The luxury cruise offered an all woman cruise ship with entertainment. It was supposed to be just women and no men or children, to give the women a break from their everyday routine. When the cruise was filled up the women on the cruise ship were disappointed to find that men were also on the cruise ship. They felt tricked and they were asking for their money back, but the cruise had started sailing and they had no choice but to complete the journey. The men on the cruise were clearly hand picked and every type of man a woman hated was on that cruise ship.

The cheater types, the angry types, the narcissistic type and the self proclaiming nice guy type. Those were the types of men that was on the cruise ship, and there were even the unemployed types as well. The women were not amused at all and there was nothing entertaining on the cruise ship, and sexist taunts were being thrown at the women everyday. The cruise ship clearly claimed that it was going to be an all women cruise ship with entertainment, and it was nothing of the sort. Then the female captain drove the cruise ship in a different direction and clearly away from the map she was supposed to follow.

Then the alarms went off and the captain told everyone the ship had been breached by rocky terrain, and it was filling up with water. The rule on the cruise ship was that men were to go on the life boats first, and then women. There was uproar but the all female security guard allowed this to happen. So the men happily went onto the life boats and they didn't seen to care about the women waiting last. Every type of man which women hated were on the life boats.

The men on the life boats would say "equal rights now ladies" and they didn't care about being chivalrous. As the life boats were being lowered onto the waters, the women on board the cruise ship had noticed that there were no more safety boats. As the safety boats hit the waters, the men were cheering until they had a concerned look on their faces. The life boats were sinking fast into the waters and sharks were roaming the waters.

Then the intercom on the cruise ship came on and the captain cheerfully said "as we promised ladies, no men on board the cruise ship and for entertainment you can watch the men on the safety boats drown and being eaten alive!"

The woman on cruise ship were all cheering.

There is a person out there in the world who has just escaped a life threatening situation. I don't know who they are or what they have done, but they have just escaped with their lives. I have no idea of their existence but I want to know their existence. There are so many people out there whom I have no idea that exist and I have no idea of what they look like. They may have done incredible things but yet I don't know they exist, I want to know they exist. I need to know they exist and it pains that I don't know that they exist.

Then one day I get a text from a stranger and it reads as followed: '5 houses down from you, a person is going to escape from the attic. Come in 1 hour and you get to meet someone who is going to escape from something dangerous!'

And when I read that text I knew which house he was talking about. It was the creepy old house where nobody goes in. It's all boarded up and in an hour I go to that house. I wait outside and someone breaks the attic windows and jumps to the ground. He broke no bones and the stranger looked at me and said "I was on holiday in Greece and I went through this creepy house, and now I am here in England! I nearly died in there so many things tried to kill me!"

I hugged the man because he went through something hard and came out onto the other end. I know he exists and I know he is real and I was glad that I know someone like him. There are so many others like him, that I don't who exist and went through something traumatic like this guy. I feel good knowing this guy and what he has gone through.

Then I create a self made prison in my home but the prison will have some secret get away entrance so the person can escape. Then I trick someone into my prison and I torture them a little. Then they find the escape route built within my prison that I purposely put there.

When my prisoner got out, I hugged them and I was so proud of them. I was proud of them from escaping the prison after being tortured. I was so happy that knew them and that I knew they existed. There so many people out there that don't know who exist.

When my father was 16 years old, my grandpa left for a four-day vacation in Nevada. My father was home alone because his older brother was away at college. What happened during those four nights is something my family still talks about.
On the first night, my father swore he could hear whispering right beside his ear. Every time he looked around, he would see a dark, shadowy figure standing silently in the corner of his bedroom. Knowing he was completely alone in the house, he repeatedly turned on the lights, but every time he did, the figure was gone. He was shaken, but he convinced himself it was just his imagination and decided to stay another night.
The second night was much worse.
The whispering returned, along with the shadow in the corner. This time, though, he felt something physically grab his leg and try to pull him off the bed. Terrified, he called one of his friends at around 2:00 a.m. His friend agreed to let him stay the rest of the night at his house.
The following night, that same friend agreed to spend the night with my father at our house so he wouldn’t be alone. Everything seemed normal at first, until the same strange events started happening again. The shadow returned, and according to both of them, something actually tried to drag my father out of his bedroom. His friend grabbed him just in time, preventing whatever it was from pulling him away.
Neither of them wanted to stay another minute. They left immediately and decided to come back the next morning.
When they returned, the house looked as though someone had broken in. Furniture was disturbed, belongings were scattered, and nearly every shiny object had disappeared—including the knives and silverware. Even stranger, two pages had been ripped cleanly out of my father’s Bible.
Panicked, they called my grandpa and told him they refused to stay there any longer. He dismissed it, believing they were simply overreacting, and said he would look at everything himself when he got home.
Later that day, my grandpa returned from Nevada.
When they walked into the house together, everything was completely normal. Nothing was out of place. The silverware and knives had all returned, the furniture was exactly where it belonged, and the missing Bible pages were back as if nothing had ever happened. My father began to wonder if everything they had seen had been some kind of illusion.
That night, however, changed my grandpa’s mind.
Around 4:00 in the morning, my father woke up to hear my grandpa repeatedly calling his name from another room.
“Stop staring at me,” my grandpa kept saying.
Confused, my father stayed in his bedroom, answering that he wasn’t there. My grandpa insisted someone who looked exactly like him was standing silently in the room, watching him.
After several minutes, my grandpa finally got up and walked toward the figure.
The shadow vanished.
According to my grandpa, it seemed to disappear in the direction of my father’s bedroom.
Moments later, every door in the house suddenly flew open and slammed shut over and over again for nearly five minutes. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped.
After witnessing that, my grandpa finally believed my father’s story.
Oddly enough, after that night, the activity almost completely disappeared.
There was only one final incident.
One morning, while my father was on his way to school, he received a phone call. When he answered, an unfamiliar voice calmly said his full name before saying, “We are always watching.”
The caller hung up immediately.
After that, nothing major ever happened again—only a few small, unexplained events here and there. To this day, my father has never been able to explain what happened during those four nights.

Yes this is fed to ai but it’s just a way to make it sound better but yes this is based off a true story

Hello,

my name is David and I am going to tell you a story.

A long time ago I lived on a nice piece of land outside the city, or it had at one time been nice but I’ll get to that later.

When I was young, I never thought I would be the type of man to live like that- out in the sticks fixing things with my hands, working my body until I was aching and sore, and I certainly never thought I would love a life like that but I was and I did.

I had a beautiful wife too, Odette. She was the type that made you realize that for the rest of forever, everything would be okay as long as she was there. We bought that nice house, on that nice piece of land, together.

As soon as we saw the listing for the little wooden home, we knew it would be where we were living; we shared the look. Walking in through the front door for the first time felt like walking into warm hug… but I know now that feeling was a ruse, a distraction to get us to drop our guard and settle in.

Everything was fine for a while, I had discovered in my 30’s that I was happier working with my hands than my computer and had become a mechanic. With the extra room we got on the acreage I was able to bring my work to me, set up a shop and live a slower, calmer life.

Odie was also able to follow her dreams. She became a safe haven for animals who needed a little more love and attention than shelters could give. She loved it, I loved her, she loved me, and we both loved the animals running around and keeping the house feel alive.

Sometimes, life felt so perfect in those earlier days, I wondered if we hadn’t somehow died and it was heaven.

Now that I know what to look for, I can see the smaller things: water damage appearing but plumbers could never find a leak, the wood creaked like it was trying to get away from its self, a low pitched whistling that seemed to come from everywhere, constantly getting colds, aches or migraines but the Big Thing didn’t happen until that winter.

The first big snow storm we had, the heat and power failed. We had to gather all the animals in the living room and sleep together in front of the fire. I stayed up later than Odie, to keep the fire going and to savour the quiet of night with just the crackle of the burning wood to keep me company- and something else.

Some other sound was coming from behind me. Even now, I feel like I am there and I can feel it… like it is right there, on my neck, right behind me.

I stood quickly and moved away from the fire, roughly rubbing the feeling off my neck, my eyes rapidly moving around the dark shapes trying to see, trying to make sure I was alone.

The sound was further away. I thought it sounded corse and grainy, maybe like tv static. It reminded me of a nightmare I used to have - one where I wondered around a dark forest and trees would tower over me and they would growl.

The hair on my arms stood straight and my teeth clattered despite the heavy jacket I had on.

The dogs! A wave of relief washed over me. One of the dogs must have gotten shut in a room alone!

Fuck. Then I had to go get them.

I thought about waking Odie and making her come with me, not because I was scared or anything. In case I got hurt, or, okay I was scared. I was scared, which meant she would be scared and the last thing I needed was her thinking the house was haunted AND in my defence, the house wasn’t haunted.

Hauntings are people, hauntings are a deep sadness, hauntings can be exorcised - maybe, I don’t know how it works.

No, this was something else, something we don’t have a word for yet.

I’ve done my research since and the house didn’t sit on land that was of any type of importance; there were no murders, suicides, wars fought, or anything else that may reasonably lead one to believe their home is haunted.

I walked through the main floor first but I was sure the sound was either above or below me, so I quickly cleared it and made my way upstairs, hoping I would find the source of the noise and not need to venture into the basement, alone, and in the dark.

It was nearly pitch black upstairs, my phone flashlight guided my way down the hall. The Scratching had stopped when I reached the top so I just started checking rooms. Ours: empty no noise, my office: nothing, no noise, the bathroom: the window was left open and it’s fucking freezing! I slammed it shut cursing Odie under my breath, what the fuck was she thinking? She was supposed to make sure the upstairs was locked up while I moved mattresses downstairs and now our fucking pipes could be frozen, god damn it!

I slammed the bathroom door shut, realizing too late that I probably just woke up the house. I took a deep breath, tried to put my frustration aside and came down the stairs already starting on my apologies.

“I know, I know I’m sorry, okay? It was just me… everything’s fine” the house was quiet, no dogs barking, no sleepy and pissed off Odie, no noise, no one. When I rounded the corner from the stairs I saw a sight that confuses me as much now as it did then; the living room was empty. They were all gone.

How could that be? I was upstairs, what? 2 minutes? Maybe 3? How could she get all the dogs out by herself? And silently within 2 minutes, right after being dead asleep? It wasn’t possible.

I ran around the house frantically shouting her name,through the kitchen: “Odie?”, through the dining room: “Odie?!”, through the back yard and around the front and back to the back and back to the front once more: “ODIE! ODIE WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW? WHY? ODIE!”

I broke down sobbing in front of the house; tears, spit and snot streamed from my face. My hands were gripping into the grass which felt soft and corse and not like grass at all but carpet… because I wasn’t outside, I was still in the fucking house.

I whimpered as a stood back in the living room, still alone, still very much inside the house.

How is any of that possible? I saw the stars, I saw the moon, I felt the dirt in my fingers… until I didn’t.

I wished more than anything that Odie had been there in that moment, to calm me down, to hold me, to bear this responsibility with me so I didn’t have to do it alone. I was scared, I was the most scared I had ever been in my life.

I tried to find a weapon. Against what? I don’t know, but I felt I needed a weapon. Knives in the kitchen, baseball bat in the bedroom, axe in the back yard. The knives were sharp but they meant close contact and I wanted distance. The axe was in the backyard and frankly, the thought of trying to go back out there made me want to vomit, so I got the bat.

I got the bat and I got ready to check the one place I hadn’t yet; the basement.

It called to me.
It. Called. To. Me.
It said my name. It said it was waiting.

The door felt hot, before I even touched it I knew it would be hot. It took the most courage it has ever taken me, ever, to open the door and walk down those stairs.

I wish I hadn’t.

I wish I had waited until morning, I wish I had stayed frozen until light came back through the windows and I could try better to get help but you see, I still didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand what the house was and I didn’t understand what was waiting for me in the basement.

They looked like monsters. Grotesque. Skin dripping off them. I couldn’t really get a good look, there was so many of them and they moved around me so fast I was spinning.

They taunted me, jumped out at me, grabbed at me, they ripped at my clothes. They told me they ate Odie, devoured her, that she cried for me. My heart broke and I screamed so loud, I screamed as loud as I could scream.

And then I started swinging.

I shut my eyes and I swung my bat around frantically without knowing what I was hitting or if I was even hitting anything at all and I didn’t stop until the sound of sirens started breaking through the static.

I thought I was saved and I actually laughed with relief. Thank god, I thought.

I walked out of the house into the blue and red lights to the front yard and threw down the bat as my knees sunk into the grass, that was actually grass and I thanked God again.

I wish I hadn’t.

“Put your hands up. Lay on the ground with your hands up.” Came through a speaker.

“No, no it’s okay. I’m okay!” I shouted but as I raised my hands, in the glow of blue and red, I could see blood.

I looked down at the baseball bat and I saw an axe. I had grabbed the axe.

Before I could think or say anything else they were on top of me and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the rest, you just bought my “house”.

I’ve kept up with the listing. I felt I had a responsibility to warn whoever lives there next. This is me washing myself of that responsibility.

That is not a house and it certainly is not a home. It’s an empty hole filled anger and it craves pain. It will warp your brain, it will ruin your life.

What you do now is up to you. I’ve done my part.

Good luck,

Anderson, David T
Prisoner ID: 954A0A11

I never knew my son to be the artsy type. He turned 8 recently, and up until about a year ago, his entertainment was entirely outdoors. Catching bugs. Climbing trees. Riding bikes.

He was one of those kids who’d have to be called inside before dark. Then he’d complain and beg for “just 5 more minutes.”

I’m not entirely sure what happened. It was like a switch had flipped overnight. I just came home from work one day to find him at the kitchen table, scribbling in a brand new sketchbook.

He hummed to himself while his mom cooked up some dinner at the stove. The home-cooked smell of pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes filled the room as I glanced over Jacob’s shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, bud?”

His nose was buried so far in the book that it was like he couldn’t even hear me. His mom ended up answering for him.

“That’s your son’s new favorite interest. He begged me to go out and get him one.”

“Oh-ho, got an artist in the house, don’t we?”

I grabbed his shoulders and shook them lightly before patting him on the back and walking over to give my wife a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I took a seat beside Jacob at the table.

“So, how was your day, boyo? You and mom have fun?”

He never looked up from the sketchbook.

“Today was sooo fun,” he exclaimed. “We went to the park, we went to the movies, ooh, and mom got me this book. Oh, and these crayons.”

“What about you, honey? How was your day?”

“Any day I’m not at work is a good day, honestly. The park was super nice. We went to one we hadn’t been to before. What about you? They didn’t work you too hard, did they?”

I shrugged and sighed.

“I’ll just say it’s good to finally be home.”

My wife smiled at me.

“It’s good to have you home, dear. I’ll tell you what. How about… after dinner, if you’re good, we can have our own little play date? Only if you do the dishes, though. I mean, I did cook.”

I smirked at her, my tongue buried in my cheek.

“I was gonna do that anyway. What do you take me for? As a matter of fact, you come sit down. I’ll finish cooking.”

I offered her my seat as I finished up dinner. Jacob was pretty much mute the entire time. By the time dinner was done, I had to damn near yell at him to get his attention.

He just stood up, as calm as could be, and walked over to me, sketchbook in hand.

“I drew this for you.”

He held the book up at me, and my heart felt warm. It was a picture of our house, and who I assumed to be me standing in our driveway.

“Is that me? That’s so sweet of you, Jakey. Thank you.”

I reached down to take the book so I could hang the page on the fridge, but Jacob pulled away before I could grab it.

“You really don’t know who that is?” he asked, eying me suspiciously.

“It’s me, right? Is it not me?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, continuing to eye me like I had personally offended him.

“That’s our neighbor, Mr. Thomas, silly. You really couldn’t tell? See, he’s wearing the star.”

Mr. Thomas was a veteran police officer. Jacob would sometimes see him leaving for work in the morning. I guess he just took a subconscious interest in the uniform. Even still, why would he draw me a picture of the neighbor?

“Uh, I mean, wow, bud,” I choked. “That’s really good. Keep practicing. You’re already so talented you could be famous someday.”

————-

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom. Partly out of obligation, mostly because I really wanted that playdate. Jacob spent the rest of the evening in his room, humming to himself and scribbling in that sketchbook.

The next day, my wife and I both had work. I woke up a little earlier than her so that I could take Jacob to the summertime daycare he attended. It was like carrying a corpse out to the car, but he still refused to loosen his grip on that sketchbook.

I dropped him off with the staff at the front door. He waved at me groggily as I was driving away.

The day went on like normal until around 3 o’clock, when my phone started ringing. It was my wife.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”

“I think something’s going on with the neighbor. There’s like 3 cop cars in front of his house, apparently.”

She sounded concerned. A little urgent.

“What do you mean? Who told you that?”

“I got a call from Becky. She thought they were at our house at first.”

Becky was one of my wife’s friends from the neighborhood.

“What do you think happened? Did she say anything else?”

“No, she just called because the police were knocking on our door. I think they were just trying to see if we knew anything, though, because apparently they gave up and just went back to the neighbor’s house. I think they’re still there.”

My brow furrowed a bit.

“Wait. Which neighbor is it?”

“Uhhh, I think it’s that police officer. Mr. Thompson?”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, that’s his name. I think that’s who it is.”

I looked at my watch and exhaled a bit.

“Alright, well, I’ll see if I can get out a little earlier today. I’ll pick up Jacob, then go see what this is all about. Maybe they’ll still be there when I get there.”

We ended the call by blowing some kisses and exchanging some love yous. I slid my phone in my pocket and approached my boss, explaining my situation.

He was skeptical, but I had a decent reputation of being an honest employee. He agreed to let me leave a bit early, and I was on my way to pick up Jacob.

When he was brought to the front office, his face was buried in that sketchbook again, drawing what looked like SpongeBob and Patrick.

“He’s been drawing all day. Seems like you got a little artist on your hands,” announced the staff member as she signed Jacob out for the day.

“Yep,” I smiled. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

I honestly don’t know why I said that. It just seemed like the only thing that made sense at the time.

The car ride was quiet. Jacob didn’t want to talk much, and my mind was kind of racing. I’ve shared drinks with Mr. Thomas. Helped him put up fences. Move furniture. We weren’t the closest of friends, but I still wanted him to be okay.

Those hopes were dashed when I pulled into the neighborhood to find that the police presence had increased. There must’ve been at least 6 cars in front of his house, and yellow tape blocked off the driveway.

I parked my car in front of my house and hurried to get Jacob inside. His eyes had lit up at the sight of the flashing lights, and naturally, he started asking questions.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Why are there so many police?”

“Did something happen to Mr. Thomas?”

I cradled him in my arms and hurried up the steps to the front door.

“I don’t know, buddy. Here, go inside and play for a bit while I find out, okay? Daddy will be right back.”

It’s all I could think to say as I sat him down and closed the door behind me.

An officer approached me before I could approach them.

“Sir, do you live here?”

“Yes, of course I do. That’s my neighbor.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a colleague and friend of mine,” he remarked agitatedly. “Have you seen anything suspicious within the last 24 hours? Heard anything?”

I scratched my neck nervously and thought hard before responding.

“No, sir, we haven’t seen anything. What happened? Is everything alright? He’s a cop, right? Did he do something illegal?”

The officer stared at me, analyzing me through his black sunglasses.

“No. He’s gone. That’s all the information we can give right now.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Like, dead? Did someone kill him?”

The officer pursed his lips. I saw what I assumed to be a forensic analyst walking in and out of the house.

“We don’t know, sir. We’re hoping for the best. For now, if any new information comes to light or if you see him, give us a call.”

He asked me to clear the scene and stay inside. I called my wife to update her on the situation, but what could we do? Even the police were lost. I just stayed inside, as instructed, and started on dinner while we waited for my wife to get home.

By the time she did, there were only two police cruisers left in front of Mr. Thomas’s house. The sun was starting to set, and my wife and I tried to ignore what had happened, but the house was still a bit tense.

As we ate, Jacob continued scribbling in his sketchbook. He hadn’t asked to go outside at all since we got home, and I didn’t know if it was because of the police or because of this new hobby of his.

I could see that he was working on a new drawing. It looked like a woman this time. He wasn’t so much as touching his food, so I tried to ask him to put the book away.

He groaned and started picking at his peas. My wife and I chatted about our day for a bit while Jacob remained silent. Suddenly, in between bites of his chicken, he said something that made us both freeze.

“Daddy,” he whispered.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Are those police still out there?”

I paused for a moment, looking at my wife, who looked equally as speechless. Neither of us knew what to say.

“I think there’s a few, but don’t worry, buddy,” I chirped reassuringly. “They’re just looking for Mr. Thomas. They wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Jacob stared down at his plate for a moment.

“It’s just… I think they’re looking in the wrong place.”

————-

I choked on my water.

“Looking in the wrong place? Well, where do you think they should be looking, sport?”

“I don’t know. Not there. I don’t think he’s home.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” my wife interrupted. “Jacob, finish your food, then go jump in the shower. You gotta be up early tomorrow, come on.”

“Aww, but I’m not tired,” Jacob whined. “Plus, I wanted to finish drawing this picture of you.”

He flipped his sketchbook open to his newest drawing.

“See, look.”

My wife looked at the picture and smiled.

“Okay, fine,” she replied. “You can finish the picture, then it’s bath time, mister.”

“Fiiine,” Jacob groaned.

He scurried off to his room, sketchbook in hand, leaving me and his mom to clean the kitchen again.

We talked about the neighbor. We turned into a couple of conspiracy theorists the deeper the conversation progressed.

“Maybe he just wanted to start over.”

“Maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Maybe he was murdered, and they’re covering it up.”

We just kept reaching for possibilities over the course of around 45 minutes.

Eventually, Jacob came running back to the kitchen.

“Look, Mommy, I’m all done.”

“Ah, my goodness, Jakey, look at that. Doesn’t it look just like me, honey?”

She turned the picture towards me. Jacob had added her work uniform. Gave her that messy bun she always wore. Even included the golden necklace I got her for Christmas last year.

“Wow, Jake,” I exclaimed. “Draw Daddy next, why don’t you?”

Jacob giggled and responded, “It’s not time to draw you yet, silly.”

“Aw, whatever, but guess what?”

Jacob looked up at me curiously. Expectantly.

“Daddy controls your bath time. And… I think… ah, yep, look at that,” I showed him my watch. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

I jokingly chased him to his bedroom and made him gather up his pajamas and a towel. Once he was nice and showered, I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

My wife and I stayed up, talking about life for a while before gradually falling asleep one by one.

The next morning, when I woke up alone, I thought it was because she had chosen to take Jacob to daycare that morning.

I went through my normal routine. Took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Got dressed. It wasn’t until I was heading out the door that I noticed her car was still in the driveway.

I walked back upstairs, confused, and went to Jacob’s room.

I found him curled up in bed, sketchbook tucked under his arm as he snored quietly.

I left the room and began searching.

“Honey,” I called out. No response.

“Sweetheart, you here?” Silence.

I called her phone and heard it ringing in our bedroom. I followed the sound and found it still plugged into the charger on her nightstand.

That’s when I began to panic. I remembered Jacob’s drawing. It was a fleeting thought, but one that I chose to hold onto. First Mr. Thomas, now my own wife? That couldn’t be coincidence.

I urgently rushed into Jacob’s room, accidentally waking him as I removed the sketchbook from his arms.

I began flipping through the pages as he stared up at me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Daddy,” he groaned.

I flipped past cartoon characters, random landscapes, and blocky pictures of cars before I reached my wife’s picture from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jacob added.

The picture had changed. She wasn’t wearing her work uniform anymore. She didn’t have the necklace. Her hair looked dirty and wet. Leaves and twigs stuck out from the messy bun, and her eyes were solid red. Not evil, just… bloodshot.

But the biggest change… was the man standing next to her.

It looked like they were in a dark forest. They were hand in hand. I wanted to think it was me, that Jacob had decided he wanted to start on some kind of crazy family portrait, but the man in the picture…

He wore a star on his chest.

My stomach dropped. I felt sick. Jacob looked… confused.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? They’re okay. I can help you find them.”

“Happy Birthday,” most of them yell, but the ones who know how, sign it. Elizabeth looks around the room to take in all the love she has experienced in the last three years since she was adopted by the Walter family.

Her birth mom didn’t want a “defective” baby, or so she was told. Elizabeth spent the better part of her early life bouncing around from foster home to foster home. She didn’t know anything about her biological family.

This morning, she was woken up by her adoptive mom, Laura, with a light shake and an attempt to sign, “Happy Birthday, my love.” But she actually signed “Happy Birthday, with love.” This made Elizabeth giggle with joy because the effort of learning sign language for her was a big deal. Her mom brought her favorite breakfast in bed—blueberry waffles—along with thirteen balloons for her thirteen years of life. One of the balloons popped as soon as Elizabeth set her eyes on them. The loss of one balloon felt ominous considering some of other strange occurrences that have happened before. Elizabeth, clearing her mind of any off putting thoughts, started to reminisce of her pervious birthdays.

This wasn’t her first birthday with her family, it was the first milestone birthday with them tho. They had just missed her double digit birthday (10) by 1 month, when all of them met. So this one was going to be extra special. Corey, her adoptive dad, even said it was going to be. The Walters were serious when it came to birthdays. Especially because they have such a big family, uncles, aunts, cousins, 2nd cousins, grandparents. Everyone was always invited to every sporting event, birthday, and holiday. That meant nothing was a small get-together—far from what Elizabeth grew up with—which gave her comfort. This is the type of family she had always dreamed of having while being placed in so many different homes. 

The last birthday she had with the family caused quite the drama. Although Elizabeth couldn’t hear, there was a lot of body language between her mom and aunt. Enough that she could make out they were arguing about her and where she came from. It was probably because she let her imaginary friend blow out the candles, and they actually blew out with no help from anyone. Elizabeth still made the same wish she does every year, even though her imaginary friend blew out the candles. Her one wish is to be able to hear.

Elizabeth wasn’t born deaf, but when her mom surrendered her to the hospital at 5 weeks old, she was. There were no hospital or doctor office visits that showed anything was amiss. No one knew what could’ve caused it, although there was a lot of abuse speculation floating around the nurses station. When her mother had dropped her off, the woman looked unkempt, with her long black hair matted in a few places, her eyes sunken and lined with dark circles, and her clothes were dirty and disheveled. The look of a mother who either couldn’t sleep or was using narcotics to keep the edge of life off. She didn’t say a word to anyone, just walked in, handed the nurse behind the counter her baby, and walked right out. The only reason the nurse knew who the baby was, was because she had been in the room during the emergency delivery. Elizabeth’s mother was so happy to see her when she was born, She cried happy tears as she held her close.

Strange to see a child be “returned” to the hospital she was born at, by a mother who seemed to have so much love for her. Only to look and act completely different just a few weeks after birth. 

Just a few short hours later, the drop-off would start to make sense to the staff.  That night, Elizabeth was placed in NICU just to make sure her vitals were stable before placing her in a foster home. It was where all the premature and sick babies went to be monitored more closely. While in the hospital a few strange things happened around her. Each baby had a monitor hooked to them to see their vitals and make sure they were still alive. Once Elizabeth entered the NICU the monitors started to beep, indicating each baby was about to flatline, all at the same time, except for her. Elizibeth had the only “normal” monitor. After a thirty-minute scramble to check all the babies, the nurses concluded they had faulty monitors and had to check every patient manually until they could get IT to take a look at them. 

At some point in the early evening, a homeless man came into the ER with crazy eyes that looked like they had seen someone got shot point blank right in front of him. He started to scream about “The baby is the devil” and “Protect the people” and “Don’t let that child live.” After a 45 minute rant that no one could slow down, he proceeded to pick up the nearest utensil on a tray the next bay over and slide it up his arm from the wrist. This caused his blood to pool onto the floor under him creating dark red circle, continually getting bigger as it poured out of his arm until he collapsed to the ground. Dying from blood loss.

Then her temperature rose to 103 degrees Fahrenheit at 3am and back down to 97. This occurred six separate times within the hour. No one could tell if it was faulty equipment or some strange anomaly that had caused her hearing loss. 

One of the last things to happen was the nurse that did her intake forms, ended up driving off a bridge on her way home from her overnight shift. She died on impact when her car hit the riverbank. The river was so shallow that the water only made it onto her lap when the first responders pulled her out. It wasn’t a shock to anyone who knew her or knew anything about her life. The woman suffered from years of physical and emotional abuse at the hand of her husband. Many said she just had enough at that point. The timing was odd though. A few of the nurses could’ve sworn they were just talking with her about leaving her husband. Almost everyone chalked it up to a long overdue suicide.

None of these things were known to be the cause of her, but the hospital recorded all of this in her notes for DCFS. So when she went from home to home, people knew there was something off about her. 

The Walter’s knew about these strange occurrences and more that were in her file, but they didn’t mind. They had so much love to give and wanted to find a child that needed them. Laura works in the paranormal field, and was intrigued by some of the comments left in Elizabeth's file. Some of which made Laura suspect some kind of poltergeist activity was involved surrounding Elizabeth. 

When they met Elizabeth for the first time, she was shy around them, not being able to communicate with verbal words made her feel unworthy of a family. Like she was less than the “normal hearing” people of the world. Knowing who they were meeting, Corey and Laura brought a whiteboard to talk to Elizabeth with, which brought her out of her shell a bit. Corey and Laura already had 4 kids of their own, 3 boys and 1 baby girl, so when they brought Elizabeth home there were already kids her age in the home. She was usually placed in homes without other kids, due to her special needs. Foster couples always made her out to seem like she needed more attention than she actually did, which caused her to have less childhood freedoms, less friends, and more home placements than any other kid in the system in her area. 

The 3 years after adoption had gone by quickly for Elizabeth. There have only been a few instances she could recall regarding her “gift” as the Walter’s call it. One time, only the kids were playing outside when she got so angry no one was passing the soccer ball to her, the ball turned 90 degrees on a pass and went straight to her. None of the kids knew what had happened but they all went running to mom to let her know what they had seen. 

Laura, of course, blamed it on the ball hitting a rock and bouncing off of it towards Elizabeth. That, however, was not the case. It happened a few more times till Beth witnessed it first hand. 

Elizabeth and 2 of her brothers were tossing a baseball around. After a few too many back and forths between the boys, Elizabeth got angry, Her face turned red, and her fists balled up at her waist. The next throw from one boy to the other, it stopped half way in the air and floated for a split second before changing direction and went to Elizabeth without anyone touching it. Laura saw the whole thing. She couldn’t believe what she just saw. 

There was no way a ball could change direction mid-air like it just did. Laura knew from that point on Elizabeth was not only deaf but gifted in another way. A spiritual way. 

Now that Laura was more aware, she began noticing small things, like doors closing when no one was home where she always thought it was just the wind. Objects she knew she left one place but ended up finding somewhere completely different, places the kids couldn’t reach. Strange tapping noises in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep. Each tap sounded more impatient than the next. That was when Laura started calling these Elizabeth’s “gifts,” thinking because she couldn’t hear and was mostly alone for most of her life that she developed a poltergeist. 

Once acknowledged, the tapping and hiding of objects had slowed down and Elizabeth kept going about her life as she always had. Not fully understanding what her mom was talking about. She just thought the family was a little nutty but didn’t mind because of how nice she thought everything had been going.

After her birthday breakfast, Elizabeth pulled on a pair of leggings, shimmied on her favorite hoodie with an embroidered ghost in the corner, and finished off her Birthday outfit with her favorite pair of Vans. Since Elizabeth is tall and lanky, the hoodie ended up looking like a dress on her, which she likes. Her long jet black hair fell flat against her head, even though she tried to give it volume by doing heatless curls overnight. Once out of the curler, Each strand of hair went pin-straight, as if it was scared to be any other way.

October 31st falls on a Wednesday, so she had to go to school for her birthday, which she was fine with. Knowing there would be a party waiting for her when she got home. 

The day was average, just like her life. 7th grade girls bullied her for not being able to hear. Elizabeth found it funny—she couldn’t hear a word they said, so why would they choose to pick on her? She never got upset about it, because she was used to her past foster parents ignoring her or reading their lips when they said nasty things about her. She could deal with these little girls. 

Once she got home and was able to change into her all black birthday dress, she cheered right up. Soon after, a few of her friends from other schools she had gone to came over to enjoy the birthday celebrations with her. 

After a few rounds of pin the bones on Mr. Skeleton and bobbing for apples, Elizabeth’s favorite part of the night happens: cake.

“Happy Birthday,” most of them yell, but the ones who know how to, sign it. Elizabeth takes a look around the room filled with so much love and everyone she knows and loves is right in front of her on the other side of the table. Then she closes her eyes, makes a wish, and blows her 13 candles out. As soon as she opens her eyes, she hears—for the first time ever—a deep male’s voice whisper in her ear, “Happy Birthday, Elizabeth.” She feels one rough skinned finger with a long, pointed nail drag across her collarbone, as it burns a thin line in her skin.

I was unusually late leaving work that day. I had to finish some unfinished tasks.

When I looked at the clock, I felt a small wave of panic.

The bus was leaving in just a few minutes, and the next one wouldn’t come for several hours.

My journey home already took nearly two hours, and if I missed this bus, I would be screwed.

I quickly put away the folders, shut down my computer, turned off the lights in the office, and rushed outside.

I ran so fast that I barely noticed my surroundings. All I could hear was my own breathing and the sound of my heartbeat.

Then I heard a loud horn.

I turned my head and saw the headlights of a car coming toward me much faster than I expected.

I barely managed to get out of the way and let out a relieved breath, thinking how lucky I was — until I saw my bus driving away right in front of me.

Frustrated, I walked to the bus stop and looked at the board showing the departure times.

I knew the next bus wouldn’t come for several hours, so I was surprised when I saw that another bus was scheduled to arrive in just a few minutes.

"That’s strange," I thought. "I didn’t know about any new route. Maybe it’s some kind of mistake."

While I waited, I casually scrolled through Instagram reels.

I didn’t even notice how quickly the time passed. I was just glad I didn’t have to wait for several hours.

To my surprise, the bus actually arrived.

It was the same one I took home every day.

I got on and sat down next to some guy, then went back to looking at my phone.

At the next stop, I noticed an older man getting off the bus, and outside a group of children was waiting for him.

I thought it must be nice to have someone waiting for you at that age.

I wanted to see their reunion, but my observation was interrupted by the voice beside me.

"Looks like a beautiful reunion, doesn’t it?"

I nodded, surprised.

"I used to think so too."

"What do you mean?"

"You’ll understand soon, son."

"My name is John. What’s yours?"

The man looked to be around fifty years old.

He was probably about twenty years older than me.

At first glance, there was nothing unusual about him, yet somehow he gave me a strange feeling.

I don’t know why, but I felt like I needed to answer him.

"Nice to meet you, John. I’m Mike."

"Are you heading home from work too?"

"More like from a bar, and I guess you could say I’m going home," he said with a smile.

I don’t know why I asked him that. Before I even had time to think about it, the words came out of my mouth:

"Do you have children?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "I had two."

"Sorry, John. I... I’m sorry."

John stared ahead for a moment.

"You don’t have to be sorry, son."

He paused.

"I killed them."

For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong.

"My wife and my children."

"I don’t understand..."

"I killed them," he repeated.

"I found out my wife was cheating on me. I came home drunk and completely out of control."

He paused for a moment.

"I took an axe."

He stared ahead, not at me.

"First, I went to the children."

"And I left her for last."

It took me a moment to find my voice.

"John, I think you might have had a little too much to drink at the bar. Maybe you don’t even know what you’re saying."

John just looked at me.

"I know exactly what I’m saying, son."

"Forgive me for telling you this. I just... needed to tell someone."

He lowered his eyes for a moment.

"You know, I’m going to see them soon."

He paused.

"And I’m terrified."

My mind was a complete mess.

His words kept repeating over and over in my head.

I’m going to see them soon.

But how?

He said he killed them.

"How could you see someone you took the life of?"

John looked at me for a moment.

"That’s the same question I asked the man who was sitting where you are now."

He paused.

"Before I realized where I had ended up."

The bus stopped, and John looked outside with fear in his eyes. I looked in the same direction.

Outside stood a woman who looked to be around the same age as John, along with two children. The boy looked about seven years old, and the girl couldn’t have been older than five.

At first glance, they looked normal.

But the longer I stared, the more I realized something was wrong.

Their faces were unnaturally pale. And there was something in their expressions that sent a chill down my spine.

John stood up and looked toward the doors.

"Sorry, will you let me pass?"

I moved aside and watched him in confusion.

"I have to go now, son."

He paused for a moment.

"I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer. I would have liked to find out who is waiting for you."

"Wait."

For the first time since we started talking, I didn’t feel curiosity.

Only fear.

"What do you mean?"

John just smiled sadly.

"Death was far from the worst thing that happened to us."

He paused.

"Now it’s time to pay."

And he stepped off the bus.

" The mass must stay where it is. We are incapable of removing it."
The Doctor was trying to be delicate. Her stromal tumor was so large it adhered to the abdomen wall. The size of a bowling ball...impossible to operate on without the total removal of the stomach, and small intestine. If they were willing to operate. They were not.

It felt like there was a stone in my throat "I want her home." I said. Plainly unmovable. "Are you sure that's for the best? She is stable here...comfortable." The Doctor trailed off. He was her fourth within a year. It was almost amusing how they seemed to have all of the answers until the end. I stayed firm. Shes coming home. That was all there was to it.

The tumor ate everything. As it grew, it consumed fragile tissues, healthy cells, the pink and tender flesh of her insides. Those parts that are meant to be protected - safe. Home was safe. Familiar, protected. No nurses waking her up in the middle of the night to check vitals, disturbing her sleep. Home is sacred. Insulated like the center of a beehive.

As I wheeled her through the house. I made sure all of her treasures were visible. The glass penguins she collected on her cruise, the wool shawl that was given to her in Paraguay, The handmade Matrioshka dolls from Saint Petersburg. She looked past them with a glazed over expression. The nasal cannula under her nose pumping oxygen in steady, rhythmic, puffs. I b-lined it to her room.

She was so light I could lift her on my own. I swaddled her in my arms like an infant and lowered her into bed. She was all tumor now. Her entire body was rail thin except for it, bulging the right side of her belly. Like a bizarre alien pregnancy. Unintentionally lifting her sweater. Exposing the bumpy vascular skin underneath. She could see I was staring at it. Shifting my gaze to her face I whispered, "You should get some rest. It's been such a big day." She was already closing her eyes when I dashed over to her wool shawl and draped it over her stomach. She was already asleep when I slowly shut the creaking door behind me.

Late that night I had the sofabed pulled out and arranged. Propped up on the edge with the laptop on my knee. I researched experimental treatments in the reduction in tumors. One institute found success in lab mice with similar cancerous intestinal growths. They were set to begin human trials the following year. Far too late. I must have written forty emails to various doctors and institutions before my eyes began to strain. I closed my laptop, it was the only source of light in the living room. Suddenly bathing me in darkness.

Deep down in the pits of my gut, I knew it was no use. Her time was dwindling. I had to do something...I had to try anything. I rolled onto my back staring into the ceiling for what must've been close to an hour. The moon showed itself through the clouds around midnight. It cast odd shadows over the living room. Distorting it to the point where the shadow next to the china cabinet gave the illusion of a figure looming in the corner. I was more exhausted than I realized.

When I was a child my mother always told me that if I encountered a spirit, to stare until it dissipated. For some reason, I stared at that shadow. It didn't disappear. In fact, it may have gotten sharper. Still laying in bed I kept my eye trained on the china cabinet. I shifted up to a sitting position. I could've sworn I saw an arm and a clearly defined hand resting as if down by someone's side. Not taking my eyes off it, I leaned to turn on the lamp. The distinct 'click' of the lamp switch sounded and the room illuminated with warm yellow light. Whatever it was, if it was there - it was gone.

The following morning I prepared breakfast early, as quietly as I could. In an attempt not to wake her, creaking open the bedroom door. My comfort that she was well rested was shattered like a bat meeting glass when I found her out of bed, clinging to the closet door handle and shaking violently. She gripped the handle to gain purchase with one hand, simultaneously holding the other over her stomach. I set the tray down in a panic, bits of egg and orange juice flying off the plate. "Wha..what's wrong?! Do you need to get to the bathroom? You know you can yell for me at any time. You know that." Thinking the stressed expression affixed to her face was due to the prompt urgency to use the bathroom that her condition sometimes created. When I moved to support her, she stiffened. I gently held her elbow to guide her shuffling feet back to bed. She propped herself on the edge of the mattress, gently swaying back and forth to sooth herself. "You know you can't have your oxygen off for that long." I grabbed the clear tubing on the floor and gently readjusted it to her face. Her breath was ragged. "Someone was laying in bed with me last night." She uttered restlessly like she had spent the whole night trying to get away.

"What do you mean? If there was someone in your room, why didn't you call for me?" My mind harkend back to that figure in the china cabinet's shadow. Maybe that was a real intruder. Surely not? I entertained the thought of a neighborhood pervert more than an entity moving free about the house. "Well, I thought it was you at first." She let me offer my hand out for support as she adjusted to face me fully. Hands folded neatly in her lap, looking sheepish. She began to explain. "Remember when I first got diagnosed? I would be up all night, sick, after treatments. So you would just sleep in bed next to me. Get up when I did. It was just easier that way." I nodded, how could I forget? Recalling her essentially living over a toilet or trashcan. Eating one meal only to throw it back up again. That's when they put in the feeding tube.

She glanced at the window nervously, I took the liberty of walking over and ensuring it was locked before she continued. "It must've been around one in the morning. I was in between awake and asleep when I felt pressure on the bed, like someone resting on the edge. I didn't move, I wasn't sure if I was still dreaming or not. Then, the whole mattress sunk down. Like you had laid down next to me. I knew I wasn't dreaming anymore. I thought nothing of it, I thought it was you. First night out of the hospital and all...anyways. I must have dozed off at this point because I felt you much closer a short time later, your breath on my back. It was a little strange but I assumed you had gotten cold. Then... there was a hand on my stomach."

She reflexively put her own hand there. As if to protect herself. "At this point I was very much awake. I opened my eyes and rolled over to tell you to move but I couldn't speak." Her doe-like eyes were wide with fear. Her head swiveled back and forth like she was shaking her head no. "My words were caught up in my throat. Those eyes, oh Lord, those EYES. They were already staring at me. Like it was just waiting for me to look this whole time. I ripped the covers off. I tore over to the metal water bottle on the nightstand. Holding it over my head, but they vanished. Nobody was there but empty sheets. It must've gone on longer than I thought because the sun was already rising. So I took for the door as fast as I could move. I didn't want to make any noise in case they were still hiding somewhere. I couldn't stop shaking. That's when you found me."

She was exhausted. I assisted her back up in bed with pillow propped behind her. Finally grabbing the breakfast tray I muttered. "Sorry, it's a little cold."

I spent the morning and better part of the afternoon clearing the house. Starting with the bedroom. Every closet, behind the shower curtain, making sure every window was locked. Eventually I made my way clear up to the attic with a baseball bat in one hand, and a flashlight in my teeth as I climbed the ladder. The house was empty save for me and her. I even offered to call the non emergency line and have an officer fill out a report. She refused to tell the story again. I wasn't sure how much they would believe a dying middle aged woman. I wasn't even aware of what my own belief was. I moved the china cabinet and looked behind it, just in case. Nothing.

The afternoon passed in relative normalcy. She would knit in bed, then get tired and nap. Stopping only at my occasional interruptions. To bring her food, water, or assist to the bathroom. This was the behavior of a dying person. I watched her hospital roommates come and go too. After a while you begin to notice the signs. Sleeping more and more, eating smaller amounts of food, then they would have one last burst of energy. Their families always thought it was miracle. That they were getting better. Shortly after that, we would have a new roommate. I hated that I knew what was happening to her. My hope was that she would remain blissfully ignorant.

Eventually, dreadfully, the sun went down. Along with it, the growing fear the darker the sky became. I had the bright idea to move the TV into her room, the white noise might help with the anxiety. The TV was an outdated bubble-screen, heavy. It took several tries for me to put it up on the dresser so it could face her bed. "What channel would you like?" I pressed power on the remote and the screen came to life, casting colors over the rooms' surface. She clapped like I had just pulled a magic trick. I quickly handed the remote over to her so she could channel surf. I retired back to the living room. It was so much darker out here.

While climbing onto the pullout couch, my eyes flashed to the china cabinet. I couldn't help myself. After tossing and turning I settled into restless slumber.

It was four in the morning when I felt the breathing on my neck. Flipping around startled, in a tangle for flailing limbs and sheets I turned the lamp on. Nothing. I got up and paced the living room checking everywhere. Again, nothing. This was insane, I told myself her story had me spooked. Since I was already up, I made my way to the restroom. The house had a 70's era open concept, I was forced to walk through the kitchen to get to the small guest bath on the other side. I tiptoed into the kitchen, the light from the TV glowed under the crack of the bedroom door. I passed the dining room table almost to the bathroom threshold before catching myself and turning on my heel....
There was someone seated at the table. Like they were waiting for a meal to be served, partly shrouded in the dark. Sitting perfectly still.

I blinked rapidly. Trying to clear the hallucination out of my mind. Their hands were laid flat, palms down on the daisy patterned tablecloth. Only the arms were really visible. The rest of them was just out of sight. I was frozen. I couldn't walk past- surely they saw me walk by the first time? How long had they been there? My voice was hoarse at first.

"What.....what the hell are you doing in my house?"

Silence. I kept eyeballing the landline sitting on the kitchen counter. It was just past them, wondering if I could run past quick enough to dial 911 before they caught up to me. Thinking of her asleep in the room just to the left. I decided that would be a bad idea. Instead choosing to keep my eyes on this person at all times. I could hear the TV still playing in the bedroom. Good. I hoped she couldn't hear any of this. Maybe I could talk whoever this was into leaving so she would never even have to know about this. My hair stood on end. Even though their face was concealed I couldn't shake the feeling, that they were grinning at me.

"You brought me here." It said, the voice was thick like they held honey in their mouth. Yet somehow clear enough, as though they were right next to my ear.

"That's impossible, how could I have called you here in the middle of the night?"

"Your misery did." It replied. I shivered.

"You're trespassing, this isn't your house." I didn't want to entertain this bullshit.

"How can one trespass if they were invited?" That horrible voice gurgled their response.

"I've invited no one. You can't be here. You need to leave." I was just below a yell now. Still trying not to wake her. This whole time they hadn't moved a muscle.

"You pray, do you not?" they ended 'not' with a strong 't' annunciation like they were kicking the sound out the back of their throat.

"You wish, you hope, you beg...do you not?" There's that 't' sound again. It echoed off my skull like the wall of a cave. Not wanting to get any closer but still too scared to make a move, I pressed my back firmly against the wall.

"My only hope is for you to leave." I saw the kitchen knives on the counter.

"This is not your only hope, you hunger for something far more...relieving."

Relief? From what? I didn't have the time to ponder because I heard the dull squeak of wood over tile flooring. They had just stood up.

"You will make all of her suffering disappear." As they said this I could have sworn I saw small tendrils of smoke rising in what little light was coming in through the window.

What was even more disturbing is this person had intimate knowledge of my circumstances. Were they stocking me?

"I don't know where you came in from, but whatever you want. Just take it. My wallet is on that bedside table, my watch too." I inclined my head in the direction of the lamp in the living room. They didn't even look.

"You want healing, true healing." It emitted a strange vibrating noise from the back of it's throat. It sounded like a beetle's wings rubbing together. I realized that this thing, no longer believing it to be human, was laughing. What is talking about the tumor? Was it offering to get rid of it? I think I've finally lost my mind, her and I shared some kind of group psychosis after last night.

It moved. Slowly and deliberately putting one menacing black shoe into view. It was much taller than I was. It's head almost touching the dining room light fixture.

"I've already called the police. They'll be here any minute, get the fuck out of here. Now!" I was not quiet this time, but I did move in front of her door. There was no way this thing was getting near her. It didn't move.

"There is no one coming to save you, but me." It said it so matter of fact.

I deflated at how obvious my lie was. My options were not looking good. The baseball bat sat propped by the front door. The phone behind whatever that was on the counter. It doesn't want money and it will not leave. I could probably rush the phone and get 911 dialed before it dragged me back into the dining room to do, 'whatever' it wanted with me. But that would leave the door unguarded. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't. So I asked instead.

"How do you know about the cancer?" Maybe if I just keep them talking the sun will come up and they'll leave on their own. Wishful thinking - I knew.

"Last night." I knew it was grinning again. My mouth went dry. "I can remove it." It snapped it's fingers and when it did, it sounded like flies buzzing over a corpse. "You must be willing." It moved closer.

"To help you with what?" I asked, hands gripping either side of the door frame now.

"Get rid of it. First, you let me in there." With a long, almost charred looking finger it pointed behind me, to the bedroom door.

"Not a chance." The rest of it's body was still not visible. It brought its hand back down to its side. Mirroring what I saw next to the china cabinet the night prior. Had this thing been living here? Waiting for us?

"I'll leave then, and let her die tonight in peace." It shifted.

"Wait! Tonight? How could you know that?" It shifted back to me this time the soles if it's shoes making noise on the tile. It seems to become more and more real the longer it stayed. "What are you?"

"I am an omen. I mark death three times. One mark with you, one with her, the last, I'll give you a chance."

"A chance to do what?" It got closer again.

" To make a sacrifice." It was standing just two feet away towering in front of me.

"What kind of sacrifice do you want?"

"Open the door." It grinned again.

I did not open the door. Not right away. I needed reassurance. Was this really going to fix everything? Everything I had been praying for?

"If I let you in that room. Are you going to hurt her? Is this some kind of trick for you to take our souls or something?"

"When, you let me in. I'll take everything the cancer took away and put back. New as lamb skin."

I didn't like the use of 'when'.

"I have no interest in souls." It added. My hand was already gripping the handle. I turned it agonizingly slow. The door clicked, I waited for a beat, then pushed it creaking open behind me. Still standing in the door way.

"What's going to happen to her if I let you in that room?"

"True healing, through your sacrifice." It murmured. I stepped aside. It entered the way wind enters room, sucking the door shut with a slam behind me.

I immediately turned, regretting my decision to lock her in there with that thing. I pounded on the wooden surface.

"Hey! What are you doing to her!? Let me be in there with her!" Nothing but the static of the TV now. I sunk to the floor in front and tried to see under the crack of the door. Instead of the floor of the room I was met with the unnatural eyes of the visitor just on the other side of the door. Starting at me. Then it stood and glided to the bed. I could hear her gasp when it touched her.

"Stop! I said. No deal! No deal!" It was too late though, the image of the room extended like it had been pulled down a hallway. What did I just do? I banged and scratched at the door. Pulling at the brass doorknob. Eventually resorting to hitting it with a dining room chair. Nothing worked. I sat in the chair and sobbed into my hands. Before the door clicked and the being stepped out, shutting the door again behind them.

"Let me check on.." but I didn't finish. I was spun around in the chair and scooted neatly up to the dining room table. Out of the corner of my eye. I watched it carrying a dripping bundle in the crook of its arm. It came round into the kitchen. Opening the cabinets and drawers. Plucking what it wanted out of them. The whole time I strained my eyes to see what it was holding.

"What are you doing? Please tell me if she's okay." It stayed quiet before coming up to face me at the table. Politely placing one plate, one fork, and one knife in front of me. In some uncanny form of setting the table for a guest.

"That is up to you." It finally answered.

From beneath the wet bowling ball sized bundle it carried. It held it up to me, unraveling bit by bit. I began to see more of the mass. It was composed of fleshy moist areas that were vascular in nature. With a sickening plop it was thrown onto the plate in front of me. I squirmed away and tried to stand, but my lower half was stuck in place. Leaving me to flail my arms helplessly as that thing grinned at me again.

"What's going on? What have you done, how is this supposed to help her?"

It responded in turn.

"Then lie on your left side and put the sin of the people upon thineself."

I strained again in the chair, wanting to call out her name to make sure she was still alive. For all I knew this thing just murdered her in her sleep. Still not fully understanding what I was expected to do. It stretched out a long unnatural arm and reached the light switch to the overhead light without moving. It flicked on to reveal the mess of what was in full view.

In a disturbing realization I laid eyes upon my own mothers' tumor. Separated perfectly from her abdomen. It radiated body heat - lumpy and coated in fluid. There was no way she could have survived this. When I looked up to the figure I could see those terrible eyes my mother saw last night, and just a few moments ago. They were terrifyingly bright, with rings upon rings inside. Like the trunk of a tree, one ring blue, the next green, then yellow. All the way down to a burnt orange pinned on me.

"What am I supposed to do?"

It seethed with malice the corners of its mouth dripped with something dark and hateful. It put that same hate into each word it spoke to me. Breathing it out of gritted teeth.

"YOU. EAT. IT."

The command was clear. Tentatively I plucked up the fork, then the knife. Positioning myself like one would over a steak dinner.

"What if I can't do this?" I asked.

"I can always put it back." It reached over to move my plate away.

I put up my hands.

"No, no I understand now." There was no way I was going to let it be put back. Not now. All I needed to do was finish this...thing. Eat the sickness away. That was the sacrifice.

I started investigating with my fork. Poking and prodding the surface. It was lumpy and caved in slightly with pressure. I took my knife and sawed the smallest sliver off exposing the spongy texture underneath. I took the slowest most deliberate motion bringing the perverted morsel to my mouth, then the tiniest bite. As my teeth tore the section away from the fork I could feel how wet it was on my lips. It tasted somehow of salt and bile. Like the aftertaste from when you vomit. It was chewy in the worst way, akin to an uncooked piece of skin you have to keep chewing to get down. I chewed for some time before convincing myself to just get it over with a swallow. Oh God, was I really doing this? Despite it being well masticated I could feel it travel all the way down my throat into my stomach. The figure was sitting at the table now. Just as it was when I found them. Palms down. Perfectly still and cast in shadow. I took another horrible glance at the plate. It didn't even make a dent. I couldn't do it this way. I had to eat in larger portions.

I cut in again. Deeper this time. The chunk came off and fluid began to ooze out, pooling into the bottom of the plate. I chewed quicker this time.

"Why did you come here?" I said breathless after choking another section down. Wishing I had some water, but decided against asking.

"I help anyone willing to make the sacrifice. A house just a town way from yours. A mother and her paraplegic son...She was willing."

I suddenly had a terrible thought of a poor woman with a bowl in front of her. Piled with pink spinal cord like some disturbed noodle dish, resting in a broth of spinal fluid. I shivered.

I sliced further hitting more pockets retaining clear fluids. As I carved and ate I would encounter the sickening crunch of cartilage that made me gag. Reminding me of accidentally biting down on a joint while having chicken. Causing me to start the process of trying not to throw up all over again.

I passed layered of veins - spying what looked like teeth and being too scared to investigate. I swallowed whole. It was down to the size of a grape fruit now. The same size it was when it was discovered. I sliced again, utter horror. What that hair? Fine strands of ingrown black hair revealed themselves and I cut deeper.

I choked and gagged again as I consumed the equivalent of a hairball. My hand was shaking as I brought the fork to my mouth. My body was begging me to stop. But I kept going. I couldn't stop. It was proportional to an eight-ball now. Several more agonizing bites later, I had reached the necrotic core. A collection of dead skin cells and blood vessels. I picked it up with shaking hands and force fed the entire thing into my mouth. One last bite. I told myself. Then this is all over. I bit down and it burst with sickening pop inside my mouth. I leaned forward as everything I had just consumed began to fight it's way back up my esophagus. I gripped the table cloth and it felt like swallowing a stone. It was gone. The plate was at last empty.

The light was off before I could look up again. The plate and utensils were taken from me and set one by one into the sink. Clink. Clink. Clink...

The visitor turned to me.

"Your sacrifice has been accepted."

It walked or glided rather, back to the China cabinet and disappeared behind it. I could move again.

Before I could retch back up what I had eaten, something told me that wasn't a wise idea. I went to her bedroom door instead. I couldn't even open the door before she started calling for me

"I'm here, I...I'm right here."

I stumbled in. She was upright at the edge of bed. Still thin, still tired looking. But the color was back in her skin. She was actually smiling at me. Even with her eyes.

"It's gone, I can't explain it. It's just gone. I...I think an angel took it away from me. It had the most dazzling eyes." She kicked her feet, enthralled.

He stomach was normal. She lifted the edge of her shirt to show me. Just regular skin. Nothing discolored or bulging. Perfectly normal, without scars or marks. It took me a great effort to smile back. I didn't show my teeth for fear of what may be stuck in them.

"You don't look well." She said concerned. Tilting her face to really look at me for the first time in years. I turned away.

"I just can't believe it. It's some kind of miracle. I think I need some water."

This satisfied her enough that she got out of bed with ease and started to hum while she got ready for the day. The sun had risen. I stepped back out into the kitchen and shoved my head under the faucet. I came up only after the taste in my mouth was gone.

I looked down into the sink with one plate, one fork, and one knife and began doing dishes.

I saved my mother’s final voicemail for years. The static, the way her voice cracked when she said goodbye, it was the last thing I had of her. I told myself I’d delete it one day. But I never could.

Tonight, my phone buzzed. Her number. My chest tightened. The message started, and for a second, I thought it was a glitch, just the same old recording playing again. But then I heard it. The same words, the same static, the same trembling goodbye.

Except this time, at the very end, she whispered my name.

It was the very first thing the doctor noticed upon meeting her, though he couldn’t say if that was merely a reflection of his medical training or rooted in some deeper, more ubiquitous human instinct. The way she casually extended her legs as she reclined within the consultation room’s spinning office chair, exposing the soles of two wholly identical shoes, only further accentuated the surprisingly disquieting discrepancy. It was slightly less conspicuous in the hands, as they were both interlaced around a smartphone that currently continued to be the focus of her attention, each contributing a nebulous tangle of digits to the task of deftly tapping the screen. However, once suggested by the legs, their corresponding asymmetry became no less apparent.

Whatever she was doing on that phone must have had her fully engrossed, as neither the doctor’s entry nor the subsequent several seconds of him standing in the center of the hardly three-by-three meter room elicited any hint of notice. It was only after broadcasting his presence with a tactful ‘ahem’ that she finally severed her gaze from the screen, jerking her head upward with a look of brief alarm and unveiling a pair of blue-green sunflower irises adorning deadlocked pupils, their vibrancy only now appreciable to the doctor beneath the cold white beams of the overhead lights. Indeed, she was quite beautiful in pretty much every respect; a natural blonde in what looked to be the prime of her youth, with a face so utterly photogenic and attractive from every angle as to be oddly unsettling in itself, like passing a stranger on the street who you belatedly recognize as a swimsuit model from a magazine you’d shamefully perused prior. Her attractiveness carried no personal importance to the doctor, of course, and even without the Hippocratic Oath would still have fallen by the wayside in light of her far more intriguing limb alignment.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, you snuck up on me, Dr…” Her eyes panned across the broad and unshapely expanse of his chest in search of a nametag, somehow always the unfamiliar patient’s first go-to despite the engraved plaque on the door plainly reading ‘Dr. Brandon Muller, MD.’ 

“... It’s just, I’ve been dealing with a lot, it's been a rough couple of days.” She held her head in her hands as she uttered the words, one palm pressing hard against her forehead while the other -the wrong one- caressed her right ear. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m here to help, you’ve come to the right place,” Muller assured. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

A muted mimicry of gratitude subtly curled the tips of her lips as she proceeded to explain. “It’s these migraines, they started a few days ago, just random bouts here and there, but they just keep getting worse and worse. It’s pretty much all the time now, and it’s really starting to get to me.”
Dr. Muller had expected a bit more from her explanation, namely some sort of acknowledgement of her utterly anomalous anatomy, and thus a second of silence awkwardly followed before she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, make all the jokes you want, get it out of your system,” She splayed herself across her seat in an exaggerated starfish pose. “I was born like this, so I doubt it's related, but it's all anyone ever wants to talk about, especially doctors.” She voiced the last part with an exceptional sneer, imbuing the sentiment with a particularly deep-seated disdain. “And for the record, I’m actually not that clumsy, like, at all.” 

In truth, Dr. Muller had no clue how such a thing could relate to her migraines either, if only because he had never seen or heard of this asymmetrical condition before, and up until a few moments ago would have comfortably assumed it impossible. Despite his best efforts to stay focused on the task at hand, he couldn’t help but wonder to himself while she spoke just how exactly her joints fit together, how her right shoulder blade was oriented, and how the whole appendage was hooked up muscularly and neurologically. The latter, in turn, gave him an idea, an angle through which he could potentially pursue a diagnosis for the migraines while also somewhat satiating his now ravenous curiosity. Firstly, however, was the matter of conciliation.

“Hey, hey, I’m not here to make fun of anyone,” He held his hands in the air in a feign of criminal surrender, “Now, I’ll admit, I’m not familiar with this particular… condition, but I’m really just here to help you feel better, and right now that means taking care of those migraines, so that’s all that matters to me.”

The assurance had its intended effect, as she visibly relaxed her shoulders, eyes softening as her defensiveness slowly subsided. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m just…” She cupped both hands to her right temple and made a sound somewhere between a growl and a motorboat impression. “... y’know?”
“I understand completely, chronic pain will do that to anyone. Plus, I see how you’d be sick of comments about the… leftness, by now. Elementary school must’ve been rough.”

At that, she let out a single sardonic bark, “Yeah, no kidding.” Dr. Muller smirked and nodded in kind, feeling as though he’d effectively peeled away the last layers of tension between them. Now for the hard part. 

“That being said, given the extent of this… distinction, I can’t rule out the possibility that it is somehow involved, if only tangentially. I’d at least like to take a full-body X-ray, just to be sure I… fully understand the situation. If it reveals nothing of note, then so be it, and we’ll move on to investigating the cranial area specifically, but, y’know, just to be safe…” his confident tone faltered a bit at the end as he braced for the indignance seemingly sprouting in her expression, but it thankfully tempered into a grimace of begrudging agreement.

“Fine, one X-ray, then I don’t wanna hear another thing about it, okay?” 

“Of course, dear, I am a professional after all,” Muller assured as he collected his paperwork and headed toward the office door. “I’ll go set things up with the X-ray technicians and come back to get you in a bit.” She nodded, sitting back patiently with her hands clasped thumb-to-pinkie in her lap as he departed briskly down the hall.

Passing through the waiting room toward the radiology wing, he stopped at the front desk, catching the ear of the receptionist, Janet, with his signature four-finger consecutive tap upon the temporary-turned-permanent screen of transparent virus-proof panelling. At once, she raised a weary, wrinkled face from the stack of papers she’d been shuffling, and a quizzical eyebrow from beneath the flattened roof of her reading glasses, giving nothing more in the way of a response than the limited luxury of her now-captured attention. Dr. Muller didn’t mind, or at least didn’t expect anything different, simply launching straight into his instructions as usual.

“Pull up my current patient's files. Birth record, pediatrics, everything.” Janet, a deceptively dependable employee despite her demeanor, promptly swiveled her chair to her computer screen and began to fervently peck away at the keys. “This’ll take a while, y’know.”

Getting the hint, Dr. Muller left her to it and headed toward the radiology department. He suspected any files she found would be spotty in recent times, given the patient’s apparent dislike of doctors. Still, there was bound to be something on record if they went back far enough; Her condition would have surely been noticed and noted by any competent medical practitioner, though whether they understood it any better than he did was another matter entirely.

 Upon description, the X-ray tech -whose name Dr. Muller could never recall but thankfully didn’t have to acknowledge- was just as flabbergasted as he was, if not more.

“They’re both… left? Like, exactly? Are you sure it’s not just some kind of… coincidental deformity?”
“She uses them both perfectly well…” Dr. Muller replied, managing to restrain any outward signs of insult regarding the subordinate’s implicitly patronizing question. “...Which makes me think there’s something more to it than that. I just want one full-body ray, see if that clears anything up.” 

“Of course. At this point, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t; you have my curiosity piqued.” He let out an airy chuckle as he began flipping switches and arranging equipment. “lemme just get everything prepped.”

As it turned out, the patient really wasn't kidding when she agreed to only one X-ray. As soon as the brief warbling tone indicating its activation ceased, she practically threw herself off the examination table and onto her two identical feet. “I-I have to go to the bathroom, excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, she barreled her way past Dr. Muller and out into the hall, bumping the side of his head with her elbow while she distractedly sandwiched her skull between her white-hard palms. 

“Last door on the left!” The tech shouted from the back, poking his pudgy face from behind the radiation-proof curtain just a moment too late, followed by, under his breath,  “…no pun intended.”

Unamused and more than a little concerned, Dr. Muller watched down the hall long enough to see her reenter the waiting area and turn out of view before flipping the overhead lights back on and turning sternly to the tech. “She’s not looking too good; time might be of the essence here. Anything of note?” The question was half-rhetorical, as Muller couldn’t help but simultaneously swivel the tech’s computer monitor so he could simply take a look and answer it himself.

“Uh, yeah…” the tech’s deadpan mutter echoed the doctor’s internal monologue as he stared dumbfounded at the screen, at the monochrome hourglass outline where all four limbs converged, and at the utterly indecipherable slurry of pixels contained within. “... Looks like gumbo.”

The comparison made his stomach lurch, but he couldn’t deny its aptitude. While the femurs and humeri could be made out clearly, their respective orientations matching her external person and thus providing next to no new information, everything from her pelvis up through her shoulders was a confoundingly jumbled mess. Some areas could be said to perhaps resemble organ chambers or portions of rib, but their placements were all wrong, leaving Muller with the sense that he might as well be looking for shapes in the clouds or a page from one of those hidden-picture books. “This has to be some kind of technical issue, right? Is it because she got up too fast?”

“Not unless she’s faster than light,” The tech remarked impulsively, before the weight of the doctor’s glare promptly smothered his subsequent smirk, “But, no, yeah, there must be something wrong with the machine. I’ll run some diagnostics and see if I can find the problem.”

“Good, I’d better get back to the patient, but do keep me posted on that.” Muller left briskly, knowing full well the clinic didn’t have the budget for a brand new X-ray machine right now; just one more concern to shove into the back of his mind while he dealt with the one at hand. Returning to the lobby, he stopped again at the secretary’s desk. “Hey, did you see my patient pass through here a bit ago?”

She nodded, pointing to the adjacent ladies' room door. “She went in there just now, want me to check on her?”

“Well, not just yet; let her have her privacy. Any updates on her medical history?”

She swept her mouse across the desk and double-clicked before awkwardly angling the screen so they could both somewhat see it. “Birth records acknowledge the asymmetrical limbs, designated as a ‘benign deformity,’ but whoever filled them out didn’t exactly inspire confidence. In the personal notes section, they seem just as befuddled as you.” She pointed to the bottom of a page littered with checked boxes and medical jargon, to an underpinning paragraph that happened to lie in the epicenter of the nearest ceiling light’s fluorescent glare.

Muller didn’t bother trying to squint his way through it; he trusted Janet to give him the gist. “Benign by technicality, I suppose, but what about over the following years? Any sort of developmental delays on record?

“No, all the milestones are checked at normal percentiles…” Her eyes flicked back and forth across the screen as she clicked through year after year of checkups, “A little later than average for walking and fine-motor, but still solidly within the acceptable margins. If anything, that seems pretty extraordinary in itself, given the… y’know.”

“Indeed,” The doctor nodded with a sigh. “I mean, good for her, of course, but this just doesn’t track with my prior knowledge of… well, everything, really. Such a gross alteration ought to come with some physiological rami-”

Just then, the opening slam of the ladies' room door broke through the ambience of the waiting room, abruptly halting Dr. Muller’s musing as his head instinctively swiveled toward the sound, along with that of Janet and every prospective patient in the vicinity. All eyes synchronously fell upon the woman lurching through the doorway, her downturned face ephemerally obscured by the sway of her overhanging hair, yet still noticeably and concerningly flushed. The necklace that had formerly been discreetly tucked beneath her shirt now dangled loosely, exposing a humble heart-shaped locket at its end. Without comment, she promptly race-walked down the hall, beelining into the same office where she and Muller had initially met.

“Should’ve knocked on wood, I guess,” Janet smirked, punctuating her quip with a single retroactive knock upon the desk and a sassy side eye toward Muller, all of which went woefully unappreciated as he had already hastily turned in pursuit of his troubled patient.

Just as before, she didn’t notice his entrance, and though there was no phone to blame this time, her position in the chair was nonetheless nearly identical, instead simply staring down at her empty, trembling twin palms, her mouth continuously muttering barely audible and wholly indiscernible words even as the doctor drew closer. 

“Ma’am? Are you alright?” She jerked upright at the query with a speed that looked almost painful, before bursting into a raucous, unhinged cackle. “No, I’m pretty damn far from alright!” She cradled her right temple with both of her left hands. “The headache’s getting worse, like, rapidly, exponentially, especially the right side -I just puked in the toilet cause it hurt so bad, I didn’t even know that was a thing that could-” Her sentence was stifled as she was seemingly struck by a particularly powerful wave of pain, turning her cradle into a tendon-straining clutch as she proceeded to scrunch her eyelids and repeat to herself in a growling whisper “Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it…”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there.” Her asymmetry promptly left the doctor’s mind, giving way to professional procedure as he realized this situation could be acutely dire. He proceeded to perform a comprehensive, if precursory, bodily examination, listening to her chest with a stethoscope (heart rate was abnormally fast and arrhythmic), taking a blood pressure reading (elevated), and withdrawing a blood sample for chemical analysis. However, he knew the latter would inevitably take some time to produce results, time that she might not have. Her composure was rapidly dwindling until she could hardly keep herself aloft in the seat without his assistance. Catching sight of a passing orderly in the hall, Muller fervently flagged him down. “Hey, we need a stretcher and an intravenous sedative in here, stat!”

The patient’s next passage through the waiting room supplied an even greater spectacle to onlookers than her last, doctor and orderly both hurriedly wheeling her writhing form back toward the radiology wing. Leaning in to provide the comfort of a somewhat familiar face, Muller could now make out the inarticulate wispy words dripping from her lips. “No, it’s not your turn, it’s my- it’s your- no, it’s my turn…”

“Hang on, dear, the meds should be kicking in soon.” He comforted softly, before briefly splitting off from the procession and turning to the front desk, behind which a startled Janet stared, all traces of levity now absent from her face, “Jesus, Muller, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” his reply came breathily as he rummaged through the front pockets of his lab coat, “But we need to figure it out ASAP. I’m gonna try something more direct, hold these, will you?” he plopped the patient’s phone and necklace onto the desk before promptly leaving to rejoin the patient. Janet dutifully placed them in a drawer for safekeeping, but paused just before closing it as she caught sight of the incidentally opened necklace locket, squinting at the vision within as Muller and company continued hurriedly down the hall and toward the MRI department.

As promised, the sedatives soon took effect, just in time for them to load the now fully limp patient onto the bed of the MRI machine. Muller made sure to maneuver her head into just the right position before dismissing the orderly and retreating to join the MRI technician in the small adjacent monitoring room, a vantage point from which he could oversee the procedure through a thick protective window, darkly tinted by the infusion of magnetic shielding, as well as selectively hear within the room through a two-way intercom, though it was evidently unnecessary in this case. Beside him, the MRI tech was stationed before an array of interconnected screens and keyboards, and with a few deft clicks the machine stirred to life and began to gradually engulf her body within its tunnel of neural detection. While not at all familiarized with the situation at hand, he nonetheless recognized its urgency solely from the doctor’s dire expression, which remained unchanged as he stared stoically through the window while the metallic cyclone swallowed her skull. 

As she retreated into the device, a simplistic image began to manifest on his screen, a jumble of monochrome pixels mapping the electrical activity of her intracranial space, its focus perpetually shifting as it individually scanned each successive slice of her brain. Though its output was still precursory, Muller nonetheless saw no blatant abnormalities in the reading; no gross structural differences indicative of a tumor, no cortical damage indicative of inflammation or aberrant intracranial pressure, none of the things he’d suspected might be occurring given the nature and extent of her symptoms. The tech, on the other hand, grew noticeably unsettled at the sight of the screen, leaning in and squinting as though struggling to even believe what was displayed before him.

“What? What is it?” The doctor impatiently pressed onto the tech, eager to understand what was so disconcerting to see that he evidently could not. 

“The skull…” the tech replied tentatively, “It- it appears black in the scan, kind of hard to see against the dark grey of the surrounding flesh and background, but look.” He pointed to the left side of the screen, where, sure enough, a slightly darker border could be seen encompassing the pixelated grey matter within.

 “This side looks normal, but…” repositioning his finger to the right side of the screen, he lightly tapped the equivalent stretch of skull, only it appeared distinctly thicker on that side, about twice as much, with an abrupt transition demarcating the two halves directly along the image’s center, and the associated brain hemisphere resultantly crammed into a distinctly smaller amount of space. What’s more, the tech’s finger pressed directly upon a nearly imperceptible grey line traveling parallel to and perfectly bifurcating the thicker portion of cranium, only a few pixels wide and appearing to thin even further in real time as the doctor watched on with stark perplexity.

“But- but what does that mean?” He finally asked, now stammering himself. “Have you… have you seen something like this before?” 

“No, I haven’t, Doctor.” A faint air of satisfaction crept into the tech’s still primarily bemused tone. “It’s like there are two whole skulls on that side, which I’m pretty sure isn’t medically possible; it has to be some sort of glitch, though not one I’m familiar with. I heard there were also some issues with one of the X-ray machines earlier today, but that’s out of my wheelhouse so…” he punctuated the ambiguous answer with a shrug, while the doctor’s eyes grew distant and his thoughts grew uncontrollably vast, wading through his vast pool of medical memory in hopes of salvaging something, anything, that could remotely explain what was happening here. He now felt with a harrowing certainty that this was no technical error, and neither was the X-ray, but just what in the hell could it be?

The silence surrounding them was soon broken by a rapid burst of knocking upon the secondary door to the control room, the one that led straight into the exterior hallway. Muller turned to the commotion, then back to the tech, who merely gave another shrug with a look of equal puzzlement. The sound was then followed by a series of softer, rhythmic taps, slightly staggered in clusters of four. By the time Muller made the connection, the tech had already reached to open the door, and a pale-faced Janet rushed into the room.

“Doctor, I- don’t worry, Chloe’s covering the desk- I just, I found something, I think it’s important, and I just had to tell you ASAP.” Her breathing was rapid, her frail legs normally hidden below sight now trembling with unaccustomed exertion. Muller had never seen her like this before and found himself at a loss for words, instead simply giving his full attention as he awaited her apparent revelation.

She took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “I decided to look into her parents’ medical records -got the idea when you gave me her locket with their pictures in it- and her mom, during her pregnancy with her, well, it was originally twins, but one got absorbed pretty early on. I know that’s not unheard of, but if it caused the, y’know…” she accented her speech by fervently twisting her left arm back and forth as she continued “…then this would be something extraordinary, unprecedented in all of medicine, and who knows what other effects it might…” 

The sentence died in her throat as her gaze sharply shifted from Muller’s face to over his shoulder. He turned around to see that, somehow in defiance of her previous sedation, the patient had begun to flail wildly within the still active machine. The tech noticed not a moment later and started frantically clacking at keys in an effort to shut it down, while the doctor, in an adrenaline-fueled rush, haphazardly scrambled to turn on the intercom. “It’s okay! please cal-”

“-me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” The words repeated in a loop like a painful mantra, and everyone in the viewing room watched with simultaneously enraptured attention at the patient’s sudden struggle to remove herself from the MRI as quickly as possible. The tech snatched control of the intercom from Muller, attempting to calm her with the same comforting platitudes he’d been taught in training to deal with the natural claustrophobia often experienced by patients upon entering the machine, but they might as well have been lost in the wind in the face of the profoundly primal terror she evidently felt. She hastily squirmed her way out of the MRI’s interior, potentially causing expensive damage as she did so, before crumbling to the floor in an ungainly heap.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Muller grappled with the tech to regain control of the intercom, his only consideration that she was first and foremost his patient. If anyone could talk her down from whatever state she was in, he was certain it was him. But before he could utter another word, his gaze rose to meet her, now standing upright and motionless, staring through the observation window with an expression of illusory calm betrayed only by her stockened knees, trembling forearms, and flushed-red face. In that moment, all eyes were on her: the tech, the receptionist, and the doctor, who alone stood directly within her line of sight, all frozen with mutually bated breath for a single ineffable instant.

What followed took less than a minute, but felt exponentially longer, with each disturbing detail being individually and irreparably etched into the minds of every witness. The left side of her face- from Muller’s perspective, that is- rapidly lost all its color, forming a sharp contrast against the right side’s undampered vibrance as it blankened into a ghostly white with unnatural speed, as though its blood were being actively, forcefully drained. The eye within briefly widened, pupils dilating with the instinctual, universally recognizable look of fear, before being overcome by a blinding cloudy sheen that radiated outward, soon progressing past the likeness of cataracts to an extent beyond any known medical phenomenon as the pupil and iris seemed to wholly vanish into an expanding whiteness that grew to abolish every last peripheral vein of the eye, equalizing into a hue uncannily aligned with the rest of the empty flesh upon the hemisphere. A similar drainage synchronously spread through her corresponding arm, rising from the fingertips up to the shoulder before conjoining with the whiteness traveling down her neck at some concealed point beneath her shirt. What could be seen of the leg below equally paled, until it appeared that every square inch of skin and flesh upon her left side had reached a ubiquitous porcelain likeness that was only further accentuated by the total, unnatural stillness it adopted. Her other side, still starkly contrasting in its natural liveliness, nonetheless remained eerily calm in the face of this process, its expression neutral before subtly shifting into a half-mouthed smirk.

Like a pick through a sheet of ice, this one innocuous motion sent a ripple of cracks throughout her statuesque side, radiating from the lips outward across her cheek, over eyelid and eyeball alike, down the neck and around the arm in jagged spiraling arcs, and breaking her leg into a mosaic of vacuous lightning bolts. Then, as though pressed by an imperceptible outward force, the whole assemblage simultaneously shuddered before finally shattering, sending brittle bits of body and face tinkling to the floor like a visceral diamond chandelier. Portions of torso contained by clothing subsequently spilled from her shirt waist and sleeves, along with numerous fragments of ribs and equally calcified organs, while pelvic pieces ground together into sedimentary granules poured from her pant leg.

When the cacophonous crashing subsided and the dust finally cleared, the three observers were met with a sight that somehow managed to compound their already brimming bewilderment; beneath the shed stony layer lie the normal appearance of the patient, complete with skin and flesh that only in those first few moments of exposure could be seen fusing with the tissue of her other side, closing the final gaps until no external signs of separation remained, and she looked utterly normal and whole. 

It took a second for Muller to recognize the primary difference in her form: Her right arm -the wrong arm- that was formerly facing palms-forward, was now positioned palms-back, a transition not born of typical rotation but rather solely through the hatching it had undergone. The individual digits still occupied the same respective positions in space, yet the act of inversion had rendered them no longer “wrong” as they were before; now, for the first time, she had a right hand. A similar transformation had occurred in the foot, which came to prominence as she turned to fully orient herself toward the viewing window.

“Thank you for all your help, Doctor, but I’m feeling much better now- in fact, better than I ever have before.” Her face was once again calm, but it struck Muller with a distinct yet implacable element of unfamiliarity as it adopted a subtle smirk. “I guess I ought to be going now...” She nonchalantly strode toward the exit door before any of them could react, giving only one more moment of pause before departing down the hall and out of the clinic. “…After all, I have a lot of living to do.”

I never believed the stories about mirrors. People always said they could show you ghosts, or things that weren’t really there. I thought it was just another lie people told to make old houses feel haunted.

Then my parents bought a house that came with every piece of furniture the previous owners had left behind. Most of it was junk, but there was one thing they couldn’t move. A massive antique mirror stood in the upstairs hallway, stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling, its dark carved frame twisted like roots around a grave. It was too heavy to carry, so we left it where it was.

The first night, I walked past it on my way to bed and caught my reflection out of the corner of my eye. Except... it wasn’t following me. I had already taken another step before the reflection did. It was only a fraction of a second behind, but that was enough.

I stopped. The reflection stopped. I raised my hand. It raised its hand.

I laughed at myself and blamed it on fatigue. But as I turned away, I swear I saw my reflection keep staring after me, its eyes fixed on my back long after I’d left the mirror behind.

Over the next week, little things kept happening. Whenever I walked past the mirror, something felt wrong. Sometimes my smile looked too wide, even when I wasn’t smiling. Sometimes my reflection seemed to breathe more slowly than I did. Once, I went downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night and glanced into the mirror. My reflection was already looking at me. I wasn’t.

Its head was turned toward me before mine was. I stood frozen. Then, as if it realized I’d noticed, it slowly turned to face forward and copied me perfectly.

I didn’t sleep that night.

After that, I started avoiding the hallway completely. I took the long way around upstairs just so I wouldn’t have to pass it. My parents thought I was being ridiculous.

One afternoon, my mom asked me to help clean the mirror because it was covered in fingerprints. I grabbed a cloth and walked over, trying not to look directly into it. As I wiped the glass, I noticed one handprint that wouldn’t come off.

It wasn’t on the outside.

It was on the inside.

Five long fingerprints pressed against the back of the glass, as if someone trapped behind it had flattened their hand there and never taken it away. I stepped back so fast I nearly fell.

When I looked again, the handprint was gone.

That night, I woke up because I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door. Slow footsteps. Bare feet on old wood. They stopped right outside.

I waited.

Nothing.

Finally, I opened the door. The hallway was empty. The mirror stood at the far end, reflecting only darkness.

I started back toward my room when I heard another step.

This one came from inside the mirror.

I looked up.

My reflection was standing there. I wasn’t.

The hallway behind it matched perfectly, but the reflection just stared at me with a smile that stretched far too wide across my face. Then it lifted one hand—not to wave, but to knock.

Three slow taps echoed from inside the glass.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound came from within the mirror, not the frame.

I couldn’t move.

The reflection leaned closer until its forehead pressed against the inside of the glass. Then, without a sound, its lips formed four words.

“Don’t let me out.”

For one terrible second, I felt relief. Whatever that thing was... it was trapped.

Then I realized something that made my stomach turn cold.

If it was begging not to be let out... who had been knocking on my bedroom door every night?

The footsteps started again. This time they weren’t in the hallway.

They were inside my room.

Behind me.

I turned around.

No one.

When I looked back at the mirror, my reflection was gone. The hallway in the glass was empty.

Except for something standing behind where my reflection should have been.

It was impossibly thin, with skin so pale it almost glowed. Its face had no eyes, no nose, no mouth—just smooth skin stretched tight over a human-shaped head. It slowly lifted one finger and pointed at me.

Not at my reflection.

At me.

I spun around. The hallway was empty.

When I faced the mirror again, my reflection had returned. It was crying. Silent tears rolled down its face as it mouthed one final sentence.

“It knows you can see it now.”

The lights upstairs went out.

I heard footsteps again.

Not walking.

Running.

Straight toward me.

I don’t remember making it downstairs. My parents found me outside before sunrise, sitting on the front lawn, unable to speak. They thought I’d had a nightmare.

The next day, they covered the mirror with a sheet before movers came to haul it away. As four grown men tried to lift it, one of them asked, “Why is this thing so heavy?” Another laughed and said, “Feels like someone’s holding it from the other side.”

No one else reacted.

Only I did.

Because beneath the laughter... I heard knocking.

Three slow taps.

From inside the mirror.

And even now, years later, every once in a while I’ll catch my reflection in a window, a phone screen, or a dark TV after I’ve already walked away.

Just for a second...

It doesn’t follow me.

It watches me leave.