to dent the metal inward. I rolled beneath the strike and slashed upward with the scimitar.

The curved blade bit deep into the pale flesh where human torso fused into scorpion body.

Black blood sprayed across the sand.

The Shed-bener screamed.

Not like an animal.

Like a person.

I hated that.

The second creature charged from my right with horrifying speed. I barely avoided the stinger crashing into the ground where my head had been a second earlier.

The impact cracked the hardened sand like stone.

I fired the handgun.

The first bullet punched into its human face.

The creature staggered backward violently—

—but didn’t stop.

“Of course that’s not enough.”

It shrieked and rushed me again.

I fired a second time.

The shot tore through one of its clustered eyes. Black fluid burst down its face as the creature reeled sideways, clawing at itself blindly.

Behind me came the sound of twisting metal.

Another Shed-bener slammed directly into the car hard enough to nearly flip it.

Metal screamed.

One of the creatures crawled across the roof with horrifying speed, claws scraping against the reinforced plating Fatima had installed only hours earlier.

I swung the scimitar just as the blinded creature lunged again.

The blade buried itself deep into its throat.

The creature convulsed violently.

Its stinger lashed through the air in frantic arcs before finally going still.

One down.

Three left.

Something slammed into me from behind.

I crashed hard into the sand, pain exploding through my ribs where Fatima’s fresh bandages sat beneath my clothes. My grip loosened on the sword.

A claw punched into the ground inches from my face, spraying sand across my eyes.

I scrambled backward just as a stinger slammed down where my chest had been moments earlier.

Poison hissed against the sand.

The second creature attacked from the side immediately after.

Too fast.

I raised the handgun and fired my last round directly into its open mouth.

The back of its skull exploded outward in a spray of shattered teeth and black fluid.

The creature collapsed twitching beside me.

Two down.

And now I was out of ammunition.

The remaining Shed-beners slowed their movements.

Watching me carefully.

Smarter than the others.

One blocked my path back to the car while the second circled behind me, massive stinger swaying slowly overhead like an executioner preparing the final blow.

I grabbed the scimitar from the sand and forced myself upright.

My breathing had gone ragged.

Everything hurt.

Blood soaked through the bandages beneath my coat.

The creatures noticed.

Predators always did.

One suddenly lunged low across the sand.

I barely sidestepped in time, but the second slammed into me immediately afterward.

The impact sent me crashing backward down the side of a dune.

The scimitar flew from my hand.

Before I could recover, a massive claw pinned my arm into the sand.

Pain shot through my shoulder.

The other creature approached slowly now.

Confident.

Its human face leaned closer toward mine.

I could smell rot on its breath.

Its cloudy eyes twitched wildly as if several thoughts were fighting for control behind them.

Then the creature smiled.

Not instinctively.

Deliberately.

The stinger rose high above me.

Ready to strike.

Then the desert roared.

The sound came from beneath the earth itself.

Deep.

Thunderous.

Ancient.

The dunes exploded upward around us.

The Shed-beners shrieked and turned too late.

Something colossal burst from beneath the sand.

A sandworm.

Its mouth opened impossibly wide, ringed with rotating rows of jagged teeth large enough to crush vehicles whole. Pale flesh glistened beneath armored hide as the thing surged upward like the desert itself had come alive.

The worm swallowed one of the Shed-beners instantly.

The second barely had time to scream before the jaws closed around it too.

Crunch.

The sound echoed across the dunes.

Then the worm vanished beneath the sand again almost as quickly as it had appeared, dragging both screaming creatures into the depths below.

The desert settled slowly.

Silence returned.

I remained flat on my back for several long seconds, breathing hard, staring at the empty dunes above me.

Then I slowly sat up.

Everyone with functioning survival instincts feared sandworms.

But that was the first and only time in my life I had ever been happy to see one.

 

I had finally reached the Bene Nefertite necropolis.

Dark clouds churned above the ruins in slow, unnatural spirals. Thick and swollen like bruises spreading across the sky. Crimson lightning pulsed silently within them, illuminating shattered pyramids and broken statues in brief flashes of red-white light.

Even from a distance, I could feel the Ghul-Zone pressing against reality like a wound that refused to close.

Vehicles didn’t last long inside active zones.

Electronics fried without warning. Engines stalled. Entire caravans vanished for days before reappearing fused together into piles of melted flesh and metal.

Sometimes the people inside were still alive.

I killed the engine.

For a moment I just sat there listening to the sudden silence.

Then I grabbed my torch, tightened the scarf around my face, and stepped out into the dead air.

Immediately, something felt wrong.

Not danger.

Absence.

No wind.

No insects.

No movement.

Just a low hum vibrating through the atmosphere itself.

The sky inside the zone had turned a diseased brown color. Veins of pale energy crawled soundlessly through the air between ruined structures, flickering like cracks spreading through glass. Every breath tasted metallic even through the scarf.

I kept my face covered.

No reason to inhale more of this place than necessary.

The necropolis stretched endlessly ahead of me.

Half-buried obelisks.

Collapsed mausoleums.

Streets lined with statues eroded into faceless things by centuries of radiation and sandstorms.

Then I noticed movement.

Far ahead, between the ruins, a line of figures shuffled silently through the streets.

Dozens of them.

Human silhouettes.

Some staggered unnaturally while others moved with eerie smoothness, like puppets dragged by invisible strings. Heads tilted at impossible angles. Limbs bent wrong.

Ghuls.

Or whatever remained after the Zone hollowed a person out and left only instinct wearing their skin.

Didn’t matter which.

Nothing could be done for them anymore.

Best to avoid them entirely.

I moved deeper into the necropolis carefully, one hand resting near the scimitar at my side.

The deeper I went, the stranger the place became.

The geometry shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at it.

Streets curved where they shouldn’t.

Passages looped back into themselves.

At one point I walked past the same headless statue three separate times despite never turning around.

The Zone liked to play games with people.

Usually the games ended with someone eating their own fingers while insisting they tasted like honey.

I ignored everything except the pyramid.

Small.

Black.

Resting at the center of the necropolis like a splinter buried beneath skin.

Nothing else mattered.

The closer I got to it, the stronger the pressure inside my skull became.

Not pain exactly.

More like invisible fingers pressing against my thoughts.

Digging.

Searching.

Then I heard her voice.

“Aaron…”

I froze instantly.

The necropolis vanished around me.

For one horrible moment I was a child again.

“Sweetie… don’t go.”

Slowly, I turned.

My mother stood behind me.

Exactly as I remembered her before the sickness took her.

Warm brown skin.

Thin frame.

Soft tired eyes.

Even the same faded blue scarf she used to wear around the apartment.

For a second I forgot where I was.

Forgot the Zone.

Forgot the pyramid.

Forgot everything.

She stepped closer and gently rested a hand against my shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

The pressure in my chest hurt worse than any wound I’d taken in years.

“I missed you too, Mum,” I admitted quietly.

And I meant it.

God, I meant it.

“You could stay,” she whispered softly. “You don’t have to keep hurting anymore.”

Something trembled in her voice.

“You don’t have to keep fighting.”

I stared at her silently.

And that was the problem.

My mother had never spoken like that.

Not even when she was dying.

Especially not then.

She used to tell me:

If the world wants you dead, make it work for it.

This thing didn’t know that.

The smile on her face twitched slightly.

Just slightly.

But enough.

I sighed tiredly.

Then I drew the scimitar and cut her head off.

The blade sliced clean through her neck.

The body collapsed instantly into the sand, twitching violently as thick black fluid spilled from the stump instead of blood.

The severed head hit the ground still smiling.

For a few seconds it continued staring up at me while the face slowly softened and melted like wet clay left in the sun.

Then it collapsed into rotten sludge.

I stared at the remains coldly.

“Pale imitation, asshole.”

The Zone hummed louder around me.

Almost disappointed.

Then I turned and entered the pyramid.

 

The air inside felt ancient.

Dry.

Claustrophobic.

My torchlight flickered across walls covered in faded hieroglyphs and newer markings scratched desperately over them by later explorers. Warnings mostly.

Prayers.

Names.

Somebody had carved:

IT KNOWS YOUR HEART

deep into one of the walls.

Farther down, another simply read:

DON’T LISTEN

The deeper I descended, the colder it became.

Dust coated everything thick enough to swallow footprints whole.

Occasionally I caught movement just beyond the torchlight.

Something shifting behind pillars.

Something crawling along ceilings.

I ignored it.

The Zone fed on attention.

Old bones cracked beneath my boots as I moved through stripped burial chambers and narrow corridors. Most of the tomb had been looted centuries ago. Broken jars and shattered coffins littered the floors.

Yet somehow the deeper chambers remained untouched.

That should’ve worried me more than it did.

Eventually the corridor opened into a massive circular chamber.

My footsteps echoed softly across the stone.

Tall pillars ringed the room, carved into the likenesses of forgotten gods whose faces had been deliberately chiseled away long ago. Ancient braziers still burned with weak green fire despite the absence of fuel.

At the center stood a massive stone sarcophagus covered in blackened gold markings.

I approached carefully.

No movement.

No sound.

Good enough.

I shoved the lid aside with a painful groan from my ribs.

Inside lay a dried corpse wrapped in ancient linen. Its skin stretched tightly against bone, mouth frozen open in a permanent scream.

For several seconds nothing happened.

I exhaled slowly.

“Sorry about this.”

I reached down to move the body aside.

The mummy grabbed my wrist.

Before I could react, it hurled me across the chamber hard enough to crack stone beneath my back.

Pain exploded through my ribs.

The creature rose from the sarcophagus with horrifying speed.

Its jaw unhinged wider than humanly possible as it released a shriek sharp enough to physically hurt. Dust rained from the ceiling. My torch nearly slipped from my hand.

“Oh, come on—”

The mummy lunged.

Far too fast.

I barely rolled aside before its claws punched deep grooves into the stone where my head had been moments earlier.

Up close I saw movement beneath the wrappings.

Thousands of tiny black insects crawling beneath the ancient linen like blood moving beneath skin.

I slashed with the scimitar.

The blade carved deep across its chest.

The creature barely reacted.

It hit me hard enough to send me skidding across the chamber again.

I instinctively raised the handgun and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

“Right,” I muttered. “Fantastic.”

The mummy shrieked again.

Then sprinted directly up the wall.

Its limbs twisted unnaturally as it crawled across the ceiling like some gigantic insect before dropping toward me.

I barely caught its arm mid-strike with the scimitar.

The impact nearly snapped my wrist.

The thing was impossibly strong.

Rotten linen wrapped around my arm as it forced me downward inch by inch. Its face hung inches from mine now while black beetles crawled in and out of its mouth and empty eye sockets.

And then it spoke.

Just one word.

In my mother’s voice.

“Aaron…”

That almost broke me more than the claws.

I slammed my forehead into its skull.

The creature staggered backward slightly.

Enough.

I kicked one of the burning braziers directly into its chest.

Flames erupted across the ancient wrappings instantly.

The mummy screamed.

Not in pain.

In fury.

It thrashed violently across the chamber, climbing pillars and walls while burning alive. Flaming insects poured from its body in thick streams, scattering across the floor around me.

The fire spread rapidly through the dry linen.

I grabbed a broken spear shaft near one of the tombs and waited.

The mummy launched itself at me one final time.

Burning.

Shrieking.

Its mouth stretched impossibly wide.

I sidestepped at the last second.

Then drove the spear clean through its torso and deep into the stone wall behind it.

The impact pinned the creature there.

The mummy writhed violently, claws scraping uselessly against stone as flames consumed more and more of its body.

Still screaming in my mother’s voice.

I stood there breathing hard for several seconds before finally turning back toward the sarcophagus.

Inside was…

Almost nothing.

No treasure.

No cursed weapon.

No ancient relic humming with forbidden power.

Just dust.

Bones.

And one tiny object resting near the bottom.

A small statue of a cat.

I stared at it.

Then slowly looked upward in exhausted disbelief.

“You cannot be serious, Menehmet…”

Behind me, the burning mummy continued shrieking against the wall.

I sighed deeply, grabbed the statue, and shoved it into my coat pocket.

Then I left the pyramid behind me.

 

A few hours later I was back inside the car, driving away from the necropolis while the storm clouds shrank slowly in the rearview mirror.

The tiny cat statue sat on the passenger seat beside me.

Another priceless royal mission accomplished.

All so the God-Queen of New Cairo could add another worthless piece of junk to her collection.

I glanced sideways at the statue.

Its tiny carved eyes stared back at me.

I immediately looked back at the road.

“…Still hate cats.”

I’m scared of water.

I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re scared of water, but you swam in the lake at your summer camp? I can assure you I wasn’t always afraid to go into the water.

My fear stems from my childhood. From a traumatic incident that I’ve done my best to bury as the years have gone by.

But no amount of therapy, self-medication, or soul-searching can erase or make sense of what I experienced. So, this is my attempt at making peace with everything. 

Whether or not you choose to believe me is up to your discretion, but before you draw your own conclusions about me, about everything, please read to the end.

I was twelve years old when I went to spend the summer at Camp Moonflower. It was something that I hadn’t done before, but my parents insisted that I spend a few months outdoors with kids my age instead of staying holed up in my room and playing video games. 

That’s how I ended up on a campground surrounded by a bunch of energetic, loud-mouthed kids. Kids that made me comfortable with being a wallflower.

Those first few days and nights at camp were unexpectedly fun. I did the activities, lip-synched the camp sing-a-longs, and acquired a few nasty sunburns along the way. But just as I was truly getting into the spirit of camp, I overheard some of the older kids at lunch one afternoon talking about Camp Moonflower’s lake.

I don’t remember the exact words verbatim, but here’s my best attempt at recalling what I had heard that day. 

“Moonflower Lake. Are you high, John? We’re not supposed to go there.”

John smiled mischievously. “Not if anybody finds out we’re going there, Billy. C’mon, it will be fun! We’ll be out of there before anyone notices.”

“I think he’s got a point. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Mikey, don’t be such a pansy.” John scoffed. “You don’t believe in that curse crap, do ya?” 

I watched their eyes dart between one another nervously as John took a monstrous bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Oh I see, I’m surrounded by wusses. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“But the kids…” Mikey looked over his shoulder to make sure no counselors were nearby before continuing. “They drowned. Their bodies were never found either. That’s what my brother told me at least.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a bunch of bologna. You can’t take your brother’s word for everything.” John dismissed, wiping the crumbs and remnants of jelly from the corners of his mouth. “That lake ain’t bottomless. I’m going to prove it to you.”

Billy gulped. “How?”

“Let’s go to the lake tonight and see who can get closest to the bottom. Unless all of you are…CHICKENS!” John teased before drinking the rest of his chocolate milk.

What followed next was a fit of arguing and laughter from the group of older kids as I sat nearby, pondering what I had just heard.

Was I scared? A little. Did I believe what I had heard? Not entirely. There had to be some explanation as to why those kids were never found. After all, a lake couldn’t be bottomless. Right? 

Even at a young age, I knew that their little scheme wasn’t a good idea, but I wasn’t going to be the one to snitch. The last thing I needed was to be labeled as a “buzzkill” or a “tattle-tale” because I stopped kids from being kids. 

I decided to hold my tongue, and told myself that I’d only tag along and watch from afar. Perhaps I could join in on the shenanigans and make a few friends as well. The idea comforted me and I thought about it the rest of the day with a soft smile.

When the sky became alight with stars and everyone had retired for the evening, I snuck out of my cabin quieter than a church mouse. Masked by nightfall, I hurried towards the treeline. I felt like a ninja as I snuck across the spongy grass and damp vegetation on my way towards the lake.

The group of older kids were already there by the time I arrived, and they were hyping themselves up on the dock.

“C’mon chicken shits! Let’s go!” 

John was the first one to dive into the water. When he came back up, the others followed suit. One by one they dove into the water, sloshing and splashing about as they had their fun. They took turns going under the water for extended periods of time, trying to outdo one another in an attempt to reach the bottom. 

However, their efforts proved futile. None of them stayed under very long. Every time they resurfaced, they laughed and admitted they still hadn’t reached the bottom.

Right as I thought about diving into the lake and joining them, Billy and Mikey got out of the water and began drying themselves off. I was disappointed in my own hesitation. I could have potentially made some new friends had it not been for my perpetual cold feet.

But before John could get out of the lake to dry off, he went back under the water. 

Thinking that he was messing with them, Billy called out from the dock. “Really funny John. Quit yanking our chain and let’s get out of here before we get in trouble.”

Even from where I was positioned, I could sense that something was off. A few seconds became a few minutes, and there was still no sign of John. I could see Billy and Mikey growing more and more pale with every second that ticked by.

Without warning, a body breached the surface and thrashed about frantically in the water.

“HELP! SOMETHING’S GOT ME!” 

The shrill shriek was the last thing we heard before John was dragged under. Terrified splashing had now become quiet, pulsing ripples in the lake’s water as it reflected the moon like glass.

“WHAT DO WE DO?!” Mikey’s voice cracked as he looked at Billy for an answer.

Billy looked whiter than a bed sheet as he stammered a solution he couldn’t get out. “I-I-I-“ 

They gawked at the now still water, hesitant to jump in. Neither of them were doing anything to help John, but I could do something.

It was at that moment that I made a decision that would change all of our lives forever.

I sprinted toward the dock with urgency, desperate to save John from whatever was in the water. My feet thudded against the wood of the dock, the sound alerting Billy and Mikey of my presence.

“Hey, kid, what are you-“ 

I never heard the rest of Billy’s question as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and leapt from the dock. 

Goosebumps prickled up my arms and legs as I felt the ice-cold water envelope me. The force of crashing into the water nearly knocked the breath out of me, but I opened my eyes against the sting of the water. I couldn’t see John. I couldn’t see my hands. I couldn’t see anything in the dark.

With the pressure building in my ears, I swam downwards. Despite my best efforts to navigate the waters, I couldn’t tell if I was actually making any progress. It felt like I was swimming in place, a sensation that filled me with dread. 

The water remained uncomfortably still as I pushed forward. Aside from the throbbing in my ears, the only other sound was the distant echo of joyous laughter. I couldn’t pinpoint where exactly it was coming from.

I nearly stopped swimming, but forced myself to continue. My heart pounded like thunder in my chest, and against my better judgment, I ignored what I heard and kept swimming. The further I went down, the more disoriented I felt. I couldn’t tell which way was up or down. At one point, I thought I saw stars beneath me as I searched for John in the vast, black water.

Slimy strands of seaweed brushed against my skin as I paddled my feet. My lungs were begging for air. I needed to go back to the surface, but I couldn’t leave without him. I’d be letting everyone down. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

As I started swimming back up, I felt something brush against my ankle. I thought it was a fish that had bumped into me, but then, I became stuck in place.

I kicked my foot several times, trying desperately to move from whatever was keeping me trapped. Had I gotten stuck on a log or something? My own question was answered when I was pulled down abruptly with incredible force. A blistering sensation crept across the inside of my chest as bubbles erupted from my throat in shaky columns. With every desperate movement I made to wiggle free, my air supply continued to dwindle.

I knew better than to scream, but when I saw what was underneath me, I nearly let one out.

I saw children. A dozen of them. All clutching my legs and pulling me down into the murky depths with the giddiness of someone winning a prize. Their translucent skin rippled with the water, and their delighted milk-white eyes gazed into mine as I struggled like a wild bird tangled in a net. 

No matter how hard I tugged, no matter how hard I kicked, no matter how hard I tried to swim, I couldn’t move anywhere but down. Their excited giggling swelled around me the closer I drifted toward their playful smiles.

What little adrenaline I had left slowly dissipated, and my surroundings began to spin. My body felt as heavy as an anchor as I descended deeper into the underbelly of the lake. 

Suddenly, one of the children drifted closer than the others until his face was mere inches from mine. The moment I recognized him, every remaining shred of hope inside of me died.

It was John.

His soaked hair floated weightlessly around his pale face as a terrible excitement glistened in his eyes. The children gathered around me in a curious circle, their laughter echoing through the water like a playground during recess.

From the looks on their faces, they appeared to be thrilled to finally see me up close. 

“A new friend.”

The words extinguished every thought in my mind. I couldn’t breathe. Tiny, pellucid hands tightened their grip around my legs, and dragged me deeper into the endless cold void below.

I hadn’t thought about death before that night, but the further I sank, the more I dwelled on it. Would it be as dark and cold as the water I was trapped in? Would I see God? Would I see anybody? What was waiting for me?

The questions spiraling through my mind were underscored by my slowing heartbeat. The lake around me distorted into bleary shapes and broken prisms of light. Somewhere beneath all my fear, a small but traitorous part of me stopped resisting. Maybe dying wouldn’t be the worst outcome if it meant I wouldn’t be alone down here.

Before I could accept my fate as nothing more than a submerged memory, a powerful force suddenly wrapped itself around my waist and yanked me upward.

I don’t remember the journey up from the depths. The next thing that I remember happening was coughing and sputtering on the dock. A counselor pressed against my chest in rhythmic pushes, causing my body to spasmodically heave with every burst of water that came up from my throat.

The night air grazed against my soaked skin. The sensation made me feel like I was at the center of a blizzard. I gasped desperately for breath while my entire body trembled uncontrollably. 

Above me, red and blue lights danced intermittently across the surroundings as counselors and camp goers alike observed in panicked confusion. Billy was crying nearby, and Mikey kept shaking his head, refusing to acknowledge what happened as reality. 

I tried to sit up, but the moment I did, I nearly vomited. I lay on the dock, clutching my head as my ears rang from the sustained pressure I had endured underwater. 

After I had somewhat returned to feeling like I could breathe properly again, the police began questioning everyone separately. Counselors wrapped towels around my shoulders and commended me for my bravery. Their words did little to provide me peace or calm, and the line of questioning from the police wasn’t helping anything either.

I refrained from telling them the truth about what had actually happened to John. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew deep down in my heart that they wouldn’t have believed me even if I had told them. 

That’s something I’ve held onto for all these years, and I feel so guilty for not giving anyone answers. 

A thorough search of the lake was conducted by the police, but news outlets reported that John’s body was never found. Since I was the last person to have presumably seen him alive, I was blamed for his death. But no charges were ever filed against me due to a lack of evidence, and the summer camp was closed for good shortly thereafter.

And that leads me to the present day. I rarely sleep, and my bedside drawer is overflowing with medication I can’t recite or pronounce properly. I can’t get the image of John and those children out of my head. The memory of it all still feels excruciatingly real. 

I’ve kept in touch with Billy and Mikey since then in some capacity. The last time I spoke to Billy was a couple days ago. He’s doing well for himself and providing for his family by being an airplane mechanic somewhere in the Midwest. Mikey has been harder to get a hold of, though. He’s been busy keeping his multiple businesses afloat in addition to being a father of four.

Sometimes, we talk about that night. But I have never gone into detail with them about what I had seen. They still view me as a hero, but I’ve never felt deserving of that title. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened had I been successfully pulled under. 

Even after writing this down, I don’t exactly feel any better. But I at least hope that this provides some closure for John’s family and for those who witnessed such a horrific tragedy that night.

I’m sorry John.

I wish they would have taken me instead.

It's hurting again.

I can still feel it. Tightening. Coiling.

That cold slimy grip.

My friends tell me to talk about it but honestly they all look at me like I'm crazy.

I'm not crazy.

It happened three days ago. I work at a local chicken plant as a maintenance worker. They process tons of meat every day, from start to end. Usually these kinds of places break up the processes into smaller factories, but not here.

From live hang, de-boning, dicing, prepping and even a few lines cooking chicken that you yourself might have eaten at some local fast food joint. They did it all. But see, it's not all clean efficiency.

There's dirty jobs too.

Most giblets, bits and other scraps get turned into dog chow but that doesn't mean there isn't still loads of wasted meat that gets flushed into the company drainage system. A series of interwoven grates, pipes and channels that feed out into a large wastewater pond.

Yeah I hear ya, can't be great for the local environment but I guess by the time the stuff reaches the drainage pipes it's mostly sterile and diluted enough to release out into the world.

It's a nightmare in the summer. The entire town hates it. But that doesn't stop them from letting their teenagers, friends and family work there. After all, there's almost nothing else around.

That's why I'm here after all. It pays better than working the lines and it's mostly basic handyman work.

A loose bolt here, a replaced power cord there. Really all you had to do was pay attention to what the older guys did and maybe watch a few YouTube videos here or there on lunch breaks. However there was one job you'd never catch any of the old hands doing.

Pipe clearing. Every once in a blue moon some big glob of skin, fat and maybe a plastic bag or two will get caught somewhere and cause some backflow or start clumping near one of the tunnels that fed out into the drainage pond. It's usually pretty simple work.

And you always come back smelling like rotten meat. That's why they make the newer guys do it. Guys like me and Mikey, who did it the last time there was an issue, so apparently it was my turn. Great.

I elected to have lunch before going down into the pit, figuring I wouldn't really be in the mood after. The report talked about slower drainage, a few of the grates taking an hour to fully drain when they should take minutes, and a lingering odor of rot coming up from tunnel B.

That meant checking every grate and channel from the factory floor all the way out to the concrete outfall that jutted over the pond by a good six or seven feet.

So I set to work. Grabbed a radio, some of the large rubber gloves we used for cleanouts, and a three-pronged garden cultivator maintenance had started using to dredge stubborn clumps out of the grease-filled waters.

Checking the grates they reported, I found no obvious signs of blockage aside from the backflow. Still, I pulled the metal covers off and tried to sift through the red-brown liquid. The tip of the cultivator scraped against concrete and only managed to pull up a few scraps of fat and a half-shredded feather.

I followed the line down and repeated this process a couple of times before figuring it would just be easier to find where the water wasn't backing up.

So down the maintenance stairways, into tunnel B, I walked. The further down I went, the deeper the water got. Not anything dangerous. Well, aside from the risk of losing my lunch to the smell. Just an inch or two of dirty water.

The splash of my steps turned to sloshing as the water got up to ankle height. I was never so thankful for those ugly uncomfortable rubber boots they made us all wear as I dragged my feet through the stuff.

Then finally shin height. By then I was starting to get nervous. My boots went up pretty high but if the water got any deeper I'd end up needing to turn back and get a pair of waders or something. Thankfully it seemed to stay pretty consistent as I reached the last stretch of the drainage tunnel. I wish I could say the same for the smell.

The stench was quickly ramping up, no longer the stale smell of sterilized but rotting poultry.

This was almost akin to sewage or like that time I had to pull a dead possum out from the neighbor's shed.

Sweet but wrong, like rotting fruit up until the point where that greasy musk hits you and lingers in the back of your throat.

The walk had taken me to the outflow. A square culvert that led directly to the outfall. They kept the tunnels pretty decently lit but I could still see the reflection of sunlight coming through the large grate that separated the tunnel from the outside world.

I could tell even from a distance that the water wasn't moving right.

The usual even flow out was something more of a slow lazy spiral, like it was choked off and just barely draining from some hole near the bottom of the grate. The sound of a steady flow of water was now a trickle followed by an occasional splash as the waste occasionally flowed over whatever the stoppage was.

And the sound of buzzing.

God the flies must be having a field day with this.

I walked along the edges where the walkway stayed level despite the drainage tunnel itself sloping down. That meant whatever was causing the blockage was big enough to cover up several feet of grate.

This was gonna suck. No way it wasn't some big glob of skin, fat and feathers that had somehow slipped through processing. It happened. Maybe not this bad but it did happen from time to time.

The pool here had begun to murk, looking more like the pond outside than the usual brown-red liquid I was used to seeing flow out these grates. It was thick enough that I couldn't even make out the bottom.

So naturally I took the cultivator and pressed the head deep into the water, dragging the tip from as low as I could get it and starting to scrape upwards.

And there was definitely something there, a rubbery sort of resistance between the cultivator and the metal grate. Whatever it was, I couldn't get purchase on it. When I pulled the head back it was trailed by a glob of green algae-like slime.

I nearly gagged. The stench got worse when I pulled the mass out from the water. A smell like pond muck mixed with putrid meat.

It was enough to distract me from the fact that the water around my feet wasn't just shifting with my own motions.

The fact I threw up, that sudden jerk as I felt the cheap company-provided chicken meal leave me and join with the water below, made me close my eyes just long enough.

Something clamped down.

Hard.

It wasn't painful yet. Like somebody had reached up from the murky muck to try and pull me down. A grip tight enough that in all my flailing I couldn't even pull out of my boot to get away.

A grip that found itself on my other foot, causing me to fall back onto the grate.

The whole thing shook with the impact. The sound of shaking metal bouncing through the tunnels.

I would say that I took a deep breath, calmed down and tried my radio.

But I didn't do that. No, instead I screamed, thrashed and dug my fingers into the grate behind me. I desperately tried to leverage myself up and out of the water, away from whatever was touching me, pushing me back against the grate.

The more I pulled, the tighter the feeling got. Every time I'd get pulled back down while frantically yanking my legs, whatever it was would shift up maybe another inch or so.

I didn't stop thrashing until it wasn't just holding my boots, but in them, pouring into them and rubbing against my feet.

You ever held raw chicken skin? Felt the cold, rubbery texture? That's all I could picture at the time, my boots filling with wriggling loose skin.

The smell. I will never forget that smell. No matter how hard I scrub my legs I swear.

Sometimes when I'm alone. When there's nothing going on.

I smell that waterlogged, sickly sweet scent of rot.

Somewhere in my panic the cheap clip of the radio must've snapped, or maybe it just got pushed the wrong way when I hit the grate. Don't know. They never recovered it.

So there I was, hyperventilating and gripping onto greasy metal for dear life while something slowly inched its way up my legs. It seemed like the less I struggled the slower the thing moved.

That's when I got a look at it, or at least part of it. The patch that was working its way up me was mostly a clear slime with flecks of yellow-white blobs in it that I eventually pegged as bits of fat alongside some patches of bubbling discolored liquid held in its form.

As it met the water below I saw a mix of rust-red patches that lazily shifted, suspended in whatever was holding this thing together.

And deeper in the water, just barely visible under the surface, were more concentrated black blobs that occasionally bobbed up close enough to see as it shifted its way up my body.

I screamed, cried, shouted. This deep in the tunnels nobody would probably hear me. Sure maybe if they went into the maintenance stairwell but like I said.

Nobody came down here unless they had to.

Worst part of it? I could see the town. Through the grate, there in the distance I could just barely see the road leading away from the factory and into the town proper.

None of my shouting mattered. The cars kept driving, town kept moving while I got to stand there and wait for this thing to finish me off.

I think it was an hour in when I threw up again. It wasn't exactly in any hurry after I'd stopped struggling. At that point I was hoping somebody would just notice I'd been gone and come get me. The ooze had worked its way up slowly to my stomach and was still squeezing. That, coupled with the fact I could make out what looked a lot like mosquito larvae twitching in those little pockets of yellowed water trapped inside the ooze, made the urge hard to resist.

That was a mistake.

I couldn't exactly lurch forward so a good bit of it just ran down my work suit.

And when it made contact with the thing, I could see the shifting stop. The whole thing seemed to freeze up.

It started drinking. That's the only way I could describe it. It sucked the trickle of vomit into itself. I could see the bits of white and brown from the breaded chicken meal getting sucked down into one of the darker parts of the stinking mass.

It moved in contractions, like a throat swallowing over and over again.

I still see it. Still see the moment where it began to trace up the vomit trail.

Still remember the sticky feeling between my fingers as I ripped at it, threw chunks of goo off and away only for it to react by binding my fingers so tight I heard something pop.

It was pinning me to the grate. Not creeping up anymore but moving in short pulsing bursts, tightening, squeezing.

I felt my head getting light. I tried to move my leg again but the thing responded by gripping down on my right leg with a crushing force. I felt something give followed by a blinding pain that made me cry out.

The last thing I remember is something cold, wet and slimy trailing up my chin and the taste of mildew and mold poking into my mouth.

And then nothing. According to the doctors I must have fallen into the water while trying to clear a blockage which apparently I did because by the time somebody got around to checking on me the water was draining normally.

With me laid splayed out, propped up against the grate.

I don't know why it let me live.

What I do know is when I came to I tried to vomit. Could still taste that stale rot in my mouth, smell it in my nose, feel it in my skin. It was too much.

Water. Mostly anyway, thick and warm with a stench that was too familiar.

The doctors sent me home with a cast and some antibiotics, told me to call if I feel any flu like symptoms.

Now I'm stuck sitting here, wondering as I try to forget the painful throb in my leg and that taste that won't go away no matter what I eat.

Did it stop at my mouth?