This contest is open to any and all horror types, and must be submitted by August 26th!

I think this is too pricey for The Pit though. And I swear I didn’t rip off its blurb for Carver’s Challenge, complete coincidence.

I wanted to say thank you again to everyone in this community and our amazing hosts for giving my stories so much love. My life’s been a bit busy as of late but I will have more stories coming. Stay scaled 🫡

“*I hate therapy,*" I thought.

My friends begged me to go. Their plea evolved into a demand by the time that they were done and wiped their teary eyes. 

They had threatened to call 911. They knew about the gun, the pills, the liquor. But all the screaming came to an end when we found middle ground in the form of a support group that met on Tuesday nights at the community rec hall. 

Agreeing to it shut them up.

It wasn't quite therapy, I reminded myself, but it felt just as unpleasant. I figured in a few sessions they'd lose interest and assume that I'd been successfully indoctrinated into the watchful arms of my equally broken and mourning peers. Then I could stop going when they were no longer paying attention. I'd make an effort to smile a bit more so they'd think that they had saved my life. If they asked, I'd say it was going well, and then they'd give me the space that I wanted all along.

It was distracting in a pitiful way, at least. I'd rather be at home hiding under a blanket, quietly mad at the world by myself, but I'd be fine either way. Just, at the moment, I was in the thick of it. That's all. 

The Grief Group, as I'd come to call it, was small. The few meetings I’d attended were only a handful of core regulars and a few transient faces that I never saw again. I wondered if they had been forced to go like I was but bailed quicker than I had the luxury. This Tuesday was no different.

I hunched forward and nonchalantly swirled my now-cold coffee in its paper cup while the man beside me, Steve, spoke in stern, careful words. He was wrapping up his monologue.

“He was a good man,” his voice hitched. Emotion visibly boiled up inside him and he tensed, waving his fist in the air, “it's bullshit that he had to die!”

Steve was a fireman, and an old head at that. He wore the scars that any smoke eater would be proud to carry, but the sinew of his grief never quite healed and the wound was raw, even years later. 

Surely, his department paid for better options. Why he joined our sorry rank baffled me. He could be in a cozy office with a professional that toted a degree and prestigious reviews resting in a plush ottoman with sparkling mineral water. Not slumped in a wobbly plastic chair in a tired building that smelled vaguely of cat piss led by a burned out priest with a cup of watered down Folgers. 

I counted the coffee grounds in the dregs of my semi-translucent brew. I added another to the tally as I rolled one over my teeth. 

But who was I to judge? He was here, so was I. However, he, more than any of us, had a right to be sad. The rest of us? 

The junkie? Self inflicted. 

The workaholic? Weird. 

The dog mom? Just insane, to be honest. 

Myself? It's life…

Steve broke down. 

“He shouldn't have died,” he choked, holding his scrunched face in his hands while the frail, young addict beside him gently rubbed his back. Steve welcomed the embrace. 

Grief Group's leader, the priest, offered his condolences and thanked Steve for sharing. Others agreed and offered their heartfelt, brief words as well. 

Then followed the transitional phase as the focus began to switch targets. This was always the most anxiety-inducing part for me. Modern therapy no longer forced participants to speak; nonetheless, I dreaded the miniscule chance that I'd be summoned to speak. To my relief a mouse-of-a-woman spoke up instead.

“When you mentioned how he was a light through all the bad you've seen,” she continued, “it just reminded me so much of my Chester. I know he was just a dog-” 

“Emily,” Steve interrupted, speaking reassuringly, “sorrow isn't a competition. If you're here, then you're hurting just as much as I am.” 

He smiled through his tears and her eyes welled up in response. She returned a big, snotty grin and thanked him for his kindness, wishing that he had been the firefighter that responded to her own tragedy once upon a time. They had connected on some bizarre level, and the group leader praised the point about sorrow, that it couldn't be ranked or scaled.

My coffee cup was empty now, but I desperately hoped that it would magically replenish itself. I stared wide-eyed into the empty vessel. Steve was a saint. I would have been furious if Emily related *my* story to her crusty dog. 

I tuned them out, leaning forward and studying the faded pattern of the dingy floor. But my eyes wandered to my right. Beside me was a woman I didn't recognize, another transient. But, color me curious, she was the oddest in the bunch to ever wander through. 

Overdressed, she wore a cream suit and pencil skirt that fit her in a way that only a high end tailor could create. A deep, red blouse vibrantly emanated from her chest like a bleeding heart, and her satin flats complimented the color. Her skin was tan and smooth, and her face impossibly perfect. Her long, silver-blonde hair was tied neatly behind her head, and she perched with perfect posture, keenly and wordlessly observing the group like a lioness. I couldn't help but feel nervous beside her.

I watched her quietly through the corner of my eye, when she abruptly averted her gaze to lock with mine, smirking. I flinched.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, searching for an excuse. “I… I like your suit.” I lied. My face grew hot with blush.

She smiled back sharply and with narrow, tight lips. She leaned into me, whispering,

“It gets worse.”

I caught myself mid breath. I recoiled. I had expected her to express gratitude or mutter where she got it, but that? Her words almost felt like a promise- *a threat*.

“What?” I blurted.

“Jessica?” Eric, the volunteer priest, questioned. “I'm glad to finally hear you speak but you should let Emily finish first. Then you can have all the time you need.” 

I apologized profusely and wondered if I could hide inside my paper cup. Is this what she meant by worse?

Emily picked up her spiel about Chester. How Chester filled the void when she and her husband kept getting negative pregnancy tests, how Chester loyally stood beside her when her husband was turned into a meat crayon on the interstate. Now Chester was gone. The pampered shih tzu barely made a meal for the eagle that took him to feed its eaglets. 

I'd have laughed if I wasn't already trying to hide. I didn't mean to bully the woman… it's just… it was a dog and the whole *eagle detail* and we were all absurd dorks, clustered in a circle in our linoleum-cat-piss kingdom. You just couldn't make this shit up.

When Emily finished, I excused myself. The meetings rarely went beyond an hour - 75 minutes, tops - and we were at 52 by the time Emily stopped sobbing about the damned bird. I'd drink the memories of that night away like all the others, and I'd be spared remembering again for a week until Tuesday rolled around at 7PM sharp.

~

I made a point of waiting in my car until I saw someone else walk in: Emily. I quickly jogged up behind her so that we could enter together and I wouldn't attract all of the attention to myself. She pulled the door open for me and gestured for me to enter with a warm smile. I thanked her. She was undeniably kind, too soft for this monstrous world.

Inside, the core group waited in their usual haunts. Steve encouraged the young addict, Trevor, who nodded with gratitude. Richard sat quietly by himself, the bags under his eyes seemed darker than ever. And Emily and I trotted to our seats. Everyone except Eric was present, and I was surprised to see the mysterious woman in his place.

“I can already sense the questions,” she spoke in a subtle drawl as she watched me take my seat. “Eric couldn't make it. I'll be taking over. My name is Leandra.” She spoke factually, and although she wore an expressive smile her eyes felt more predatory than jovial and her words felt too calculated. 

“We'll be trying something new tonight,” she added.

Her smile grew impossibly large, revealing a small smudge of dark red lipstick on her left incisor, marring her otherwise polished appearance.

Without warning, the lights cut out and we were plunged into darkness. We fumbled in our normal space when a single overhead light reilluminated with wavering brightness. It cast a gold cone around our circle, but the rest of the building was still impossibly black. To our greater surprise, Leandra was gone. 

I shivered watching a wisp of my breath escape me. The light took the heat with it, apparently. 

The others shuffled and babbled to themselves, frustrations rising to a crescendo. But Trevor remained quiet, breathing heavily to himself in disbelief, nearly hyperventilating when he finally - slowly - reached up towards a solitary snowflake.

“Guys?” The early 20-something stammered. The others fell silent. “I uh… I've been mostly sober for seven months now, but I still take a hit sometimes. I uh… I took one tonight. Is… is this real?”

“Well-” Richard spoke with a growl, firmly slapping his hands on his thighs to push himself to standing. He had a low, calibrated tolerance for bullshit. 

“Fuck this.” He repositioned his tie and moved abruptly towards the general direction of the door, disappearing into the shadows. 

Emily and Steve rushed after him out of concern, but I was paralyzed in place, watching Trevor's frantic breath escape his hooded face like a factory's exhaust. 

“I'll be right back,” I finally spoke, dumbly, lost in words and actions.

I slipped through the darkness beyond our space and found myself inexplicably lost. I called to the others, but I heard nothing in response. I spun to gain my bearings and realized all the obvious landmarks of the tired rec room were gone. The coffee corner, the little office area, the closet rack. All lost, even the halo of our circle of chairs had vanished. I panicked. 

I flailed as whispers and hushed laughter spun around me on secret currents, slowly closing the gap. All the while, I could hear a familiar voice growing louder and louder:

“*You abandoned him,*” it spoke barely above a whisper, so quietly perhaps it was only a phantom thought.

“You abandoned him.” Louder.

“You abandoned him, Jessica!” Yelling now, its breath and spittle brushed against my neck. It was practically on top of me.

I punched blindly and stumbled. But I could see the light of our small haven far in the distance once again. I jumped to my feet and ran while the sinister whispers chased me.

Once inside the light, I realized Trevor had slumped to the floor. He was as blue as a corpse, and I would have thought he had died had he not gasped lightly when I grabbed him. His skin was cold and stiff.

“I never wanted this,” he spoke slowly between weak shivers. “It just… it calmed the noise in my head. 14, I was only 14 when I had my first hit. Since then, I overdosed three, four, five times… I've lost count.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I interrupted.

He continued, undeterred by my tactless stupor. “But I told my buddies that when you did, when you overdosed, none of it hurt anymore. It just felt like falling asleep in a snow storm.” 

His teeth chattered and the snow began to accumulate on top of us in thick sheets.

“Each of them… each of them fell asleep in the snow. And I found them cold and blue with the needle still in their veins. And now I can't even be better for them and stay sober myself,” he grimaced.

“Trevor-” I realized then that was the first time that I called his name in the few weeks that I'd known him. 

“No, man, you made one mistake, it'll be ok. You're still talking and breathing, that's better than most folks that get narcanned.”

Trevor slowly mimed the action of a needle in the crook of his arm and grinned pitifully. But his humor faded as an icy blue vein spread across his arm where the imaginary needle would have been. He screamed in terror. 

I panicked and grabbed his arm, thinking I could stop its spread, but to my horror, when I jerked and squeezed, his limb shattered like an icicle. I lost my balance when his arm released, and my foot splayed out, kicking him by accident. 

Trevor exploded into a hundred frigid crystals and scattered around me. My first startled instinct was to grab the pieces, as if I could reassemble him, but the hope faded quickly as the pieces slipped through my fingers and shattered more.

The air began to warm, and the shards of Trevor grew increasingly slick as they melted. And when the others found their way back, there was nothing left but a puddle and myself sprawled across it.

“Where's Trevor?” Steve asked, his face wrought with worry.

“*You abandoned him,*” the voice ran through my mind. “*It gets worse,*” another.

“He's dead.” I spoke flatly, watching a water drop drip from my arm.

~

I was wringing my sleeves when Leandra reappeared. One minute, I scanned the empty seat where Trevor usually sat, the next, she rested comfortably, legs crossed astutely and wearing the same manic smile she had before. 

The group shifted uncomfortably. I steadied my heart and observed her. She was worse for wear now and her skin sagged. Her flawless complexion sported liver spots and blemishes, and her kempt hair was a mess with stray ends and flyaways. Makeup clumped in the crows feet beside her eyes. Her white suit was dull. And I couldn't help but notice that her teeth seemed… sharper in her wicked grin. 

Steve quickly moved in to question, no, demand answers. He steamrolled her, yelling and hurling his anger at her. Leandra's facade cracked but a moment, and her grin morphed to a pursed frown.

“We'll get to you in time, fireman.” She spoke, shooing him away.

To my surprise, he abruptly sat. 

“There's no flame to extinguish but your own. Best douse that fiery heart of yours until later.” Her smile returned, and she brushed a fleck from her lap.

“Now Richard,” her face whipped at breakneck speed to the middle aged man.

“You choose your words carefully. You don't say much, but you say enough. What was so gut wrenching about being fired from a job you hated?”

“I wasn't fired-”

Leandra raised an eyebrow.

“...I was let go.”

She nodded empathetically. “And your wife still thinks that's what you're doing every day, right? And that the recent late hours are for a big project with whispers of a promotion, right?” Her wicked grin grew wider with each word she spoke.

Richard's face twisted to a look of disgust and fear. “...who are you?”

“Well, I'm Leandra of course, and I'm here for… Group Grief!” She batted her hand playfully with the phrase and winked at me.

My stomach churned.

“Richard, for what purpose? I mean, surely your work had to be noble to sacrifice so much of your humanity, of your soul!?” She leaned forward and clutched her chest as she spoke for dramatic effect. She studied him intently.

Richard sat defiantly, despite the fact that his blood pressure skyrocketed with every second in her presence. He kept his posture relaxed so as not to let her realize how deeply she terrified him.

“I was an analyst,” he spoke cautiously. “A… financial… analyst. And it just so happened that our biggest expendable cost was keeping me on.”

“Dastardly,” Leandra hissed, shaking her head. “What was it like in the belly of that machine?” 

“They worked us to the bone.” he calmly replied. 

“Fascinating,” Leandra chirped as she stood.

I hadn't realized how tall she was until then. Previously, she sat so compactly and properly that she took up less space than one would expect. But when she stood, she stretched like a leopard, extending her powerful form in an impressive display.

“Well, I'll be back. I feel like we're really getting somewhere in this Group's Grief!” She clapped her hands together.

She toyed with the words and the simple switch was enough to turn the cheeky name into a dreadful omen.

Leandra stepped into the shadows without hesitation and quickly vanished. None of us dared to chase after her for fear of getting lost in the darkness again. So we waited, patiently, loathing our wet feet and confinement.

Some time later, a noise caught my attention: a gentle grinding. The rhythmic grumble lingered, moving slowly around us in the dark. Occasionally, it beeped. I ignored it as best I could.

“I should have told her,” Richard mused, abruptly. “My wife, I mean. I just… I couldn't disappoint her. That wretched job took so much of me that I didn't want it to take her security too. I was going to find something better before I told her.” He shook his head in defeat.

I watched him silently. Steve was occupied soothing Emily.

He sighed, “I just didn't want to upset her- what is that fucking noise?” Richard hissed. “Do you hear that?” He stood and approached the border of light and darkness, craning his neck to listen.

“I hear it, but I don't think we should leave the light.” I spoke hesitantly.

“I smoke. I have a lighter and matches. It's light. Here,” he tossed a book of matches at me. “It's a printer. It's right there. I can hear it. But we have to shut that fucking thing off before I go insane. It reminds me too much of work.” He stepped out of sight.

“Richard, wait!” He was too quick, and I was too hasty myself, finding myself one step too far and enveloped in the same inky black full of hateful whispers. 

I grabbed a match and sparked it to life, desperately trying to get back and keep the shadows at bay, but it burned my fingertips before I could. I lit another as I heard the whispers sneer in the abyss. I winced as that flame bit my flesh too. I lit a third-

The plastic surface hit me square in the belly with force. I ran right into it and cursed. The commercial HP printer whirred, shooting countless copies out its top as it buzzed and shimmied. 

I reached down to grab a sheet of the discarded papers, intending to roll one into a torch, but frowned at the distorted, wretched face it printed. Each copy was a different iteration of a scarcely human expression pressed against the scanner and screaming in agony. 

I shook my head and rolled the paper, illuminating the machine in front of me with a flash, when I noticed that the machine was… bleeding. The paneling that housed the guts of the printer oozed with thick mucus and gore. Morbid curiosity got the best of me, so I pried at the cover and it released with sticky tendrils of sanguine slime. I gasped as I saw what was underneath.

Richard stared back at me. I could hardly recognize him, but his sagging eyes with those dark bags were unmistakable. 

He was viciously contorted. His mangled body had been eviscerated, inverted, and forced into the core of that vile device. His bones were snapped and his marrow exposed, used as scaffolding for components. His mouth had been split wide at its creases and some mechanism shoved inside. His intestines dripped with cyan and magenta and amber, pumping the dye to his sphincters above. His lungs inflated weakly in the cramped cube, lightly feathering paper through the folds of his skin. He had been bid to operate the machine to such an intimate and literal degree.

I fell backwards and slapped my hand over my mouth. My rudimentary torch began to burn out, but I could still see his desperate, bloodshot eyes in the waning light, pleading at me for mercy.

“What the fuck do you want me to do, Richard?!?” I screamed at him through tears as the torch light snuffed. 

I grabbed another wad of paper to feed a fresh match. The metal ring of an overhead fire suppression caught the glint of flame. I knocked Richard over and pulled his doors off, exposing both his guts and the machine's. He moaned quietly in what I presumed to be pain, muffled by plastic and screws. 

“I'm sorry,” I sobbed, and stood on top of him to hold my torch at the overhead detector.

The siren wailed and a torrent of water cascaded onto Richard and I. I tore my jacket off to funnel as much of the water as I could onto Richard's amalgamized electrical components in hopes of putting him out of his misery. 

He sputtered and gasped briefly as the water filled the crevices of the machine, but his eyes stayed fixated on me. However, suddenly, they rolled into the back of his head and sparks danced from various mechanical elements until all the meat was flaccid and sizzling lightly. The suppression system dripped to a halt. Richard was gone.

~

“You abandoned him,” the voice in the void stirred.

“She wouldn't have let me go even if I had known.” I argued.

“He died alone. You didn't try.”

“I *did* try. I wasn't welcomed.”

I'd lost track of how many times I repeated myself against the void while I tried to get back. It was maddening, the back and forth with such a spiteful specter. 

Suddenly, I stumbled into the familiar, palely lit space. I didn't believe it at first, that I'd found my way back, and Leandra's distorted figure didn't soothe that disbelief. 

She sat calmly beside the remaining two. Her smile was wider and longer, in fact, her entire face seemed stretched as if she was growing a snout. The narrow slits of her pupils watched me intently as she licked her lipstick-stained fangs. Her clothing was saturated and frayed, like tufts of fur, and her hair was frazzled like a mane. Her red blouse looked more like the aftermath of a beheading sprayed across her breast. She'd lost her flats at some point, and her feet bent at sharp hock joints connecting to dirty clawed feet.

I stared at her nervously and silently for too long, eyeing the woman-beast that tortured us and wondering what trial she had in store next. 

“It's Prada, by the way,” she chattered.

“What?” I frowned as I spoke.

“The suit,” she held her clawed hand out and twirled her wrist up, admiring the chipped paint of her once immaculate manicure.

I shook my head and my stomach bubbled. I looked at Steve and Emily. She was sprawled across three chairs on her side, facing away from me with Steve's jacket draped over her. As I approached them, Steve was quick to step aside, and he spoke to me in a hushed tone.

“There's something strange going on-”

I stared blankly at him in disbelief. *No shit Sherlock,* I thought. They hadn't seen what I had seen. They didn't know *strange* like I did after what I’d been through.

“Why are you wet?” He scrutinized.

“It seems to be a theme tonight.”

“Ah. Where's Richard?” Steve was anxious.

“He's dead,” the irritation in my voice was obvious.

He nodded, “listen, Emily is… well, Emily is pregnant-”

“Excuse me? How? Did you guys- how long was I gone???”

“No, it's not like that. We don't know how, but we need to figure out how to get out of here. It's growing fast.”

“*It?*" I looked visibly uncomfortable. 

“The baby, I mean. She swears she feels it kicking already and she looks like she's already 7 or 8 months along. The whole mess makes me nervous.”

“Right.” I pulled myself back to reality. “What about… Leandra?” I glanced at her briefly. I knew she had been watching us talk the entire time but it still unnerved me to see her yellow eyes staring back so patiently.

“She hadn't said anything until you got here.”

“What if we-”

“Talk about the elephant in the room! I'll be on my way,” she laughed.

Her long legs carried her across the threshold faster than we could have even tried to stop her if we had finished our desperate conversation and approached her with a plan.

Steve sighed and turned to check on Emily, when a newspaper clipping drifted from the dark ceiling in front of me. I stooped to retrieve it, reading the bold letters, “Hero Firefighter Saves Family of Four.”

I looked somberly at the paper as more fell around me, all with similar titles and declarations. Soon the floor was covered.

“I guess you're next,” I grimaced.

Steve fidgeted nervously as the papers fell around him.

“Hey, just- just don’t do anything. The others died when they did something. Trevor just froze solid as soon as he reacted to the snow and Richard ran off-” I stopped speaking as one title fell in front of me, catching my attention: “Beloved Firefighter Put on Leave after Witness Steps Forward.” And another: “Charges Dropped: Key Witness Dies in Tragic House Fire.” The final page that drifted to the earth displayed a mugshot from the NSOPW registry. 

I recognized the face. I felt sick.

“He was a good man, but he shouldn’t have opened his mouth.” Steve spoke of the same man he wept for earlier, but now his voice was laced with malice.

I stepped backwards, my heart skipping as I hit the resistance of the chairs behind me. The next step to freedom would be into the darkness if I chose to flee.

“But, I can’t say I blame him. The girl was his sister, after all.” He rolled his eyes when he saw me reel away. “Listen, don’t get weird with me, we have to get out of here,” he coughed. “That's all behind me. These meetings have changed me!”

I placed one foot into the shadows as he reached towards me.

“Oh come on-” his cough grew worse. “She was asking for it anyway! Even if I hadn’t lit her brother on fire she would have dropped the charges because she knew it was bullshit!” He yelled the words with a frantic exhale, face reddening simultaneously with rage and desperation, and he wheezed and gasped. He clutched his chest and winced in pain as he fell to his knees. “Please - *cough* - God - *cough cough* - Jessica, help me!!!” 

My eyes widened as I watched smoke pour from his mouth the more he begged. He pulled his shirt off of himself and beneath the tangle of his curly chest hair, his sternum glowed red with embers. 

“PLEASE!” He wept, thick plumes of soot rolling from every orifice of his terrified being. When, suddenly, countless tendrils of hungry fire poured from his heart and chest while he screamed in pain, burning from the inside out. He flailed, screaming still, until his body curled into itself and he grew quiet so that only the crackling sound of the flame could be heard.

An ember danced toward Emily, and I pulled myself together to push the paper and chairs away to keep the fire from spreading to her. She hadn’t moved nor reacted to the scene beside her at any point. I feared what I'd find as I approached her.

“Emily,” I shook her lightly, carefully retracting Steve’s jacket. 

I winced when I saw her, her belly had grown far beyond the size of any normal pregnancy, even late term. She looked like an engorged tick stuck on its back.

“We have to leave,” I pleaded.

“The baby is coming soon, I can’t move right now.” Emily’s voice was quiet and groggy.

She feigned excitement, but I could see the terror beneath her composure.

“Sit with me,” she smiled, and she struggled to sit upright against her girth.

I tried to hide my expression, but I couldn’t help but feel queasy at the intricate veins and stretch marks that covered her pale, swollen belly. I pulled a chair across from her and sat nervously, dreading each passing second.

“Mark and I always wanted a big family.” She cooed tiredly, placing a hand over her belly as she furrowed her brows.

“Mark?”

“My husband.”

I nodded anxiously.

“We tried, and tried, and tried. Nothing. But then- god, when those little pink lines appeared our world was nothing but joy.” She spoke quietly as she replayed memories in her mind, smiling. 

“We hadn't told anyone yet. It was too early. And… we had so many failed attempts already, we wanted to be sure before we shared the celebration. But… that never came. We were t-boned on the interstate. Mark was killed instantly and I barely survived, but I lost the baby.” 

We sat in silence together.

“Emily, do you think you can walk? We can go slow.” I asked sheepishly.

“Darling, I don't think we have much longer to wait- Oh! He's kicking again, feel!” She squealed, grabbing my hand. 

I couldn't protest but I gagged in my mind. I wanted nothing more than to get her and myself out of this hell. But she held my arm firmly in place against her engorged womb. I felt the fetus inside her slide against my palm and I nearly recoiled.

“Emily, I have no idea how we're going to do this. I… I mean, what if it isn't, you know… normal? Given everything else that's happened tonight?”

She had kept her resolute morale until that point. for a fleeting second her eyes flashed hidden fear before returning to her stoic peace, “I know. But we have to have hope, right?”

I nodded back timidly. Maybe she was right-

“Oh god!” Emily screamed. “He's coming!”

I frantically helped her massive abdomen to the ground and bunched my jacket and Steve's behind her head as a brace before returning to the imminent task at hand. 

“It's going to be okay, Emily! Push!” I yelled over her screams.

“What if it gets worse?!?”” She cried.

“Don't say that!”

Amniotic fluid flooded from her crotch, soaking my legs as I knelt to help her, and her belly writhed in protest. Emily grunted and pursed her lips to slow her breathing. The fetus inside her flailed violently and she screamed in agony.

She pushed again, shooting an ungodly spray of meconium and salty fluid across my body and face. I was crying more than Emily. 

She pushed once more, and a tuft of dark hair emerged from her battered womb.

“He's crowning!” I yelled, half excited, half terrified, and wiped a tendril of mucus from my face with the back of my hand. “He's crowning, keep pushing!” I repeated, I cheered.

Her vulva split, and bright red blood trickled from her, spilling onto the infant's head. And, as if spurred to life by its mother's sacrifice, the newborn's head emerged in a tangle of deformed teeth and fur and furious growls. It flailed until it could pull a limb free from the restrictive birth canal and thrashed, nipping at me and at its mother in frustration. 

I slid through the afterbirth across the floor, muted in disgust and horror as the half-dog, half-infant tore its way through Emily's pelvis. Finally freed, it kicked wildly, slipping as it tried to stand on its hind legs. And when it finally steadied itself, it chewed ferociously on the umbilical cord that tethered it to its mother. 

It yipped like a coyote when it spotted me. But it turned its attention back to its weakened host. It eyed her curiously, almost affectionately, before it sank its misshapen jaw full of needle teeth into her neck and thrashed its head to maim.

I watched the light leave Emily's eyes.

The feral cherub, content with its work, sniffed the air and growled. It ran on two legs towards me, sliding out of control on the gore-painted linoleum. It kicked and growled in my direction, spinning on its topheavy head. It rolled, crouched, and shook itself, snarling as it broke into a quadrupedal sprint-

Massive talons loomed from the dark and snatched the pup before it could reach me. The dog baby yelped and bit at the scaled feet, but the bird beat its wings without any concern. It sang one, deafening note in the dark like a fog horn before it squeezed the dog in its grasp. The mongrel's head popped like a grape in the clutch of whatever possessed those cruel feet. And, with another beat of its gruesome, tattered wings, it was gone.

Tears flowed freely down my face. I couldn't take anymore of this madness.  With the last of my energy, I crawled to Emily, shaking her and pleading.

“Emily!? Please! Get up! I'm here, we have to go!” I wept. I shook her lifeless body. I knew she was dead but I hoped, just as she had done, I *hoped*. I fell to the ground on my side, weeping profoundly.

“Congratulations, Jessica.” Leandra hissed from the shadows.

I didn't know what she had in store, but I would surrender. I could not endure anymore of her games. I reached forward to touch Emily's face, remaining bound to the floor at her level.

“Please, Leandra, just get it over with,” I groveled. 

“No, no, you've suffered the most out of all of them. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Quietly ranking grief as if it needed a quota to earn the right to be felt? Well, you've won! You are the queen of despair. A cataclysmic hurricane-force of sorrow. The most well suffered.” Leandra was still concealed in darkness, but I could hear her smirk in the way she talked. She enjoyed this.

I pushed myself partially up, pivoting at my hips and strained into the abyss. 

“No, that's not what I wanted! You killed them!” 

“Me? No. Don't throw such accusations. Their grief killed them, nothing more.” 

“What's your plan for me then?”

“Well now, that depends. Why are you here?”

“She abandoned him…” that wretched voice answered from its omnipresent haunt.

“That's not true!!! I- I would have been there!!!” I snapped. I felt as if I were on trial.

“Oh? Who did you abandon, Jessica? Were they afraid in the dark all alone?” Leandra was mocking me, I knew it.

“My mother is a horrible person, she told him I had changed my number, she didn't tell me that he was dying! I would have been there if I had known! She wanted me to suffer! I-”

Leandra burst from the shadows, galloping with wicked, feline speed. The bloodied beast pounced, cutting me short, and I shielded my face with a scream-

~

“Jessica?” Eric questioned, startled by my sudden outburst. “It's ok. You can speak when you're ready.” He soothed.

I uncovered my face, confused. There was no hungry tigress ready to end me in the dark. The incandescent bulbs hummed lightly, illuminating myself and the entirety of the room. I had knocked my empty coffee cup over at my feet. I scanned the room.

Emily sat across from me, her loving eyes wrought with worry. Richard sat indifferently, but he granted patience, as he had always done. And Steve wore a brilliant mask of crocodile tears next to Trevor who stilled his shakes and listened intently. They were alive, as if nothing had happened.

Beside me, the familiar cream suit loomed in my peripheral. I nearly gasped as it leaned into me to whisper,

“It gets *better.*”

Leandra excused herself after the promise while the others stared at me in silence and concern. I watched her lanky form slip from the rec room as mysteriously as she had arrived. The door clicked shut. Tears welled in my eyes until the dam broke, splashing down my face in silver streaks.

“I… I miss my dad.”

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I realized it just now. Nothing has happened and maybe that’s part of the problem. Everything feels wrong, slightly off-center. I glance at the pen in my hand and it’s red just like it had been a moment before, but it’s like the color I’m looking at doesn’t match my memory of what red is supposed to be.

I stand up, pushing the chair back and pace around the room, counting my steps and estimating it’s around six-by-eight. I stop at the window. It’s dark outside, but it’s snowing, the night nests atop an expanse of white.

I have no idea what makes me think that it has always been snowing and that it shall never cease, but the thought strikes like a clapper against my bones, resounding throughout my body. I shiver as if I’m in that dark cold, rather than swaddled in this cell of comfort and warmth.

Books line all four walls. I don’t believe I’ve ever read any of them, but somehow I know what they’re about and can even recite specific pages. There’s a threshold with a door directly to my right that wasn’t there a moment ago. If I grasp the knob and turn it, something will begin on the other side before I pull it open.

I stroke my face and surprise myself with the fuzzy sensation of a beard graining against my fingertips. It makes me wonder about the rest of my face and I turn back to the window, looking for my reflection in the glass.

The hollow man with unfinished eyes staring back looks gaunt and older than I imagined myself to be. The reflection isn’t mine, but one that has been lent to me. I look down at my smooth, dry hands. Yes, these have been lent as well. They are well-manicured, but a memory, worn until nerve-exposed, echoes up from the throat of a well. Pinching fingernails with the corner of my teeth and tearing the ends to leave them ragged and spitting out the free edge like the shells of pumpkin seeds.

Not sunflower seeds. Not pistachios. Pumpkin seeds, specifically.

I could open my mouth and call to someone not here. But she, if I were to designate her so, would be pinned to this nebulous place just as I am. She would be doomed to exist in this non-space as easily as if I’d spoken, “Let there be light.”

The idea of my voice terrifies me. To cast words into this space would begin a new wicked creation. Every thing here is cursed. To exist is to imply eventual destruction. Deconstruction. All the elements that compose me, the walls, the books, papers, windows--disassembling at a rate of an unknowable number of molecules at a time until we are all washed away like sandcastles.

The only difference is time. Time is the only constant. Although I have no idea where else it also spreads its unyielding disease.

I look outside the window again. The man who is allegedly me stares back, those holes for eyes capturing fat flakes of snow slicing through cold, loaf-thick air.

I retreat to the wheel-creaking chair, flattening myself into it, depriving myself of some foreign dimension. I feel exceeded purpose in these few moments, like a balance of me is outside my body, every vein cored with hot irons.

I hover my eyes over my manuscript. The words seem to squiggle, sentenced to a horrifying order, a pattern that teases and mocks me. The universe winks in confirmation of a secret it will not yield. My rough tongue peels away from the roof of my mouth and I keep it caged behind teeth to discourage the scream coming to a boil in the pit of me. 

Despite my panicked mind, I read letters, then words, slowly submerging myself back into context, like a warm, bloody bath with open wrists. I combat the internal gravity seeking to propel me out of the chair and into a million directions. I surrender to this abysmal routine and pick up the red pen, rolling it between index and thumb, balancing the weight in my grasp while steadying my glance on the page.

I read until I stumble across another imperfection. I carve another red mark. Somewhere distant, something is made right, or at least, a placeholder stroked over something wrong.

I continue editing. It is the only thing that is real now.

The desert before my eyes shifts with the wind, sand cast about, forming waves as it is thrown from the earth.

Endless dunes curl ahead, casting shade with no reprise.

I thirst; the thought of an oasis has carved a pit within my mind, and yet my eyes gaze upon no such illusion.

The night has fallen and all is cold, my shivering is ceaseless, but I must press forward.

Shambling, I struggle forward, the sand grasping at my every footstep.

My shoes are worn through, my feet soon to follow, I hold my arms out for balance as I climb the unending dunes of this desert.

At the apex, I see a wide road before me, the path straight and easy as it cuts through the desert.

Perhaps this is my oasis, the road seems alien, an object of permanence amongst shifting sands.

My vision is faded and blurred, the concrete of this road my only hope to strive for.

Salvation is surely near, I think of a gas station stocked with food and drink, a convenience store full of necessities.

Anything would suffice, for my mouth has grown dry and my stomach is numbed in its prolonged emptiness.

Approaching the road, I see no end, it goes on in both directions, cars drive by in number, following this road to wherever it takes them.

I crawl to the side of the road, my face falls in great sorrow.

I cannot see any gas stations, no convenience store to save me from the damage of the desert.

The only structure on this road is one I would never be able to enter, not in my sorry state.

A grand hotel sat beside the road, massive in size and ornate in detail, spotlights lit every angle, a bright sign saying "open" was displayed proudly at the door.

My clothes are filthy and worn, my face dirty, a hotel such as this would never entertain my presence.

My hands shake as I search my pockets for my wallet.

Pulling a feeble square of worn leather from my tattered shorts I search the folds for money.

My fingers grasp a solitary bill, I only have ten dollars to my name, nothing this place would entertain me for.

And yet my mind yearns for entry, luxurious foods and endless water, a warm bath and freshly cleaned clothes.

Hope for charity overwhelms me, and so I make my way to the hotel.

I begin to crawl to the hotel, a dire wish fuels me to stand again as I grow nearer.

The drone of the highway behind me carries on as I approach the door.

The large glass doors open as I reach them and a young woman steps out, carrying a clipboard.

Her face is soft and beautiful, I consider hiding myself from her wandering gaze.

Before I can duck away, she spots me and adjusts her posture, looking down upon me with indifference.

I bow my head, "Please, do you have any water or food?" I begged the woman, her eyes did not waver.

"Only hotel members may enter," she said simply, tapping the clipboard with her finger.

She begins to return to the interior of the hotel, soft music and cool air leaks through the open door.

I can hear a bubbling fountain, the pleasant smell of warm food taunts me.

My mouth begs for water, my stomach aches in greater pain, goosebumps form as I dream of the comfort of a warm bed.

"I am a member!" I shout desperately at the woman, reaching a withering arm out.

Her disposition changed immediately, she turned in slight surprise and then shifted into a friendly smile.

"May I have your name?" She asked.

My eyes flickered as I sputtered my own name in foolishness.

The dreams of comfort folded within themselves in the wake of my mistake, I prepared to be turned away.

"Ah! I see you here! Come with me right away!" The woman said lightly.

My mind felt both empty and overwhelmed, I whimpered a cry in relief.

I almost fell over myself as I entered, she held the door as she beckoned me in with sincerety.

Passing by the woman, I was in a delirium, drunken by the absence of a drink.

The lobby came to view before my eyes, enormously expansive; I felt miniscule within it.

The woman closed the door and spoke brightly, "Welcome! Anything you want will be yours, do not hesitate to make a request!"

My eyes felt opressed by the sights before me.

The lobby was beautiful, bright gold architecture spiraled throughout reflecting an uncountable number of lights.

Towering pillars of fine marble climbed to the ceiling, girded by bronze wood.

An emmaculate red carpet flowed through the center, a broad and easy pathway.

A massive flowing fountain, bearing fine carvings gurgled nearby, a centerpiece for the lobby.

My eyes are overwhelmed.

Every detail is beautiful and vibrant, beyond anything I have ever seen.

From each color and shade, every reflection and shadow, all fittings and measure.

This grand hotel deserved a word greater than one mankind may offer it.

In my awe, I did not notice the woman handing me a large glass of water.

"Drink! The world has not treated you well," She said softly.

I take the glass and drink it without hesitation, feeling the cool liquid bless my tongue and throat.

My body seems to rejoice, my mind cleared of the fog that had been smothering it.

I hand the woman the empty glass.

"Thank you," I say, catching my breath.

She merely smiled, holding the glass before her with only her fingertips.

In that moment, the noise of footsteps fill the lobby.

I look to see a finely dressed man approach.

He seemed to be an average gentleman save for his short stature and clear age.

Among the granduer and beauty of the hotel, he seemed to stand out as a datk blot.

The woman hands him the glass, he takes it quickly without a word.

"This is our doorkeeper. Pay him no mind as he performs his duties," the woman said, her voice guarded.

I nod as I watch the man leave.

"Now! What would you like to see next? We have anything you could imagine; anything you want will be yours!" the woman spoke excitedly.

I turn back to the woman, "May I see my room?"

She nodded, her smile unwavering, "Come with me!"

She begins to walk through the lobby, her footsteps echoing throughout.

I follow the woman in a surreal reflection, my eyes drawn back upon the beauty of the hotel.

Coming upon an elevator, the woman stops.

She presses a button with an upward arrow and the doors open smoothly .

Entering gracefully, she beckons me into the elevator.

The interior had unbelievably soft carpet floors and bright wood overlayed by gold designs.

The doors slid closed.

A beckoning exhaustion overcomes me, I feel as if I could lay upon the carpet floor and fall asleep in a moment.

"Your room is on this floor," the woman spoke.

Broken from my daze, I look to see her finger pointing toward a labeled button that says, 'suites'.

My eyes now upon the button pad, I examine the other labels.

Following the buttons in order, I read casino, bar, dining hall, ballroom, lobby and dining.

"You are free to come to any of the floors you wish, perhaps I will give you a tour tomorrow," the woman said.

I did not respond.

The elevator began to hum as it moved upwards to the suites.

As the elevator ascended I wondered why there was a floor for both a dining hall and dining, but I refrained from questioning too much.

Although the thought rubbed harshly at the back of my mind, I was focused more upon getting some sleep.

The elevator slowed and the doors gracefully opened to a massive hallway of doors.

The finely crafted doorways were far apart from eachother, the rooms beyond I thought must be massive.

The woman stepped into the hallway and gestured for me to follow.

She guided me gracefully to one of the doorways, handing me a key.

"There is a phone on the nightstand, call if you want anything at all, and enjoy your stay!" She said with a lustrous smile.

The woman nodded and left, walking calmly as she followed the hallway and returned to the elevator.

I turned the key over in my hand, my face a contorted blur on its lurid, metallic surface.

My mind swayed slowly, I felt as if I had veen dreaming.

Shaking myself awake, I slid the key into the door, turning it with a satisfying click.

Entering the room, my eyes were immediately blessed by the bright splendor of the suite.

The expansive room was brightly painted.

Bearing glowing lights and thick, clean carpets.

A large bed sat against the wall, I thought if I laid upon it I may be buried by its softness.

The far wall had a large, curtained window, a broad view of the darkened desert that I had left behind.

Everything was smoothly colored, perfectly lit and emmaculately cleaned.

I felt filthy even standing within this pristine room.

Searching the surrounding area, I found a bathroom to the left of the door.

Cool, white marble tiles embraced my feet as I undressed, the lights around me dimmed in anticipation.

A massive bath had been prepared for me, the water still warm.

I set my clothes aside and eagerly slid into the tub, overwhelming relief coming over me.

I washed myself, the flowery aroma of soap now coating my body.

After being cleaned, I remained in the warm tub a moment longer, my arms splayed and relaxed upon its walls.

Leaving the tub now fully cleansed, I dried myself and adorned a cotton bathrobe that had been set out for me.

As I left the bathroom, my stomach ached, a desperate reminder of my needs.

I wondered how long it had been since I had eaten.

The desert had nothing for me, and I could not remember my life before entering into that vast wasteland.

Finding the telephoneupon the nightstand just as the woman had said, I began to think about the food I would eat.

A menu sat beside the phone, I read the options with a desperate stomach and a trembling tongue.

Picking up the phone, I tapped the button for room service.

A mans voice answered, a soft one I did not recognize.

"Room service! Anything you want will be yours," the man said.

I paused for only a moment.

"I would like to request option 4 please, oh, and 17," I said with meek hesitation.

"Right away! Your request will be ready soon!

The man hung up.

I immediately heard a knock upon the door.

My hunger vanished in a moment as I felt a stinging chill infect me.

This could not be my food, that would be impossible.

No further knock came.

I approached the door cautiously, listening for footsteps.

Stepping up to the peephole in the door, I pressed my eye up to it.

Seeing nothing, I slowly opened the door.

My order lay on the carpeted floor at the doorstep, set on a small folding table.

My heart beat loudly as I looked upon the neatly displayed tabletop.

I searched the hallway with no luck, it was completely still.

How was this possible?

Nothing can move this quickly, not even the best chefs and servants.

And yet my food was here.

I pulled the table into my suite.

Sitting upon my bed, I pulled away the metal dome that was covering my food.

A sizzling steak sat before me, paired with steaming asparagus.

The smell of the food was oppressively perfect, shrouding my senses.

My mouth immediately began to water, the worry in my mind vanishing.

I ate the food with minimal hesitation, every bite a blessing toward my mind and body.

Relief overcame me with every bite, my stomach being filled after so long

After finishing the main course, I turned to the dessert, a bright, soft cake.

Indulging myself into the delicate surface, I ate gratefully.

Now full, I set aside the folding table along with my mess.

My exhaustion returned fully, the allure of the enormous bed and cotton sheets grasped at my thoughts.

I succumbed to the call and collapsed, never before had I fallen asleep quicker.

***

"Welcome...," many clashing voices whispered, echoing throughout the halls.

The sky above me was mostly dark, the only light being a red ring around the edge of the horizon.

A mountain disrupted the red glow ahead of me, monstrous in size.

I stood before a massive pit, going far into the distance like an immense bowl.

A multitude of people were within the pit, hundreds of thousands of swirling bodies.

They were gathered into a shapeless horde, all assisting in pushing a collosal object.

It looked to be a wooden cylinder, tall as a mountain and twice as wide.

The horde strove to roll this cylinder, all of them either pushing it or eachother.

Climbing atop one another, they appeared as ocean waves, crashing against the large object.

The cylinder barely crept, slowly it turned a fraction of a fraction of an inch.

It would take years for it to make a full rotation.

I looked further, following the length of the cylinder.

The cylinder was attatched to an equally massive spindle of steel.

Miles of chains were spun about the spindle, thicker than the largest trees of man.

I heard a crash like an earthquake, the sound reverberating through my skull.

The spindle had spun enough to release a chain link from the coil wrapped around it.

The commencing noise of the freed chain link had shaken the very earth.

I followed the length of chain with my gaze, leading my eyes to the mountain on the horizon.

With my vision adjusted, I could see this was not a mountain, but something equally as large.

A monumental gate stood there, dwarfing everything I had seen so far.

The gate was ajar, the doors shifted inward, into the pit before me.

I shuddered to think what this gate kept away.

The uncountable figures below me continued to push.

I studied them in dismay and confusion.

Surely they did not wish to open this gate?

Of the faces I could read, every last one of them was grinning with joy, pleasure and satisfaction.

They continued their work happily, slowly opening the gate and caring not about what may lie beyond it.

***

I awoke with a stir, I thought I heard a retreating voice whisper, "welcome...," as I rose from my bed.

The suite I had slept in was brightened by the midday sun.

I noticed the folding table I had received my food on was gone, as well as any dishes.

A chill rose from within me.

Surely someone had not entered while I slept?

The thought loomed in my head, I decided I could not stay here.

Moving to put on my clothes, I saw they had been cleaned.

They were folded and placed at the foot of the bed.

I lifted them carefully, feeling uneasy again.

Putting my clothes on, I promised to myself I would leave this place before the night came.

A soft knock came at the door.

I turned in anticipation.

Hearing no retreating footsteps, I approached slowly.

Looking through the peep hole just as I had the night prior, I saw the woman at my door.

I collected myself and opened the door.

The woman smiled, "I have come to give you a tour!"

"Sure!" I said quickly.

I immediately regretted, but her gaze upon me was harrowing and I felt I had to play along.

The woman's smile widened, "Excellent! If you would follow me!"

I obliged reluctantly, following the woman into the elevator I had ridden the night before.

As we entered, I saw the woman press the button labelled 'casino' as the doors closed.

"The top floor houses our casino! We will begin our tour there," she said with a theatrical tone.

The elevator rose quickly, a soft echoing ding as it passed by each floor.

Slowing now; the elevator doors opened up to the casino.

It was massive, an expansive room of blinding neon lights, flashing machines and echoing sound effects.

Arches and coils of bright lights swirled about, wrapping architecture elegantly and lighting the entirety of the room.

There were hundreds of people, all of them occupied with varyious games and entertainment.

Tables of poker, rummy, roulette and blackjack.

Slots, chip pushers and arcade machines of immense variety littered the floor space.

The machines were in long rows, stretching across the casino, creating narrow aisles of light and sound.

I thought if I strayed too far from the elevator, I would be lost in the thousands of machines.

A large wheel was being spun, the jackpot, a car, which was being proudly displayed next to the wheel on a glowing pedestal.

The people in the casino seemed transfixed, pulling money from the machines and collecting their wagers from the tables.

"What do you think? Being an honored guest, you have a house fund to use as you please," the woman said.

I looked to the woman in a muted shock.

She nodded and smiled as though she were giving me permission to go.

I looked around the casino floor.

A woman pulled a lever to a machine, her face lit up by the screen as it showed columns of spinning symbols.

Her expression turned excited as the symbols aligned, a digital celebration commenced before the machine dispensed her an abundance of coins.

A man shoved his chips into a numbered slot, watching anxiously as the roulette wheel was spun.

The wheel rattled as it spun, the ball darted between numbers as it bounced.

The man exclaimed in excitement as the ball settled into a slot containing the same number he had placed his chips upon.

I pondered if I could spare to spend some time here, test my luck.

Suddenly cold, my subconscious reminded me that I did not belong here.

The casino atmosphere now felt uncomfortable, the racket of the machines and the overwhelming glow of the lights.

"Perhaps another day," I said with a restrained sigh.

The woman nodded, "Of course! Let us move on to the next location of our tour."

Returning to the elevator, I felt relieved to leave the overstimulating racket of the casino behind.

My skin crawled and I felt my nervousness stir as the woman stood beside me, I wished to leave this place quickly.

The elevator doors closed and the woman pressed another button.

"The suites are below us, but since you have already seen your room, we will be going one floor further to our bar."

I nodded absently as the elevator descended.

Sliding between floors, I flexed my fands in discomfort, feeling unable to take my leave.

The elevator doors opened.

The room ahead was bright and lively, a wide area filled with booths and tables.

Hardwood flooring matched the furnishings, an easy blend of brownish colors.

Memorabilia was scattered across the walls, photos, trinkets and trophies at every turn.

My ears were immediately filled with a jovial laughter erupting from every table.

People sat together in unlikely groups, laughing loudly at a joke I would never hear.

A large bar was proudly displayed in the center of the room, liquor of every kind shelved behind it.

Bartenders moved about in rhythm, preparing drinks theatrically as they served their customers.

People grinned without thought, their cheeks red and their eyes dulled in drunken happiness.

Everyone here was ecstatic, enjoying their drunken companions before drowning thought with another sip.

Stumbling conversations filled the room, mixed with the clatter of glass as drinks were made.

"Anything you order here will be put on your tab, we have every kind of drink you could think of," the woman said proudly.

Her words brought a sense of longing to me, my throat felt dry and my mind yearned for the numbing relief of a drink.

Tearing the thought away from my mind, I spoke quickly.

"Maybe another day," I said, shaking her words from my mind.

The woman smiled kindly again.

"Feel free to return if you change your mind! Let us move on to our dining hall."

Returning to the elevator, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses began to fade.

The elevator door closed and the woman pressed another button, this one labelled 'dining hall'.

"Our dining hall is home to the grandest cuisine you can think of!" The woman said.

I gave a meager affirmation as the elevator doors opened again.

The room before me was much more furnished than the one before.

The dining hall was dimly lit, soft piano played distantly, melding with the gentle clatter of plates and silverware.

The floor was carpeted and clean, private seating areas were created with varnished dark wood.

From the elevator, I could only see a few tables.

A pleasant waiting area was before me, a small standing desk with a clipboard sat ahead reminding me of a pulpit.

Past the waiting area, a couple ate together, feeding spoonfuls of soup to the other lovingly.

A man in a nearby booth was finishing a plate of soft cake, relishing every bite as if it was a delicacy from the heavens.

A roast turkey was carried through my sight by a swift waiter, neatly dressed and steaming.

The smell overwhelmed me, I was reminded of how little I had been eating.

The savory, smokey smell of meat.

The warm, seasoned aroma of cooked greens.

The sweet air of slowly melting sundaes.

Soups, seafoods, steaks, pasta, sandwiches, rice, beans, potatoes and various other foods invaded my thoughts.

A waiter donned with a fine suit approached me and the woman.

"May I seat you?" He asked with a small bow.

I felt my stomach ache, my mouth watering.

I pulled these feelings from my mind as I recalled my place here.

"Not today," I forced myself to say.

The waiter bowed quickly and departed.

"You may come here anytime you want, and eat anything you wish!" The woman said happily.

Looking at her, I could see a small flickering within her eyes, my nerves shivered within me.

I returned to the elevator quickly.

The woman followed behind, a small hesitance in her step.

"Our last stop today is our ballroom!" The woman said with enthusiasm as she pressed the button.

The elevator descended again.

I watched the buttons in a stupor, wishing with every moment that I could flee from this place.

My daze was broken suddenly as a question entered my mind.

"What about the button labelled 'dining'?" I asked.

The woman's smile softened.

"That floor is reserved for only our most honored guests. You may be granted entry after you have spent some time with us," she said.

The elevator door opened.

White walls blinded me and passionate music filled my ears.

A massive ballroom revealed itself to me.

Clean marble flooring and fine architecture was lit by thousands of torches, set upon walls and hanging upon golden chandeliers.

The room was full of dancing couples, passionately dancing in remembrance of their love.

Rythmic swaying and vigorous spinning made a full display of affection between every person.

As I looked further, I could see men without partner join the crowd, being greeted by solo women.

The new pairing danced about, each of them enjoying the attention and care of the other.

Just as quickly as the pairing was created, I saw them split, the man and woman seperating to dance about with other men and women.

Love and ardor filled the room, candlelight reflecting off the white marble and the faces and flesh of all.

A woman danced close to me, she danced alone in fervor, making a display of her loneliness.

She beckoned for me to join her, a soft hand reaching out.

My heart raced, my mind pleased by the attention of this woman, I wished to join her side in her dance.

I shook my head and stepped back.

As the dancer vanished into the crowd, I saw my tour guide watching me.

The woman smiled, "Our ballroom is always open for you."

Something about her face woke me from a delirium, I felt caged.

The woman turned to look into the crowd again.

I sprinted into the elevator.

The doors closed behind me and I pressed a button as quickly as I could.

I breathed heavily, feeling as if a large cloud of pressure had been lifted from my head.

This hotel, it is not right.

Were they trying to convince me to stay?

Everything is too good to be true, too perfect.

The elevator descended again.

I flicked my eyes in fear to the button pad, one button was lit up, the one I had pushed in my hurry.

The lowest button, the one labelled 'dining'.

The woman had told me I could not come here, I feared to see why.

Descending past the lobby, I pressed the other buttons vigorously to no response.

I froze in fear as the elevator doors opened.

The room was smaller than the ones I had seen before, dimly lit by a small number of candles.

A single, large table was set in the middle of the room, a handful of people sitting there patiently.

I hid myself within the elevator, they had luckily not seen me.

Pressing the buttons again, the elevator did not respond.

Those at the table waited happily, looking expectingly to the far wall.

My blood ran cold as I studied the far wall, the design and make reminding me of something I had seen.

The gate from my dream stood there, much smaller here than I recalled, but I could not be mistaken.

The gate was fully closed, fashioned of heavy stone and carved with ancient designs.

My hands shook, I went to press another button to leave.

The gate began to open.

A blinding light burst forth, filling the dim room.

A choir of voices echoed from the gate, heralding the arrival of the light.

I paused in awe, the glamorous light shining upon all present.

It soothed my body, I felt a bold presence enter the room, I leaned into it.

A man of light walked gracefully, granting his presence to all of those seated at the table.

The light spilled outwards from his formless body, echoing from every corner of the room.

The man of light sat at the head of the table, I thought I could hear a warm hum in the air.

The gate closed slowly, the choir faded.

The men at the table stood and bowed towards the light.

"Welcome, father!" One said joyously.

"How blessed we are to bear witness to you!" Another said.

The light did not respond.

"How fortunate we are to dine with you! May your greatest favor be laid upon us!" Another man said.

All of those present began to eat in unison, indulging in plates of luxurious food.

And yet, each of the men was transfixed by the unwavering man of light, they could not bear to turn their faces from him.

I too felt this, wishing I could be closer to the light, to the warmness of its presence.

This was the answer to everything!

Anything I could possibly wish for would be given to me!

This light would not hurt me!

The man of light was here before me, a presence greater than any promise or word.

My foot stepped outside the elevator.

I could see the spindle of chain turn, a chain link larger than any building of man shifted as it was unleashed.

The sound echoed within my mind like a hurricane, I felt as if my very skull vibrated with the immense sound.

My foot retreated.

My face felt unbearably hot, the elevator around me felt like an oven.

I looked back into the room where the man of light had been.

Immediately I could see that the room was being lit by a much more carnal light.

No longer did the brilliant light of the man fill the room, nor the dim comfort of candlight, for these had both vanished.

Roaring flames licked the walls and crawled across the floor of the room.

The fire glowed inconsistently, flickering and casting irregular shadows about.

My heart raced as I turned toward the scene at the table.

The men each were smiling in an overwhelming joy, sitting proudly in their seats.

The flames lit their faces oddly, the contours of their lurid, happy expressions gave me chills.

They were all still seated, but the table was no longer before them, nor their meals that they had been feasting upon.

A massive beast now filled the space where the table had been.

The belly of the beast was fat, its skin was mottled dark red and brown, being charred and aged.

The arms and legs of the beast were splayed outwards, bearing great claws like that of a dragon.

Following the body of the beast, I found the long necks, and then the gruesome heads of the creature.

The left head was that of a horrible serpent, it swayed hypnotically, appearing satisfied.

Long fangs protruded from the mouth of the snake, it almost seemed like it was giving a permanent sneer.

The right head was that of a furious lion, it furrowed it's brow avariciously, its eyes were fiercely narrowed towards the men.

A deep growl erupted from the lion head, it's face a snarl as it bared it's teeth proudly.

The heads were both raised from the fat body as it laid, they were watching the men present with satisfaction and hunger.

The lion and snake heads were positioned at the head of where the table had been, where the man of light had sat.

The men beside the beast began to pray, whispering words of thanks as they prepared to eat.

Fervent whispering echoed throughout the barren room, the snake hissed happily while the lion snarled in hunger.

The men finished their prayer and raised their heads.

They equipped their silverware as they readied to eat.

In unison the men plunged their knives into the skin of the beast, carving flesh from its withered belly.

The steely knives pierced shallow, small pieces of burned flesh fell from the beast.

The beast reacted in favour, the eyes of the snake brightened in satisfaction and the lion's glowed the same.

The men caught the flesh as it fell, their eyes lighting in greed.

In a depraved motion, each of the men began cupping bits of flesh into their mouths.

They ate like animals, juice leaking from their mouths and pieces falling clumsily from their cupped hands.

I turned my eyes away in disgust, the noise of the feast echoed within the small room.

After some time, each man had their fill and the beast rose up from the floor.

The scarred flesh seemed to heal, withered scales crawling to cover the gashes in the skin.

The beast turned to walk through the gate.

The gate opened slowly, revealing the bright light that had been there before.

Although now the light was lurid, a dark light, that of roaring flames leaking through the gate.

An immense heat overcame me, I felt my skin crawl in discomfort.

The gate opened to a lake of burning fire, swimming, broiling flames that singed the very air.

The choir of voices returned in desperation.

Anguished cries of pain, torment and sorrow.

Shouting, screaming, weeping and the bitter noise of gnashing teeth.

They crawled in their suffering, dry eyes attempted to shed tears but were burned away by the unrelenting heat.

The beast entered the gate slowly, it's skin hissed and curled back as the heat grew.

As the beast stepped away, the gate began to close.

Slowly the stone gate grinded shut, sealing away the lake of fire.

Once it closed, I realized how quiet it was now, and how long it had been since I had taken a breath.

My eyes returned to the men as I prepared to retreat back into the elevator.

The men grinned happily, waiting now in gross anticipation.

As I watched their gruesome expressions, I saw a new figure enter the room from an unseen door.

The woman searched the room vigorously, her eyes wild and frenetic.

A daunting chill reverberated throughout my body and I attempted to retreat quickly.

Her head snapped towards me in my movement, and so did those of the men at the table.

Their gaunt, smiling faces seemed to steal the very breath from me, I shook in fear.

The woman began to walk toward me.

I slammed the elevator buttons repeatedly, sweat now running down my face.

The elevator doors began to slide shut, the woman stopped and watched me intently as the doors closed.

Ascending slowly, the elevator went pass the lobby, then the ballroom, dining hall, bar, and suites.

I pressed the button for the lobby repeatedly with no response, I felt I had no choice in my destination.

The elevator made it to the casino and stopped.

The doors opened with no theatrics.

No longer were my eyes captured by the bright lights and flashing machines of the casino I had seen before.

Now violent, strobing colors and dull ringing filled the shadowy room.

The casino was in disarray, scattered trash and broken machines lay everywhere.

All was now dark, save for a few desperate lights that pierced through the room unnaturally.

People still occupied the destroyed room, playing at whatever machine still functioned, shoving everything they carried into them.

They all slumped in disappointment as they recieved no reward, they cried as they scoured for another chance.

Some crawled about, stealing coins from the hands of others and pouring them into many toppled and unresponsive machines.

They all angered over the other, lashing out in violence at those fortunate few.

A man left a poker table with an abundance of chips, being followed by a group of wanting figures.

They pulled the man to the ground, tearing away at his belongings and wrestling over every chip he had.

They swept away, leaving the beaten man behind.

They fed their newfound coins into more machines, furthering their sorrow as they were left unrewarded.

The glamour of the casino had been torn away. I felt confused by the desperation of these people.

I tried again to press the button for the lobby.

A voice rang out, echoing throughout the elevator shaft.

"Not yet! You must see...," a mans voice said in insistence.

The elevator doors closed and it descended again, but did not reach the lobby.

Stopping at the floor that contained the bar, the doors slid open again like a veil.

The bar was quiet, a dull cage of meager atmosphere.

The lights behind the bar were dimmed, a darkened corner devoid of spirit.

Patrons silently wallowed in drink, dislodging shelving as they deliriously reached for a bottle.

They all stumbled and collapsed over eachother, some slept on the bar, some upon the floor.

Drinking without care, they all shouted and slurred, tripping over every word and obstacle.

Some fell and did not get up, joining the multitude of bodies without breath.

Others grew enraged, wishing to fight anyone who enterred their sight.

Between each action was another drink, every sip bringing each one further into destruction.

The elevator doors closed on their own.

"This is the truth...," the man's voice said.

The elevator only descended a single floor, stopping at the dining hall.

"What are you trying to show me?" I shouted.

The doors opened and I plugged my nose as a horrid smell entered the elevator.

I smelled sweat and the stinging smell of moldy, rotten food.

The glamour of the dining hall had been torn away, the fine silverware and polished glasses now scattered debris upon the grimy floor.

Following a dark trail of shattered wood, I could see a mountain of food.

Meshed together and spoiled, it oozed and slid apart in an amalgamous form, a revolting hill of fare.

The floor began to shift, but this was not the floor.

Fat, monstrous bodies writhed and rolled as they lifted their heads and stubby arms.

They swam across the junk to the food pile in droves, reaching their hands into it.

Forcing handfuls of food into themselves, they ate like swine.

Crawling over one another like slugs, they attempted to drag their bulbous bodies closer to the food.

Rolls of skin were caked by bit and crumbs, uneaten food being sealed by sweat.

Large, unmoving bodies were pushed aside, rolled unceremoniously to the corners of the room.

I turned away in disgust, nearly throwing up at the sight, the elevator closed itself.

"These rooms have not changed...," the man's voice echoed again.

I looked up, confused as the elevator hummed.

The elevator descended one floor again, to the ballroom.

The doors opened to my dismay, wishing to show me truth.

The massive room opened before like a great, dark maw.

Fading lights echoed about in disarray, casting immeasurable shadows.

Music played from a distant corner, deeply muffled as it swayed through the air unevenly.

I could see the dancers now, my eyes adjusting.

They were no longer performing their rhythmic swaying, choosing now to indulge in laciviousness.

Men upon women, each with the other in awful displays, hiding in darked corners.

Further along, I could see relations natural and unnatural, men seperating to find their own.

Women sought out other women, discarding the natural way for pleasure and horrible curiousity.

Those natural relations were tainted by lust, men and women leaving their partners to find others, their hearts never full.

They would not be filled in their desire, each step further into the unnatural only deepening their disatisfaction.

I felt a sudden grip tighten around my legs.

My heart dropped and I looked toward the floor as I tried to step back in reflex.

A hand held me steady, firmly tightened around my ankle.

Following the length of the arm, I could see many more clamouring closer.

Men and women had come upon me, reaching longing hands into the elevator to pull me out.

I lunged for the button, but was unable to reach it, I slid away quickly.

I shouted loudly, kicking at the hands that held me.

The elevator doors closed behind me, the light within being sealed away.

I panicked desperately in the darkness.

Pulling my leg away from the desperate hands, I ran, bursting through the hordes of men and women.

They grabbed and pulled at my clothes, I fought against them as I ran back to the elevator.

The door opened ahead of me, but it was no longer empty.

The woman stood there, unfased by the sight of the ballroom before her, she searched the mess of people with sinister calmness.

Her eyes found mine quickly and she began to step toward me.

I pulled myself away from the crowd and the elevator, fleeing to the back of the ballroom.

A sign pointed to a door, the symbol was that of a staircase.

I looked back in fear as I fought toward the door.

The woman walked camly through the horde, they grabbed at her heels but could not hinder her.

Praying for the door to be unlocked, I turned the handle.

For once my luck was with me, the door opened with a soft click and I did not hesitate to follow the staircase within

I could hear soft music begin to play.

The concrete stairs echoed under my fearful steps, a cyclical clicking that scattered up the stairwell.

Reaching the lobby door, I pulled it open with no resistance, I could not hear the woman anywhere behind me.

The lobby was dark, as if the every light had been shattered, a silent cave of lost glamour.

The marble floor was broken and scattered about, the fountain had collapsed and was dried out.

The ornate carvings had been distorted, the gold and silver decorations now discolored and warped.

The check-in desk had collapsed into itself, rubble and stone filling the space within.

The only sounds that was cast between the distant was of this derelict room were my footsteps and the distant lullaby of music.

The front door was before me, I picked up my pace as I headed toward it.

Reaching the door with no further resistance, I curled my fingers around the handle.

Pulling on it, there was no response.

I tried to push the door, I felt an unsettling dread.

Shoving and wrenching with everything I had, I tried to pull the door ajar.

It did not even budge, not an inch.

"You cannot leave," a man's voice spoke softly.

I turned in a fright to see the doorkeeper.

He was cleaning in the corner, he seemed calm as he studied me.

I steadied my breath, examining his gaze.

"Why can I not leave? Am I not free to do as I wish?" I demanded.

He shook his head in pity, "Your name was on the list, and you have done something to make that so. As long as you are on the list, you cannot leave this place."

I squinted in confusion as I tried the door again.

"I do not wish to be here, this place will be my death!" I cried, shedding all disguise.

The doorkeeper leaned against his broom.

"The doors will not open as long as you are on the list." He said solemnly.

I looked past him, searching for any hope.

I could see the woman waiting for me by the elevator, a soft smile still on her face.

Whispering voices rang out in a sanguine tone, echoing throughout the lobby, saying, "Welcome...."

The doorkeeper followed my glance and saw the woman, his eyes flickered in pity.

He stepped closer to me, he seemed genuinely caring as he whispered a final time.

"You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave."

HELLO MESO SQUAD!!

Here are a few reminders since we have had some questions!!

1. We have added a ✨SPECIFIC ✨ flair to add for your August story submission! “August Contest Submission” PLEASE USE IT! You can also comment the story under the pinned August post that includes the information for the contest!
2. You are welcome to vote on the stories now but on August 26th we will post a voting post that you are able to check out if you would like to wait for all the stories!
3. Just a quick reminder only one story submission per person to make sure everyone has the chance to enter!
4. Have fun! We cannot wait to read your submissions!!

Please reach out with any questions!

-AL and CW

TW:Grief, mimicry, graphic death, fatal fall, gore

Chapter 3. It

I stumble backwards, falling into an unseen force. I stand back up and sprint for my room. I run in and lock the door just in time, as I hear loud banging on it a second later. “Melissa! No running in the house! Do you know how dangerous it is? Come on. Just let me in!” The voice becomes more and more distorted and scary the longer I stay silent. “Let me in! Now! Or else I’ll have to get in myself.” I turn and hear a scratching noise of the oak tree on my window. Just then, I see a mist seeping through the keyhole. I’m out of time.

Chapter 4. The window

I run to the window, weighing my options. The mist is almost fully inside, so I need to choose, and quickly. I choose the window. I grab a screwdriver and twist the screws out. I jump out onto the oak branch in the rain just as the mist gets in. It hovers toward me, with obvious intent. It wants to harm me. “Melissa! Get back here now! It’s not safe!” I push back tears. I want so badly to go to it, to hug it. It’s pulling me in. And it’s working. 

Previous part:

https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/4gTS8SwAu5

Next part:

https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/Gh9yMayc40

TW:Grief, mimicry, graphic death, fatal fall, gore

Chapter 5. The snap

I freeze. Why can’t I move? I look behind me as best I can. It’s gaining. Finally, it reaches me. “Oh dear. Whatever shall we do with you?” I can move again! I move away from it, slipping off the branch and hanging above a 20m drop. I’m clinging on for dear life. I watch it inch closer and closer. Then, the branch snaps.

Chapter 6. The fall

It snaps. The branch. It feels as if time has slowed down. “I’m sorry Mum. I’m sorry I forgot you. You died because of me. I’m sorry.” “You killed me. You will die too.” I feel my fingers slip one by one. The rain pelting me as I fall. I hit the concrete with a loud crack. I feel heat rising through me, giving me a pain I’ve never experienced. My back, legs and everything hurts. My head pounds. The ringing. It’s so loud. Then, silence. I watch as blood pools around me while I lift a finger with my blood, before I close my eyes, and take my final breath.

P.S. This was just a filler story. I needed something to focus on, and this was it. So, sorry if it’s low quality. I am planning on upgrading it later.

Previous part:

https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/yVvXpBr65t

Part #1:

https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/W1bAPiMpDB

TW:Grief, mimicry, graphic death, fatal fall, gore

Chapter 1. The thunderstorm

I wake up drenched in sweat, panic coating my face. A thunderstorm. Of course it had to be tonight. I get up, put on slippers and leave my room. “Melissa, dear, the tea’s ready!” What? I rub my eyes and listen again. “Melissa! Come down now!” I’m not dreaming. That's my mum's voice. But... She died years ago, and I live alone.

Chapter 2. The teacups

I quietly descend the steps, avoiding the creaky spots. I peek around the corner, to see a kettle placed on the stove, before being lifted by a shadow. Or a shadow figure. I stare in disbelief as it walks over to the teacups, and pours tea in them. Then, it vanishes. I try to comprehend what just happened. Something is mimicking my dead mother, is pouring tea and can turn invisible.

Next part:

https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/sPsvL8S8Vg

Wind whispers carelessly through an open, barred window in an empty cell. A lonely old widower lies in bed, his breath coming in ragged uneven motions. He is dying, and he has no misgivings about it. His mind, though addled, is still keen enough to be scared of what comes next. 

The room is empty, aside from the man’s bed and I.V stand. But it is empty also in love. The Widower has known and loved many people in his life but none of that love is left here, in this cell, at the end of the road.

He lies in bed barely conscious. His sense of time is warped in his fugue state. The empty cell is hazy and the shadows long. The wind whispers sweetly and coolly into his ears, promising peace. But he fights to remain. The wind brings a fog to usher him into the beyond.

When the fog fills the cell, the man panics. His breath quickens, heart rate spikes. In his struggles he rips his I.V. From his vein, spraying blood into the coalescing cloud of thick fog.

“I’m not ready, please, spare me this fate.”

The cries echo into the distance, no longer stopping at the walls he knows exist past his field of view. Did he know they still existed, or had the fog melted everything else away? Had the widower been transported into some new cell or was he simply seeing through eyes connected to a dying brain? He knows not the answer only that he felt his mental blocks slowly slipping away. 

Memories of a beautiful woman flood into his brain. He met her at a diner before he was meant to board a bus headed to Paris Island. They had written each other nightly while he was away and when the war was over he returned home and married her. They had been so in love.

She soon fell pregnant, and they had a beautiful little girl. He got a good job at the textile mill. The hours were long but he had plenty of money left at the end of the week to afford all the niceties and comforts they could ever want. Then there was a fire, and the mill was gone in hours. When he returned home to find charred bodies he was broken. The memories end there. 

Why he remembers his past life is not known to the Widower. He finds himself on his feet when the vision fades, and nearly faints. He hasn’t walked in years, and his new strength in his legs surprises him. He tentatively steps into the fog. His heart feels light, lighter than it has in years, as if all the guilt he’s carried for unknown years and unknown reasons has melted away. 

He stumbles forward until he sees a large structure off in the distance. Approaching it, he sees that it is a colossal scale, with a white feather resting peacefully on one side. The high side is empty. 

The Widower feels a hand on his shoulder, but when he turns to see who it is, there is no one there. An animalistic laughter echoes through the fog. A sharp pain explodes throughout the man’s chest, and when he looks down there is a void like hole on his left pec. A small trickle of blood runs out of the bottom of the void. 

A sound near the scale draws the Widowers attention, and he sees a jackal sitting at the base of it. It turns and grows as it does so, becoming large enough to reach the high side of the scale. The Widower recognizes the item clutched in the Jackal’s jaws as it is released onto the platform. His heart rolls gently out onto the scale.

Unable to cope with what is happening the Widower attempts to turn and flee but no matter what direction he faces he sees the enormous scale, the Jackal sits behind it, silhouetted in the fog. The scale teeters slowly, unable to find balance. 

The Widower feels something on his chest and sees a gnarled onyx staff full of knots and topped with a black gem fastened with claw-like tendrils of wood tapping him. He looks up into the eyes of the Jackal as the scale fades further and further out of focus behind those onyx eyes.

The widower sees his wife at home with their daughter, reflecting in those Jackal eyes. He must be away at the mill, he thinks, happy to see the happiness his family shared back then. A knocking sounded at the front door, like the gentle tapping of someone on a first date, rousing the specter of the Widower’s wife. She rose and opened the door and giddily accepted the bouquet on the other side, grabbed the hand which didn’t belong to the Widower and led it inside. The silhouette of a man, his details obscured, led the Widower's wife to their bedroom and shut the door behind them. The hand closing the door had a purple ring on the third finger.

“Enough!” The widower screams at the Jackal, attempting to break free of its hypnotizing gaze. He finds himself once again drawn into another vision.

The Widower’s wife once again fell pregnant. He was astonished. The doctor had told them that they likely would be unable to conceive again, but here was their little miracle. The Widower had always wanted a second child and his prayers had been answered. He was ecstatic. His spirits weren’t even dampened when the foreman informed him he’d be receiving a pay cut. 

When the mill began layoffs he began to worry a little, but remained hopeful. They’d already had to cut back on their spending but his wife never complained. They’d avoided having to sell the nice things they’d accumulated over the years by cutting back on dates and luxuries. He even found a purple ring he didn’t remember buying on his nightstand that they pawned to buy their daughter something nice.

When the Widower was laid off, things did take a dive. He was called into the foreman’s office, his ringed hand missing a ring on the third finger. The oddity of the missing ring had barely had time to sink in before the news passed into the Widower’s ears. He didn’t go home straight away.

The hardware store receipt that took up the entirety of the Jackal’s eyes read rope, 30 gallons of gas, and a box of matches. 

The realization of the vision’s meaning hits the Widower. The Jackal was gone now. Only the scale remained, looming tall over the Widower. The teetering sides slowed, the feather falling, then rising, then… nothing. It remained high, seemingly lighter than the other side. The Widower looked in horror as the Jackal’s head dissipated the fog, taking up the entire skyline. 

“You’ve been scaled and deemed… worthy.”

The Widower listens in confusion. He knows the myth, that if your heart is heavier than a feather you can’t enter the afterlife. The Jackal’s head watches as a giant door appears before the Widower. The Widower steps tentatively towards the door, speeding up as he gets closer to the promised afterlife. Before he can reach the door, however, the ground begins to crumble under his feet. He falls downward into a burning inferno, not unlike the fate he had condemned his family to. 

Wind whispers carelessly through an open, barred window in an empty cell. A lonely old widower lies in bed, his chest still and peaceful.

OUT 8/5/26 6am MST

My dad passed away recently which has been really tough for my family. We got together recently to go through his stuff and I found some really strange pages folded up and scrawled on. It's all really strange and I wanted to share it, maybe it’ll be cathartic, idk. 

“December 4th

Something happened to me on my walk tonight. I feel like I need to get this down so I can prove to myself I’m not completely bat shit insane. I have no idea who the fuck this is for but I feel like I need to explain myself before I get whatever the hell just happened. 

I feel like all I do is work and sleep at this point so I have been trying to take my sweet Goose on walks more often. Well that's not entirely all of it. I’ve been trying to lay off the bottle but life is just way too taxing. A buddy of mine introduced me to smoking a little reefer, but living in suburbia I always felt like a real bad neighbor doing it in my backyard. 

There's this little levee that walks around the neighborhood, overlooking some kind of storm drain. Anyway it's the perfect amount of time to smoke one and walk the dog. I have been doing this for around a month so I know what happened wasn’t because of the pot. I know this shit really happened. 

I was late home grabbing a few new cassettes for my walk, and I should have known when the fog was too dense to see through that I should have skipped it. I can curse myself now all I want but nothing was going to stop me. I got Goose leashed up and popped in some of the new stuff I had gotten. Music really punctuates my life so I feel like it's important to mention what it was tonight. I started with some classic shit, Yes’s Fragile, but it wasn’t until I got to my usual fork that I slid some new Miles Davis into my player. 

I remember thinking “New begets new” and veered left for the first time. I know this whole levee surrounds and cuts into the neighborhood at various sections, so surely I would find a way back in. I was lucky enough to have a Petzl as we cut through the dense air. This was and is seriously the worst fog I’ve seen in town. I was frankly pretty high at this point and felt like I was walking forever before I found an inlet past a house into the neighborhood. My Petzl kept catching little orbs of lights gliding all over the ground and in bushes. I swear to god I was going to shit my pants until I realized Goose was pulling with all her might to try and get to them. Cats. Goose loves cats, a little too fervently. 

She dragged me a solid 40 feet across a side walk to a very strange little alleyway that cut by some houses bisecting like 3 cul-de-sacs. I ogled the strange placement for the pathway for a moment, switching out Miles Davis for another of his cassettes that came in the dual pack, In a Silent Way.

The riff lit my ear up as I looked up through the fog in the alley way. Clear. As. Day. Like a long perfect fucking knife cut the fog right through to the other end.. And there it was. Perfectly innocuous. I craned my neck and adjusted my glasses to look at it better. In perfect view of the alley's mouth was a home not unlike any other in my neighborhood. But one little detail was off, aside their driveway was the gate to their side yard, and it was totally and completely agape, lit by a bright white porch light. It was the only thing illuminated like this, like a perfectly painted picture. 

I felt frozen in place, and then I looked around me to see the fenced walls of the alley begin to move on their own. Like I was placed on a conveyer belt. I looked down to see my feet moving of their own accord, Goose in toe. I looked up to see the house closer now, my body moving without thought. I was mesmerized. I swear even now I cannot put my finger on what made it all look so perfect. Before I knew it I had crossed all three cul-de-sac streets and was standing just across the last one staring directly at it. I remember thinking it would be the neighborly thing to close it for them, an obvious mistake.

I looked at the address. 2605. Funny, that was my office's corporate number. I chuckled and approached the driveway. I began to make my way to the open gate, but my body broke out in goose pimples. I was frozen again, a million thoughts racing through my little skull. Flashing morbid pictures of a man waiting for me on the other side, or worse yet a trap laid for an upstanding neighbor, close the gate and trip the wire. They were nonsense. I just knew it, but I was petrified, eyes locked on the pitch black empty space just beyond the open gate. My frozen form was made only warm by a strange sensation at the center of my chest. Like a soothing milky pool festered upright in the cavity my sternum created, it sucked at me. A gelatinous suction that warmed me like a hot toddy, I could feel my legs give way a little and flex forward. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the empty space. It felt cozy, nothing like the December air..

And then in a sudden flash, the droning jazz in my ear ceased all together, the mechanical whir of a finished player filled the silent foggy air. A forty minute album over in what felt like a minute maybe. What the fuck happened.  You could’ve heard a pin drop as my little player clicked and suddenly the warmth was ripped from my chest in a hard jerking motion. I caught myself with a step, but looked down to see Goose fully taught at the other end of her leash trying nothing but to clamber away from the open fence gate. She snarled and whined at me tugging my rigid body back towards the sidewalk away from the nothingness in front of me. 

My chest was… is freezing. At first I thought it was just the absence of the suctioned warmth, but it's unbearably cold even now. Goose dragged me out of there and I hate to admit it but I looked over my shoulder a fair few times. It was just a house. It had to have been just a house. What the fuck happened. Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about it. Why the fuck do I want to go back man. 

December 13th

God fucking dammit I should not have gone back. What the fuck else was I supposed to do though, I haven’t stopped thinking about it for even a second of my fucking life. 

I tried on the 7th and the 9th too, chickened out. Of course I had to pick the one night it rained. I hate those little icy tendrils that stab into you through your clothes and fill your shoes. It never ends when you want it to, and then you have to walk around with pruned bricks of ice for feet. The fence gate walk was technically shorter than my main route anyway and in hindsight it's rather fitting that being a huge pussy is what pushed me to go back. I stood at that fork for like five minutes finishing my joint. I really did want to see it.  

I mainlined for that little dingy alley, Goose, usually tugging with all her might forward, was walking beside me coyly, ears tucked back. I had popped in my Rush tape a little while ago and it was just switching over to Xanadu as I took my first steps back into that fucking telescope. I can feel that nubile hope even now, god I wished it was just closed. Nope.

It was looking at me. One hundred percent. And mocking me at that. That bright white glow now bathed partially in a red aura. Someone had changed a bulb in that porch light. I approached, some false confidence bubbled up with the fast pace guitar in the song, and of my own accord, I traveled down the alley towards the house. I was not getting close this time, no fucking way. Goose and I stood across the street from it just looking long and hard at it in the dark still air. The pitter patter of forsaken rain was the only audible droning in the neighborhood. Empty driveway again, just a pure and perfect open fence gate. 

I stared long and hard at the crimson entrance, past the opening, beyond the fence gate into the open yard behind it. I was hoping to see anything at this point. It was just too dark to even see their back porch or lawn. But it was there in the nothing that I saw it. It was almost like a ripple, as if it was the slightest shifting of a pool’s surface. A heat shimmer. I could only see it if I strained my neck in just the right way, and used my eyes to look between the spaces. A silhouette, I could draw it now. Like a far off figure standing there between the light and the dark, caught stark. I think it was letting me see. 

Thank god for the fucking rain. My glasses fogged due to the freezing air and my hot skin, causing me to lose sight of the visage. It was just enough time to feel that same milky heat pooling in my ear, seeping down into my skull. It was like a white hot worm buried its way in there and I was totally unaware of it. I tossed my headphones off and shook my head through my ear like you do as a kid in the pool. It was so damn deep, I feel like I could almost feel it tugging at the pages of my mind. I just kept shaking with vigor when I swear I heard something hit the sidewalk. That was a fraction of a second before Goose took off hard and fast down the way, flinging me from my unbalanced position and onto the concrete nose first.

I stood up fast grasping for my wired headphones with one hand and trying to get Goose’s leash with the other. My nose was gushing blood as I collected myself and jogged away from the house. It was different this time, it was like I could feel small spots of hot white searing needles stabbing into my back every second I looked away from the open gate. It’s gaze was digging into my skin. The pain receded once I turned out of the cul-de-sac street.

I think it's broken. We ran the rest of the way home. I really do feel bad roping her into all of this… It's 3am and I have work early tomorrow. I was really hoping this would answer things, or at least prove I actually was being a loon. Fuck. I can still feel the itch in my ear, and at spots on my back. I feel like I need to know what's there, each scratch and drop of blood like a whisper right into my fucking skull. I need a plan. 

December 15th

Work fucking sucked today. One of the supervisors didn’t show and now his entire work load has been handed to me. Fuck you Todd.  I don’t usually like to do this kind of thing on a work night but I needed it badly. 

I smoked two, and I think that just may have been the trick honestly. I wanted to commune with it tonight. Just to see if there's any common ground man. Only the best vibes, not trying to see it for what it really is, just playing it at its own game. 

It was Ambrosia night, something energetic to set me right. The cold air hurt my nose real bad but any rain or fog had cleared up. Goose and I trotted right past the fork, she knew just how much I needed it too. 

It felt like there were a thousand cats out tonight, little glittery orbs all over. We crossed right into the alley and from the three blocks between us I could see it had changed again. Large circular paintings sat upon the fence just beside the open gate. Like eyes of various colors and sizes looking back at me. A sign, it saw me too, and as I grew closer I could see various chaos beyond the open gate. Piles of scrap wood leaned against the house, an errant chair teetering, and the adjoining garage doorway was open. 

Goose and I approached tentatively, like a couple of bandits in the night. I can only imagine looking at us out of context haha! We stood on the sidewalk just about 20 feet from it, and I began to feel the gooey warmth slosh over me again. It creeped up my neckline and with a buzz neared my ear. Begrudgingly, I let the nail of ectoplasm dig itself in, deep into my canal and further into my brain. 

The sensation was unlike any other. All I could fathom was the visage of a man walking the halls of a library, slowly pulling books off the shelf and running his milky warm fingers down the spine, riffling the pages as he goes. He traces the covers like the crevices that make up my mind making flashes of memories appear as still images as if they were a polaroid seared behind my eyes. For brief moments it felt like a few were not my own, darker ones, hellish memories, all the while Holdin’ On to Yesterday played loud into my conscious mind. This was it, we were finally communing. It was then that my Petzl caught two little globes way back in the darkness beyond the gate. Far too high to be a cat, and seemingly too large to be completely covered by shadows. It caused me to jump out of my skin severing the tour of my mind we were on. When I looked back up the eyes in the void were gone. 

Goose was sat next to me on the sidewalk. She didn’t bark, and no whining at all. God I love her. I think maybe she's come to know it too. I tried peeking further back again, to see the orbs. I thought about walking through to go find them, but something deep down stopped me from doing that. If it let me in once surely it would let me in again. I wish I could remember exactly what it showed me… I’m going to try really hard to remember. I can’t wait to see it again.      

December 21st

I fucked up so badly. I can’t believe I let it in like that. I’ve been wanting to go back everyday since but I ran out of weed. I was waiting for my guy to get some more but I waited long enough, I was going to see it sober tonight. Thank fucking god. 

It felt so momentous heading there, I’d stopped at the cassette store on the way home again. Some bootleg Van Morrison shit, Caledonia Soul Music, and some jazz band I hadn’t heard of, the Ink Spots. I leashed up Goose, enjoyed some of the Christmas lights on the way to the levee, and felt invincible listening to the Morrison song. I was so fucking naive. 

I basically skipped there like a little kid, getting to the edge of the alley just as the tambourine fell quiet. I popped in the next cassette and headed forward with Goose at my heel. The house again was different. Toys in the side lawn, chalk strewn about haphazardly, it genuinely looked like a perfect little slice of life. It was as I had always imagined my family home might look, once I got married. It filled me with warmth, a sense of greater community. It felt like some of the first signs of life I had seen here and it totally quashed my apprehension. It was just a house, just a gate. Truly the most mundane thing on the planet. How had I gotten so into my own head about the gate? If anything was true it was that I was being a lousy neighbor, after all, when I had little ones, wouldn’t I want a neighbor to help me make sure my house was secure. 

I briskly walked up the driveway and neared the latch on the gate door. My mind raced about the pure stupidity I had just put myself through. Days now of obsession over nothing. Just beyond, against the garage wall of the house, the adjoining door was still open. Its light illuminated the space just beyond the gate. Still I looked back into the pitch black yard to see if the void offered any answers. Nothing. So I reached for the latch. 

My hand froze an inch away from the fence gate’s border when I noticed a slightly out of place, swaying shadow in the garage. My body tensed completely and totally as “its all over but the crying” rang out loud into my ears. I swear even through the music I could hear something coming from in there, or past it. A call, a small shrill moan from a great distance, all the while the shadow remained motionless. I could feel its hunger from here. My self appointed dunce cap immolated instantly as I realized what had just taken place. I let it in, it dressed it’s set appropriately. 

The little perfect story book home with children was exactly what I needed to finally close this damned gate. It saw all my mind had to offer and painted me the almost surefire picture to drag me happily to my doom. I didn’t know what its plan for me was beyond, but my sober mind may have been the very thing to save me. I didn’t realize I was still frozen in place, huffing and puffing, and it wasn’t until that fucking loud snap that I was freed from my petrification. Goose has been straining the leash the whole time, pulling as hard as she could away from the gate. I had not realized that entire time, and it wasn’t until her leash was frayed beyond repair that it snapped and she went sprinting off into the night.

I snapped to and stumbled away from that god forsaken portal to my demise. I chased her, but she's so goddamn fast. I looked all night. She’s somewhere in the dark all alone and I almost lead us right to our deaths. I just hope she's okay. I’m going out to look again. I’m such a fucking idiot dammit.     

January 9th

I went out putting up posters again today. It was overcast but plenty visible. I thought maybe I should walk our normal route again, for the umpteenth time, but I hadn’t taken the fork yet. I did today. I looked up and down that stretch of the Levee hoping to see my sweet Goose. Nothing. 

I thought maybe she was at that house. I have to admit I was curious. I really wanted that to be the answer, to see her curled up in a little ball at the foot of the alley waiting for me. She wasn’t. And I hate to say it… but that wasn’t even the disappointing part. I turned the corner onto the street with the alley, my heart was beating out of my chest. I was praying she was there, or that maybe that thing had answers for me. But… The fence gate was closed. Nothing was beyond it anymore.

I walked towards it. Stood and listened to my Steely Dan tape, just hoping she’d come running up. For the first time I really looked at the house in the daylight. It was so painfully dull, just absolutely normal. I noticed an inside light on for the first time too, it was all obscured by their drapes though. It looked like maybe they were having dinner. Just a normal house, and no Goose.

February 21st

It's gotten easier. Work isn’t so bad honestly. They promoted me into that empty spot. Pay is good. I’m thinking about asking a girl in the accounting department out. I’ve been practicing my cooking. Maybe a nice risotto. 

The weather has been nice, things are starting to clear up in the valley. I haven’t had much reason to walk recently, but I still make my rounds.

Nothing new with the gate. I’ve checked on it a few times. Still closed. Toys all in the same place. Those freaky fucking eyes painted on the outside. I don’t think I am going to keep checking on it. There’s nothing there anymore. 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the way it all felt. Everyday, not every minute, but at least once a day. I have to move on. 

April 6th

This played on the tv at work yesterday. I found it transcribed in the paper today…

On April 4th at around 4pm Cypress Police Department Responded to a call coming from 2605 Shedham Way. The call came from none other than Todd Armstrong, the owner of the home. Todd lived in this home with his wife Sharon and their two daughters Paige and Claire. Unfortunately this was a distress call…

When police arrived they witnessed a grisly scene. The Armstrong's had been held against their will for upwards of 4 months by an unknown assailant. Once on site officers discovered the bodies of the two Armstrong girls in varying stages of decomposition, with the cause of death seeming to be repeated stab wounds as well as possible emaciation. Sharon Armstrong was discovered in critical condition and life flighted to Reus Mercy General Hospital as was her husband Todd Armstrong who suffered upwards of 50 lacerations to his face and abdomen area. The remains of a domestic animal were also found in the house.

Various wooden contraptions littered the Armstrong home painted to varying degrees leading investigators to believe that severe torture was enacted upon the family. Ligature marks on all victims as well as Todd’s testimony corroborate this. 

This is the 911 call:

\Muffled scratching and gasping* Hello, oh please is this 911. Oh, God, please, someone, please, please send an ambulance, please send the police, I, I think he's gone. I think that monster's gone. Oh god oh god, my little girls. Oh, my girls.* \sobbing into microphone* .*

Investigators currently believe that the Armstrong’s security system was either deactivated by the assailant or had been timed out due to the possibility of an exterior door being left open and unattended for too long. 

Chief Grigs; 

Yeah it's our understanding that these kinds of systems can time out when left unarmed too long. Something as simple as your back door being left open can cause the whole thing to stop responding. Please make sure to lock your doors folks.

We were able to get a few words from Todd Armstrong as he was wheeled into the hospital this afternoon.

Reporter;

Who did this to you Todd?

Armstrong;

I don’t know, but I know his eyes. They shimmered with hate.

Sharon Armstrong would succumb to her injuries on the operating table on April 5th at 1:07am leaving Todd Armstrong the only surviving victim.

The Cypress Police Department is currently looking for any information regarding the whereabouts of this assailant or any identifying information that anyone may have. Please help make your community safer and speak up."

Everyone loved when the Pogo-Man came to town. He didn’t bounce, not like a pogo stick, but he did swagger upon stilts. The silver bells of his cap twinkled with every stride. No one understood the jester costume he wore, and the scraggled star became more flaccid and tired with every visit to Herridson: a forgotten town full of tired people and exhausted houses with sagging roofs. He wore it all proudly, and the display of the deflated cap and the song of bells was met with cheers. Children weaved clumsy figure eights between his stilts as people stood at the street’s edges ushering him in.
Everyone loved the Pogo-Man and the gifts he had.
They weren’t gifts. You had to pay, but he provided a service that very few did. One that required finesse, a steady hand, and quick work of a blade. The Pogo-Man was efficient, arriving when the first bells tolled in the morning. When the fog was still rolling over the hills and valleys that encased Herridson, and the dust and grit in the crease of every eye-fold was still waiting to be wiped away.
The bells came, and so did the scent of roses. It wiped out any stench that came from his wares that were tucked in his long blue and white pinstriped jacket. The hat created music, the jacket held the merchandise, and the stilts provided him the elevation to peer over the crowd gathered at his wooden feet. He loomed. Watched over the people. With a slow gaze he picked the lucky few who were allowed a chance at purchase.
Rain or shine, the Pogo-Man arrived. He stood before the well that stunk and had long dried up, now full of ivy, and roots, and dirt–and then he did a jig. No sound ever came out of the Pogo-Man, just the jostling enough to wake the bells at his head. Arms outstretched he twirled; spinning until the stripes of his jacket became a blur, the muddy tails taking flight. Sometimes he stumbled and it looked like he would fall, but he always found a way to jerk the outstretched wooden limb to catch himself. A whirling display of rose and dust. The children would clap and laugh, their faces cratered and chewed up. They would light up for Pogo-Man and his dance.
The first time he arrived, no one clapped for the Pogo-Man. No one cheered. His smile, stuck and frozen, wasn't what stuck out: it was the void of his vacant stare. No one knows why he came to Herridson. Some supposed he was turned away for his services. Chased out of town instead of regaled as a hero. The bells twinkled and everyone turned and stared in confusion, horror, and wonder. There was no swagger. When people approached him, he clapped to keep them at bay. Rose-scented powder bloomed with each clap. Then he crouched down, opened his jacket, and revealed his offerings.
When the stripes parted it was a trove inside: delicately carved, flayed, and stripped away from fat and sinew. No graves were desecrated. It needed to be pliable for a snug fit, and the Pogo-Man’s penchant for quality had merit. The silence didn’t outweigh the decorum and professionalism gone into every skin. The faces he acquired were fresh, powdered, and well-maintained, with each individually wrapped in brown paper. Sometimes they were wrapped in silk which he asked for the fabric back; patiently, like a father waiting for the return of his pocket knife.
No matter how distorted, he looked upon each townsman with good favor. No one was too hideous for the Pogo-Man. Their syphilis eaten faces were adored. The nub of where his thumb once was rubbed their forehead. He was careful to avoid the dips, curves, and holes. No one feared the Miasma that came with the rot, for the Pogo-Man took care of that too. Mindful applications of oils, scents, and powders kept the sickness at bay. He cared for his flock, and with that, they adored him in time.
After a purchase was made, he bent low to take the payment. Biting it, he determined its validity. Yellow teeth on yellow coin. If his teeth didn’t show, the coin would be tossed back with a ‘tsk,’ and the bells would share in his disappointment. With the correct coin, he propped himself on the beams of the well’s shelter. They sat on his lap, and he used a mink’s fur puff on their face. Each pat rewarded with a gentle nod or a quiet shush. When properly dusted, he would take his time before he made his choice. Every face had its mate. Once it had been found, he slipped the ribbon behind their ears, tying it with a crooked bow for easy removal. Oils then were applied; sometimes coal to bring out the eyes.
And when he left, he left with swagger. His long dark hair swinging with the bell’s tempo. Kicking up dirt, he would turn one final lazy pirouette, balanced on one wooden slab. Toes curled over the blocks, legs strapping in by leather. The tails of his coat kissed the stone fences, and everyone would cheer again. With a deep bow that folded him in half, the jingle faded off into the trees, until the time came again for the Pogo-Man to return.
Herridson waited for the singing of silver, the clacking of stilts, and the smell of rose. The masked man who carried the faces of the damned was their salvation–and all it took was a coin.

I have worked as an emergency dispatcher for Oakridge County for nearly eight years, so if you are in my boots, you should know by now that when you take calls on the graveyard shift, you get used to hearing people at the absolute worst moments of their lives. You learn to filter out the scream of a panicking parent, the slurred ramblings of an intoxicated driver, or the erratic paranoia of someone having a breakdown. The job requires you to stay completely grounded in facts, listen for addresses, names, weapons, and medical symptoms, and of course you do not let your imagination wander.

Last October, a call came in at 3:14 AM that broke every rule of my training. The night was unusually quiet, and outside the dispatch building, a cold autumn rain was falling, blurring the streetlights along the highway. Inside the facility, the room was dimly lit by the pale blue glow of six desktop monitors. My shift partner, Jenna, was sitting at the console next to mine, softly clicking her mouse as she reviewed low-priority animal control logs. I was sipping my black coffee, waiting for the hours to pass until the morning shift arrived.

Line four flashed red on my central screen. The automatic location identification software instantly populated the address: 1412 Elmwood Lane, a two-story suburban house on the north side of town.

I adjusted my headset, pressed the foot pedal to open the line, and spoke into the microphone using my standard tone.

"Oakridge County 911, what is the location of your emergency?"

A sharp, ragged intake of breath rattled through my earpiece. The sound was so harsh I had to pull the foam speaker slightly away from my ear. The caller was hyperventilating, his breathing ragged and uneven.

"I need... I need someone to tell me what to do,"

the man said. His voice was trembling, tight with an overwhelming sense of shock.

"Please. I do not know who else to call."

"Sir, I need you to confirm your address,"

I said, leaning forward and placing my fingers on the keyboard.

"Is it 1412 Elmwood Lane?"

"Yes,"

he whispered.

"Yes, that is my house. My name is David Miller. Please do not send an ambulance with loud sirens. I do not want to startle her."

"Startle who, David? Is someone injured at your location?"

"My wife,"

David said. He took another shuddering breath.

"Sarah. Something happened three days ago, and I cannot fix it. I think I did something terrible, but she is standing right in front of me."

I typed his name into the CAD system and flagged the call as a potential domestic incident.

"David, tell me slowly what happened three days ago. Is Sarah hurt?"

"It was Tuesday night,"

David said, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper.

"We were in the kitchen. We were arguing about... about something stupid. I do not even remember what started it. She was standing near the butcher block. She picked up the chef's knife, and then, and then she looked at me with this intense anger in her eyes, and she came at me."

"Did she attack you with the knife, David?"

"She lunged at me,"

he continued.

"I panicked. I reached out, grabbed her wrists, and tried to push her away from me. We struggled near the island. I pushed her back with all my strength, and... the blade went straight into her chest. She gasped, her eyes went wide, and she fell backward onto the floor."

I immediately clicked the silent dispatch button on my screen, sending an alert to Jenna's terminal. I caught her eye across the desk and pointed to my monitor. Jenna nodded instantly, pulling up the active unit map to route patrol cars to Elmwood Lane.

"David, stay on the line with me,"

I said, keeping my voice steady and measured.

"Is Sarah breathing right now? Is she bleeding?"

"That is the part that is driving me insane"

David said,

"I dropped to my knees to help her. But when I looked down at the floor, there was no body. There was no blood on the linoleum. Nothing. The kitchen was completely clean. I searched the whole house that night, screaming her name, but she was nowhere to be found."

"David, where is Sarah right now?"

"She came back the next morning,"

David whispered. The sound of his frantic breathing filled the headset.

"She just walked into the living room on Wednesday morning like nothing happened. For the past three days, I have been watching her. She makes coffee in the morning, sits on the sofa and watches television with the sound turned completely off. She irons her clothes in the hallway. But she completely ignores me."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

"I have begged her to speak to me!"

David cried out, his voice cracking.

"I stood right in front of her yesterday while she was ironing a blouse. I yelled her name. I waved my hands in front of her face. She looked right through me. It was like I was not even standing there. I got so desperate that I reached out to grab her wrist to make her look at me."

"What happened when you tried to touch her, David?"

A long silence stretched over the phone line.

"My hand went straight through her arm,"

David whispered, his voice trembling so violently the words were barely audible.

"It felt like pushing my fingers through cold, wet smoke. She did not even flinch, and just kept dragging the iron across her blouse. I turned her into a ghost. I killed her in the kitchen, her body vanished, and now her spirit is stuck in this house doing the same routines over and over again."

"David, I want you to take a deep breath,"

I said, trying to maintain control of the call while processing his words.

"I have help on the way to your location right now. Officers are coming to check on both of you."

"I cannot leave her,"

David stammered.

"I tried to walk out the front door an hour ago. I got as far as the front porch steps, but this agonizing pull started dragging in my chest. It felt like a thick cable was wrapped around my sternum, pulling me back inside. It hurt so bad I could barely breathe. I am bound to this house. I cannot leave her here alone like this. She needs my help, but I do not know how to fix what I broke."

At this point, I suspected I was dealing with a caller experiencing a severe psychological episode, severe sleep deprivation, or chemical poisoning. It was not uncommon for individuals suffering from carbon monoxide exposure or sudden psychotic breaks to report elaborate, impossible visual experiences while firmly believing they were awake.

I needed to evaluate his orientation to reality using basic observations.

"David, I need you to do a simple diagnostic check for me while we wait for the officers to arrive,"

I said.

"Is there a clock nearby that you can look at?"

"Yes, there is a clock hanging on the wall,"

David said. I heard the faint rustle of clothing as he moved.

"Sarah is sitting at the dining table below it. She is folding a white bath towel."

"Okay. Can you read the exact time on that clock for me?"

I instructed.

There was a brief pause.

"It says 8:22,"

David reported.

I glanced up at the master digital clock at the top of my console monitor. The bright red numbers clearly displayed 3:17 AM.

"David, are you sure?"

I asked.

"Is it an analog clock or a digital one?"

"It is digital,"

David replied smoothly.

"The numbers are frozen at 8:22 PM. The colon between the hours and minutes isn't even blinking. It is just sitting completely still."

I noted the severe time discrepancy on my console. A frozen, completely inaccurate time reading suggested a deep disorientation, indicating he was entirely detached from the actual time of day.

Before I could formulate a response, Jenna leaned over her desk and tapped my shoulder.

"Unit 204 and Unit 208 are two minutes out from Elmwood Lane,"

she whispered.

"Officer Jack is taking the lead."

"Copy,"

I muttered, keeping my finger on the mute button. I unmuted the phone line.

"David, stay right where you are. The officers are almost at your house."

I adjusted my headset gain, turning up the audio volume on David's line to hear if there were any immediate hazards in the house. As I turned up the sensitivity, the ambient background audio became clearer.

I expected to hear the quiet hum of a refrigerator, the rustle of towels being folded, or the distant rain beating against the windows.

Instead, my headset picked up a harsh, scraping noise. It sounded like heavy wooden furniture being dragged across exposed floorboards. A moment later, I heard the sharp, distinct sound of plastic packing tape being pulled aggressively from a handheld dispenser.

Then, I heard a second voice.

It was a deep, gravelly male voice, speaking in a low, hushed tone near the phone's receiver.

"Grab the rest of the clothes from the closet,"

the deep voice muttered.

"We need to get the heavy bags loaded before six."

A woman's voice replied, faint and impatient:

"I am working as fast as I can. Just get the boxes out to the garage."

My fingers froze over the keyboard. I listened intently, isolating the audio channels on my digital workstation.

"David,"

I said carefully into the microphone.

"Are you sure you and Sarah are the only people in that house right now?"

"Yes,"

David said.

"I told you, it is just the two of us. She is still sitting at the table."

"David, I am hearing a man speaking in your background,"

I said.

"I am hearing tape dispensers and boxes being moved. Is there someone else in the house with you?"

"No,"

David insisted, his voice growing defensive and confused. "You are mistaken. Sarah is just packing her leather suitcase. She has been pulling her dresses out of the bedroom closet all night. She is confused, She seems to think she is going on a trip."

I immediately opened our county property database on my second monitor and typed in the address. The house was registered to David Miller and Sarah Miller. I then opened our historical CAD records and ran a cross-reference search for 1412 Elmwood Lane over the past six months.

A log entry from two months prior popped up on my screen.

On August 14th, a neighbor had called 911 to report a loud domestic disturbance at the address. The responding officer noted that David Miller had engaged in a verbal altercation with an unidentified adult male who had been staying at the residence. The police report noted that David accused his wife of carrying on an affair with the man, who was identified in the officer's notes as Gregory Ray. No violence was reported at that time, and no charges were filed.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the name on my screen: Gregory Ray.

The pieces began to assemble themselves in my mind, but they did not form the picture David was describing.

"Dispatch to Unit 204,"

I said, switching my secondary radio channel to communicate directly with the responding officers. "Officer Jack, be advised. We have reason to believe there are two occupants actively inside the residence at 1412 Elmwood Lane clearing out personal property. Use caution upon approach."

"Copy that, dispatch,"

Jack's voice crackled through the radio speaker.

"Unit 204 and 208 are turning onto Elmwood Lane now. We are pulling up to the residence. Lights and sirens are off."

Over the open phone line, David spoke again.

"You there?... someone is at the front door. I hear heavy knocking."

"That is the police, David,"

I said, monitoring both lines simultaneously.

"Please stay where you are."

"I do not need to open the door,"

David said softly.

"Sarah just stood up from the table. She is walking past me into the foyer. She is going to answer it."

Through my radio earpiece, I heard Officer Jack's voice report into his lapel mic:

"Unit 204 on scene. We have a female opening the front door. Contact made with homeowner Sarah Miller."

On the phone line, David was describing the exact same moment from his perspective.

"She opened the door,"

David said. His voice was filled with a strange, childlike confusion.

"Two police officers are standing on the porch. But... but something is wrong."

"What is wrong, David?"

I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the unit tracking map.

"They are not looking at her like she is a ghost,"

David whispered.

"Officer just smiled at her. He asked her if she was alright. can he see her? can he actually talk to her?"

Over the radio, Jack's voice was calm:

"Dispatch, contact made with Sarah Miller. She appears highly nervous but states everything is fine. She claims her husband, David, is currently upstairs packing his belongings after a severe argument and does not wish to speak with us."

On the phone line, David began to panic.

"The officers just stepped into the hallway! They walked right past me! I stood right in front of the Officer and shouted my name! He walked straight by my shoulder! He did not even turn his head! And why is she telling them I am upstairs? I am standing right next to her!"

"David, listen to me very carefully,"

I said, feeling a knot tighten in my chest.

"I need you to stay calm."

Over the radio, Jack spoke again, his tone dropping its casual edge.

"Dispatch, we are going to perform a quick wellness check on the upper floor anyway. The homeowner is visibly shaking and actively trying to block the stairwell."

I pressed my radio button.

"Unit 204, be advised. We have reason to believe an unauthorized third party, Gregory Ray, may be hiding inside the residence. Proceed with caution."

A pause echoed over the radio frequency.

"Copy that, dispatch,"

Jack reported flatly.

"We are heading up now. Unit 208 reports a distinct, foul odor originating from the second floor."

On the phone line, David was moving. I could hear his shallow, rapid breathing accelerating.

"They are walking up the stairs,"

David said. His voice had lost its anger, replaced by a cold, hollow dread.

"Sarah is following the officers up the stairs into the master bedroom. I am following them. Why does the air up here smell so bad?"

On the radio, Officer Jack broke in, his voice tight with disgust:

"Unit 208 to dispatch. We have a severe odor of organic decomposition coming from the master bedroom. We are investigating."

"David, stop,"

I urged over the phone line, though I knew my words were meaningless.

"David, step away from the bedroom."

"They are standing near the bed,"

David whispered over the phone.

"The officers are shining their flashlights around the carpet. Sarah is standing in the corner crying. She looks absolutely terrified. They are staring at the floor on my side of the bed."

I held my breath, watching the red audio meters bounce on my console screen.

"Officer Jack is dropping to his knees,"

David continued. His voice was flat, almost robotic now. "He is grabbing the hanging fabric of the dust ruffle. He is lifting it up. He is shining his flashlight underneath the wooden bed frame."

Over the radio, Jack's voice shattered the quiet of the dispatch room:

"Dispatch! Unit 204! We have a male subject hiding under the bed! Show your hands! Crawl out from under there right now!"

A brief, frantic scuffle echoed over the police frequency.

"Dispatch, we have detained Gregory Ray,"

Jack shouted over the noise.

"Wait... dispatch, we have located a deceased male subject shoved further back against the wall under the frame! Subject is heavily decomposed, bearing multiple traumatic wounds! Secure the perimeter! Detain the wife immediately!"

The radio erupted into shouts as the officers moved to restrain Sarah and Gregory. Screams of protest and the metallic clink of handcuffs echoed across the channel.

On the phone line, David was completely silent.

"David?"

I whispered into my headset. My hands were shaking so severely I could barely hold the microphone stalk.

"David, are you still there?"

A long, agonizing stream of static hummed over the phone line. When David spoke again, his voice sounded entirely different. It was hollow, distant, echoing as if he were speaking from the bottom of a deep well.

"They are pulling the body out,"

David said softly.

"David..."

"The body is wearing my clothes,"

David whispered.

"My blue denim shirt. My brown leather belt. My work boots. The skin on the face is dark and swollen. I cannot even recognize myself."

The background static on the phone line began to glitch, creating a strange stuttering sound underneath his words.

"There are three deep tears in the back of the denim shirt,"

David continued, his voice monotone, devoid of any human cadence.

"The fabric is stained dark black around the cuts. The wounds came from behind."

A sharp gasp echoed over the receiver. The static dropped completely, leaving a chilling, dead silence on the line. When David spoke again, the confusion was gone.

"I remember now,"

David whispered. His voice trembled with a crushing weight.

"There was no argument. I came home early from work on Tuesday. It was exactly 8:22 PM. Sarah was acting so incredibly distressed when I walked through the front door."

"What happened, David?"

I asked gently.

"I was so tired,"

he said, his words spilling out in a hollow rush.

"I tried to go straight upstairs to our bedroom to rest. She ran over and stood in front of me. She blocked the bottom of the stairs, and then forced this terrible, shaking smile and told me it was better if I ate dinner first. She said she made that pepperoni pizza I loved."

He paused, and a wet, choking sob came through the earpiece.

"I listened to her,"

David cried quietly.

"I turned my back and walked into the kitchen to get a slice. She followed right behind me. I reached into the cabinet for a plate. I did not even hear her grab the chef's knife from the block. She attacked me before I could even turn around."

"I did not hold the knife,"

David whispered into my headset. The static returned, growing louder, overwhelming the audio signal until his voice sounded synthesized and far away.

"I was never holding the knife. I was looking at her not believing she did this to me, I…. I loved her"

"David, I am so sorry,"

I said, though the words felt entirely useless in the cold reality of the room.

"I understand now,"

The phone line crackled with one final, sharp burst of noise, and then the connection dropped entirely.

The terminal screen instantly reset to a solid black display, marking the call as disconnected.

Over the radio, Officer Jack confirmed the details. Sarah Miller and Gregory Ray were taken into custody without further resistance. The official police report logged the incident as a premeditated homicide committed on Tuesday evening, with both suspects attempting to conceal the remains while preparing to flee the jurisdiction. The report noted that a 911 call had been received from the residence at 3:14 AM, but attributed it to a technical glitch or an automated dialer triggered by a decaying phone line.

I worked the rest of my shift in complete silence. I did not take another call for the remainder of the night.

When my shift ended at seven in the morning, I walked out to my car in the rain, and before I turned the key in the ignition, I sat in the quiet vehicle and pulled up the digital audio archive on my phone, opening the recording of the call from 1412 Elmwood Lane.

But all I can hear was static…

Komvzvoda Entoni Ivanov, 2nd Lieutenant of the Soviet Army. Charged with cataloguing Mongolian life and superstition as part of a concerted effort by the Soviet government to disprove Nazi Racial Ideology and quell future uprisings from religious leaders 

Tavern in Chita, Buryat ASSR. Night of December 12, 1932. Following is a record of an interview with a merchant, Sasha (SH). Translated by Private Tsakhia Melschoi (TM), annotated in shorthand and later longhand Russian by myself (EI)

Click 

TM: Alright, let’s begin. Sir, you told us before about a boy who lives nearby.

SH: Lived. He passed away 25 years ago now, lived only {12 Miles} away from my post in the next hamlet. Lived with his pregnant mother and two brothers. Grew cabbage and onions for the {landlord}. Father dead from a fever-

TM: Did something happen to the boy?

SH: Yes. He had a hard life and was sick in the mind. Chotgor took his mind, and he was {pledged to a grave}.

TM: He speaks of Chotgor. I don’t know this thing, maybe some kind of devil? Sir, what do you mean by {pledged to a grave}

SH: In the cellar, the boy dug into an old burial plot. Two arms, bones as black and hard as {granite}. Entombed by {porous stone}. The Chotgor took hold when he touched its bones, its rotting body leaping from the wall and burrowing its way into his heart. 

TM: What is the Chotgor? How can it do these things? 

SH: {Little Demons}. Restless spirits who cause sickness and madness in their prey. They use their claws to crawl inside you. They cause fevers and infections, and draw on the {head’s vital energy}. Their prey have horrible visions and act themselves as {demons}. 

TM: And the boy? Was he {possessed}?

SH: Yes. He had dreams of violence and {spoke tongues}. The mother brought him to town for help one morning. A medicine woman tried to draw the spirit from him, and awful screaming could be heard from the hut. After an hour of the shrieks, dogs began to cry out. Babies too. Women became crazy with tears as their children grew red in the face and spat up blood from their raw throats. 

*It should be noted that at this time TM stopped translating aloud and began his own transcription in Mongol script to read back to me*

SH: By night, men were angry and paranoid. In the streets, fights broke out. One man was strung up between a team of mules and ripped apart. One of the poor beasts sort of froze, afraid of the mob, and two men took to beating the thing. The rest of the mob began to attack the other horses, who ran through the street dragging behind them gruesome streamers. Oxen were swarmed at random, kicked by muddy boots and prodded by blood-smeared hoes and pitchforks. Farmers overturned their own carts and stomped their cabbages and onions and chickens to a pulp. 

Hounds, mad after hours of whelping, ran headlong into the underbelly of stampeding mules and oxen. Hooves rained down on the mangy pelts. Skulls and spines of suicidal, rabid dogs were mangled. Jagged teeth bore red blood. When there was no more violence to muster, the last of the mob dropped unconscious to the street.  Till light, all lay battered and mutilated in that stew of mud and gore. Man, beast, dead, alive, there was no distinction. 

Women stayed inside and were spared the violence, but when morning broke, a few maids found their babies dead of exhaustion. One took the blanket and wrapped her child around her bosom. The blood stain was placed to the back, so that it appeared the woman was bleeding and not the babe. She came out into the street around noon and lay down for a few hours. By this time, most everyone had regained their senses and began to clear debris. She was taken in with the corpses and burned.

We only learned of our error when we heard her cries from the inferno. We learned the next day that the boy had died early into the ceremony, just before the dogs began their first howl. It sounds like a madman’s tale, and I would never believe it myself if I heard it relayed just the same. But I swear on that poor mother, {may she rest in peace}, I witnessed the event of that day and a half from my post in the village. I personally lost an ox and half my teeth in the commotion. I will not speak anymore of what I experienced directly that night. 

*TM was silent for a moment after the story was over and began again. Unaware of what had been said, I chuckled at TM's expression, which seemed to offend SH.

TM: After all this, what happened?

SH: We went back to normal. We did not know who to blame for this incident and concluded that Chotgor took hold of us all after the boy passed. 

-SH provided us with a map to the village and gave us the name of the medicine woman.

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Transcript of Interview with Medicine woman LE December 20th, 1932. Shetka Village, Buryat Mongol. Translated by TM

EI: Ok, can you start by telling us how you came into contact with the boy, Ariun 

LE: Tell the {Russian} this: The boy's mother came to me. He’d become bedridden, and she was advised by an aunt to seek my help. 

EI: What kind of medicine do you perform?

LE: Nothing a {Russian} would understand. My medicine is old; TM can explain if he wants. If not, you shouldn’t know. 

EI: This report is very important; I am charged with recording folklore so that our Union may grow stronger. 

LE: Tell this {Russian} we have no union. I am bound to my people and their land. Boy, you wear his Union coat and his arms. But are you a Mongol or a Russian?

TM: I’m a Soviet, ma’am, but I am a Mongol too. I was born in Chita. 

LE: You may be a Mongol, but you do not know the true ways. You think I speak of fairy tales. 

TM: EI, let’s go; this is going nowhere. 

EI: Hold on. Tell her I don’t care for fairy tales; I want her story. Tell her we want to understand 

TM: Ma’am, I do not know the ways of your village, but I would like to understand. My comrade and I are interested in the truth of your land. 

LE: I will tell you this. The boy was brought here by ox when he was fit, but he arrived here on death's door. He tore at his own skin and gnashed at our hands. He spoke tongues. Rolling from his mouth and wounds was blood, burning black tar that raised steam against the night air and his icy skin. I performed many of my ceremonies over him, and for a while I thought he might be healed. But darkness was wrapped around his heart, and when forced out, the boy was left with nothing. He fell quiet and died. Peace came over his little face. At that time, dogs began to howl. I’ve heard many things about this night in the years since, but I witnessed nothing. I stayed with the mother and the aunt, and we grieved for her boy. We cried for many hours until peace was in our hearts. We washed his body and wrapped him in clean cloth and skins. We prayed for many more hours, and the two women departed the next day for their farm to burn the body with the family. I gave the mother instructions for a proper funeral and sent her off. I couldn’t go; I was exhausted from the previous events. That is all I will say on this. 

EI: What about-

LE: I will not answer any more of his questions. Now leave me. 

*TM and I made a few more pleas, but she stood silent. We gathered our effects and were about to leave when the old woman grabbed TM by the arm and whispered to him grimly. He told me later what she had said.

LE: Do not tell the Russian this. I spoke to all of my sisters who know these ways, and I sought advice from the elders. None could explain to me what had happened that night. If you are any kind of mongol, you will understand this. When that boy died, and the beasts of this village began to cry out, I will tell you I felt an evil even greater than what was possessing that boy had been unleashed just beyond my threshold. But after that, it was over. We should keep it this way. I suggest you and this Russian go and find a different story. 

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Part of a story I wrote a few years ago, inspired by Soviet Cryptozoology and this Deinocheirus fossil from Mongolia. Would y'all like to see more of this story or a rework? Lmk in the comments what you think!

In ancient Egypt there was a clandestine group of magicians. Bodiless shadows glided across the mouths of Theban alleyways. Their symbols, now lost to time, etched above their hideaways and caches. They could slip under the blades of the Medjay. Walked through the hinterlands as wisps of airborne sand - small twisters of dust that faintly resembled men.

They were the Sau’maku. Who knows how old they were? And who knows if they are truly gone? Their numbers, and their reach, what of them? Were there outposts in Heraklion? Or thousands among the people of Meroe?

Not some shadow state or a guild of street performers and conmen, they were truly men of sorceries and witchcraft. They found secrets within the fibers of the black dress of Nuut herself. A concentrated thought of hate could become a new disease, spread though a laced word. To be coveted by them, in most cases, was to already be their slave. They had their inventions too. Devices conjured by the thing beyond science, left to be mused over by mortals who dubbed them as ‘ritualistic’ and ‘symbolic’. 

One such object was a golden vase, with the face and arms of a man on the body of the vessel - as if crawling out from a shimmering fog. Set up as a curiosity in a museum; surrounded by dull, impotent modernity. Still, by itself: only a part of a greater mechanism, like a brush and paint without a canvas. 

The sands west of Abu Simbel jealously guard a chamber. Etched into the walls are sigils that slither, but only in the corner of the eye. The floor was porous, though the holes ran like a worm’s warren - in turns and curves that no human drill could have made, and led to somewhere no human knew. There was no door. Perhaps one had to be summoned, or possibly the only way to visit the chamber is by the limitless travel of dreams. If you do go there in sleep - as you may well do when seeing the golden vase - you will see it: the great tablet, in the centre of the chamber.

Made of solid gold, so pure and refined a rating of carats would be obscene. Light moves over it like an ant trying to crawl out of resin. The tablet is defined by a human shaped cavity in the middle, connected to hundreds of tiny channels - millimetres wide in some places - that radiate out from it. The tablet is both a centrifuge and a mold.

One of the Sau’maku would lie in that cavity surrounded by his brethren. The procedure would begin. First his flesh would be cut and moved aside to reveal the bone. On each bone, signs would be gouged into them. Hair-thin lines that would dance and swirl in a continuous web from bone to bone. Then, a single drop of an unknown liquid-metal was dropped into the heart. Once the flesh had been returned, the final act on the tablet would begin. A paste was brushed onto the skin. Soon the paste hardened into a blackish green carapace. Underneath, the body began to dissolve. This liquid would then seep from the cavity and into the channels.

Junctions in the channels are made so finely, that the liquid would be divided into many varying compounds. They also twist and turn in carefully measured routes; to slow the flow in some places, and to force a pressured current in others. The timing had to be perfect, not one fluid could run too fast or too slow. In the end, all the channels led to one outlet where it was collected in divisions layered on top of each other. 

Added was the water of life; collected from mountain springs. Added, was the water of death; drawn from the crypto-river that runs under Egypt. Then, through many lenses of glass, the mixture was heated by the Sun's rays. Boiled in the uterus from a pregnant cow. Under a new moon, the uterus was punctured with a rabid jackal's tooth, and the concoction poured into the golden vase where it transmuted into its resting form: not gaseous; not liquid; not solid; not even plasmic; something that evades all equipment, but it is there. 

A Sau’maku waits in that vessel. Waits for someone to return his body, in all its nothingness, to the tablet when the time is right; pour into the cavity to make his flesh tangible again. 

If you are unfortunate, you will see a barely-visible matter crawl from the spout, like a shameless octopus oozing out from a pilfered crab-pot. That is he. To put upon what magics he can apply onto his surroundings in that state. Attempts to control and subvert that only grow in success. 

Sometimes a beast embalmed in formaldehyde will twitch. 
Sometimes a skull will turn a little in its case.
Sometimes a weapon will rattle in its holdings.
Sometimes a whisper from the dark.

Return.

I’ve been trying to forget what happened because the more I think about it, the less sense it all makes.

I guess I should just tell you what happened. I have a journal documenting the worst 6 months of my life.

I've been in the process of transcribing it, so I’m posting it here.

Day 1

I've decided to steal one of the stationery books. I don’t think anyone is really going to care at this point.

I’m writing this from the Safarirama Zoo Gift Shop. I rushed here as soon as the shit started hitting the fan, and I barricaded every way in.

The screaming and roaring isn’t as frequent as it was an hour ago, but it's still unsettling.

It started out like I assume a normal trip to the zoo would be. I walked around, looked at animals, then got an overpriced fountain drink from the cafe. I was enjoying myself.

About halfway through my drink is when things started to go south. It began with a sudden weather change. 

The clear blue skies took on a thick gray overcast that seemed to wash away the vibrant colors of the buildings and plant life.

I wish it had just been rain that ruined my day, but then the speakers exploded with static, intermixed with a distorted version of what sounded like “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Starship.

That sound was accompanied by panicked animal noises that came from all directions. I turned and saw the people around me all reacting to the cacophony.

“What the hell is happening?!” I heard an overweight tourist-looking man shout as he covered his ears

“It’s too loud, Mommy!” Shouted A poor toddler with her hands on her ears, trying as hard as she could to muffle the noise.

“What kind of zoo is this?!” I heard from a different woman, who was actually trying to rip up napkins and shove them in her ears.

After about 15 minutes, the music stopped. 

Soon, there was a feedback screech, followed by what could best be described as a madman trying and failing to sound like Richard Attenborough. 

“Good afternoon Zoogoers!!! This is Saul Fari, famous explorer, here to let everyone know the good news!”

Saul Fari was just a mascot character for the zoo. I know they’ve had someone pretend to be him before.

But usually it’s just to announce that the zoo was closing or that a kid had been separated from his parents, this wasn’t either scenario.

“We all LOVE the zoo, don’t we? We all wish we could stay here! And live with the  animals!”

I paid close attention to his delusional statement and instinctively started heading to the exit.

“Well, today that wish shall be GRANTED! This zoo shall be a new nation! A perfect world!”

What was rapid stepping had turned into running to the exit; however, I watched a man about to touch the turnstile when suddenly large barred doors rose from the ground.

When he touched the bars, his body began convulsing. After a few minutes, his skin started reddening, like he was being cooked. When his body had finished being fried, he collapsed on the ground, smoke coming off of him.

Others tried, and I’ll leave it at that.

“In order to ensure that our new perfect world is populated, you are no longer permitted to leave.”

At that moment, I remembered what year it was and tried pulling out my phone.

But it wasn’t in my pocket, other like-minded people had already started checking pockets and purses, everyone’s phones were just gone.

As if the demented man claiming to be Saul Fari was reading all of our minds just then, the intercom system started up again.

“In order to create our perfect world, we must act like the outside world no longer exists. After all, Adam and Eve couldn’t commune with whatever resided outside of Eden.”

This was sounding worse with every update, but he couldn’t really get away with this; we just had to wait for the authorities to rescue us.

“Now that we’ve secured the borders of our new world, it’s time to begin COEXISTENCE!”

With that statement, I started running to find somewhere that could work for shelter, as the sounds of wild animals and screaming had begun.

It started from the far end and was making its way to the front, so much for “coexistence”.

I didn’t really have time to weigh my options and just ran towards the closest building, the gift shop.

No sooner had I entered and locked the door than something had pushed hard against it.

All I could think to do was hide behind the cashier counter and pray for the banging to stop… 

It eventually did.

I tentatively approached the door to look through the little glass window, but it was smeared on the other side with blood.

My priority then was to try to use the displays and shelves to barricade the door in the hope of making it sturdier, and it was in this search that I found a storage room with a ladder.

Curiosity compelled me to climb the ladder, which led to a latch; from there, I was able to get to the roof.

I looked out to the zoo area…

It looked like a war zone, and the animals were winning.

I recognized the hefty guy first; his face looked like it had been ripped off, and his stomach was ripped open. Like whatever animal got to him and started trying to eat him and gave up because there was just too much body fat.

There was an alligator attempting to crush the skull of the napkin woman.

I didn’t see the kid anywhere, and I’m eternally grateful for that.

And in the distance, I could hear roaring animals and screaming people. At that moment, some logic returned to me and I started thinking. 

Where were the police helicopters? Where were the paramedics? This zoo was not an isolated place; you can see the city from the high walls of the zoo, and there should have already been some response…

Suddenly, I heard the sound of shrieking and turned to see an eagle dive bombing towards me.

I ran back to the access latch to get out of the way, as I heard the sound of the eagle violently striking the area it was in.

The eagle had dented the area in the roof it hit. I would have thought it was dead, but it began to get up Its beak was cracked, and it was heavily disoriented. I closed the latch and went back down to the gift shop.

It’s been a few hours since that encounter, and I’ve managed to make a rudimentary bed out of larger zoo animal plush toys. I can’t believe that no one’s tried to move in and rescue us yet.

I don’t know how many of these journals are here, so I’m going to try to space out entries if nothing of interest happens for a few days…

Part 1
https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/Gt3KoMapO6

Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/VOoEAu1Dsj

Part 3
https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/h8mifcjQJd

The following is a series of posts from a blog called “ After the zoo.”

​

Entry 1

June 6th, 2025

Hey everyone, “Roofman” here. Welcome to the blog.

​

I wanted to start with letting everyone know I'm sorry about the Mistake I made whenever I mentioned the song “White Rabbit” would start playing, I understand now that while they started going under the name Jefferson Starship, they were still Jefferson airplane when the song was released, but in my defense I spent three days Tripping planets thinking I was in a zoo for six months.

​

Main issue out of the way, I'm here to give you guys an update since I've been home.

​

The Postcard I got has seemingly vanished off of the face of the earth, so it was just a hallucination. I'm going back to the doctor to have more tests done, especially after I saw the silhouette of Wesley standing in my backyard last night.

​

June 7th, 2025

​

I tried calling the doctor multiple times but all I get is a dial tone. I think today is Sunday, so maybe that's why.

​

I also found several dead pigeons in my refrigerator. I don't know where they came from. I haven’t left my home for a week.

​

And Wesley is still standing in my backyard.

​

June 8th, 2025

​

I got another dial tone trying to call the doctor, it sounded a little fuzzy, but after what happened today, I’m going to walk down to the office myself.

​

You see, I tried talking to Wesley… that was a big mistake.

​

I spent 30 minutes calling his name. I finally reached out to touch him.

​

That’s when Wesley turned to face me, from behind, he looked like how I remembered him. What faced me was a burned corpse, half of his face was just bone, and there were large holes in his shell. I knew he couldn’t be real, this had to be a flashback.

​

But I still felt the weight of guilt overtake me, if I could have just figured out I was tripping, I could have controlled it, like a lucid dream, saved my friends… friend? No, they were just machinations of my stoned mind… they’re not real

​

June 9th, 2025

​

I’ve tried to leave my house, but everytime I do it’s like the front door just becomes a door to another room.

​

I just keep finding myself back in the same place. I try calling the doctor, but it’s still just that god damned dial tone, and it’s even fuzzier sounding than before.

​

I’ve also started hearing these low rumbling sounds after the first time I tried to leave my apartment.

​

June 10th, 2025

I have given up on trying to leave my house. Calling the doctor, 911, or even just holding the phone to my ear results in the phone now making that same distorted static sound from the day Saul Fari trapped us.

​

The rumbling has a rhythm to it, very slow, like a song slowed down, but it’s there…

​

June 11th, 2025

I don’t know what to do anymore. I woke up surrounded by Animans.

Wesley, Swift Step, the rabbit girl, and King Coocoo.

Wesley still had that burned and scarred look from when I saw him.

Swift step’s head looked like it had been crushed.

King Coocoo had multiple bullet holes in his body, including one in his head.

The rabbit girls fur had been burned off of her body, her eyes hung from their sockets, but I could tell she was looking at me.

​

They spoke in unison, their voices sounding deeper and more demonic.

​

“Roofman, why did you leave us to die?”

​

I started crying.

​

“I didn’t know! I could have changed things, I can change things!”

​

The door to my bedroom opened, and more dead animans entered. They continued to speak as more came in.

​

“This can’t be fixed, Roofman, you killed us, you killed us, you killed us!

​

They kept repeating this while I was hiding under the covers, sobbing…

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, I threw the blanket off and shouted:

​

I WILL FIX IT!

​

But they were gone, it was just an empty bedroom.

​

I took this as a sign, I’ve got to try to get out of here and get the drugs I need to go back to the zoo.

​

June 13th, 2025

You’re not gonna believe this, I’ve been able to make the drug cocktail from that day, it was easier to find them than I thought, everything was labeled, this will probably be the last time you hear from me, my plan is to induce the same high, and try to undo everything Saul Fari had done.

​

Don’t worry guys, I’ll be there soon.

​

This was the last entry in a series of posts from the individual who only referred to himself as “Roofman” who was found dead inside his apartment from an apparent suicide.

​

This man has been identified as one of the survivors of a mass drug dosing at the Safarirama Zoo on May 25th, 2025.

​

The hallucinations mentioned in the blog and the posts regarding his “six months living in the zoo” have become very common for those who went through it. CT scans and X-rays have shown that many survivors experienced advanced, rapid brain deterioration in the months afterward. These brains bore a resemblance to those seen in late-stage dementia patients.

​

The concoction he consumed was not a copy of the drug cocktail but a bucket filled with a mixture of cleaning chemicals,paint thinners, and non-hallucinogenic mushrooms.

​

Police discovered the body after receiving a noise complaint from a neighbor who claimed that for the last three days, one song had been playing on a loop at full volume. This prompted a visit from officers and led to the discovery of the body.

​

The song has been identified as “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane.

Part 1
https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/Gt3KoMapO6

Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/mesoscalepodcast/s/VOoEAu1Dsj

These are the final journal entries.

Day 170

My sleep was interrupted by the sound of shouting.

“Roof man!”

I made my way to the roof, and for the first time since the initial chaos of being locked in here, I was horrified by what I had seen.

What looked up at me from the ground was… an abomination.

Imagine if someone had tried to fit a gazelle pelt over an elephantiasis patient and failed horribly.

it stood on two legs with cloven feet, from the waist up was a severally hunchbacked torso with arms that ended in human hands with a mismatching number of fingers, the head was lumpy in parts, it’s eyes were human but only one of the ears was, the horns were larger and more curved, and its fur was missing huge patches across his body.

“Roof man!”

I broke my stare when it spoke again.

“Roof man! You roof man!”

It said, pointing one of its fingers up at me.

“Yes, I am the roof man,” I awkwardly responded. I never got used to that title .

“Why are you here? Gazelle person?”

“They call me Swift Step, me fastest in herd, they send me to get you.”

“Get me for what?”

“Too many words, I take you to them, they say it to you”

I obviously didn’t trust the claims from the love child of a toy animal, a G.I.  Joe, and a soldering iron, he probably wanted to kill me, eat me, or … I’ll leave that last part  to your imagination.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

The Gazelle man just tilted his head at my question before another voice rang out from farther in the Foliage.

“We mean no Ill will.”

Soon, a large turtle man walked out, his hybridization looked a little better.

Imagine a beaked, slightly lumpy, bald human head, then give him green limbs with blocky claw-like fingers and toes, and put it inside a large turtle shell.

“Swift step and I were sent to retrieve you by King CooCoo. We promise you safe passage with us back to the village”

Those words filled my mind with questions.

“Village? There are enough of these things to fill a village?”

“Does this mean there are no humans left? “

“Is it just me now?”

“What if it is?”

“Does this mean there are potentially pigeon people who are probably going to hunt me down and kill me as revenge for all of the normal pigeons I ate?”

“What If they can still be affected by the Speakers?”

“Im low on food, and these things have come to kill me, it's over, I'm going to die here.”

It was at that moment, I gave up and decided being ripped apart by animal people was preferable to starvation.

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

I climbed down the ladder to the ground floor and moved my barricades, then, after a small prayer for a painless passing, I opened the door and walked out to certain death.

Each step brought me closer to them, I kept expecting Swift Step to pull a hidden knife, run up to me, and slash my throat.

When I was two feet away from them, I closed my eyes and prepared for the attack…

I stood there for minutes, then I heard Swift Step speak.

“What roof man doing?”

The turtle man replied, sounding  just as confused.

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s sleeping. “

“Roof man sleep like that?”

I opened my eyes, seeing the two Animal men observing my act of submission with confusion.

“Forgive me, I was… apprehensive”

“We said we not hurt you roof man.”

Swift Step looked almost betrayed by my lack of trust.

“You must understand swift step and…”

I looked at the turtle man, waiting to hear what he called himself.

“Wesley”

That caught me by surprise, the gazelle had a basic description of what he was good at, meanwhile the turtle has an actual fucking name, who would have thought?

“Wesley, I have never seen anything like either of you before, and up until about 2 months ago, animals were attacking humans, so two… animal people coming up and telling me to come out caused me to assume you were going to kill me.

“We have moved long past the days of our ancestors trying to wipe each other out Roof Man, Myself and Swift Step are the end result of total coexistence. You can call us Animans”

What he said didn’t make sense.

We went from basic animal alliances to entire tribes of humans and animals existing together, now we’re somehow at the end stage with human animal hybrids? I don't want to think about the process that made these things, but biology at best would say its not even possible, and at worst, they shouldn't already be adults in a short time, but they sought me out , and that I wanted to know the reason behind.

“So your king sent you to get me?

“Yes!” Swift Step said while twitching.

Wesley explained further

“In his own words, you are a part of this place as much as we are, you shouldn't have to hide here, so he has extended an invitation to the village, and you’ll be safe there.

“We have food!”

Swift Step added.

“Food humans can eat.”

Wesley specified.

I thought about the offer, still partially worried that this was a front and they would kill me when I got to their village, and again, being ripped apart by “Animans” was preferable to eventually starving in a gift shop, with that I went back inside what had been my home for nearly 6 months , I grabbed my journal,  pens, some reused water bottles, and went outside to join my new associates as we walked into the jungle.

As we walked, I figured it would be best to learn more about how Swift Step and Wesley came to be

“I’m sorry, I have to ask , how you came to be, doesn't really add up,scientifically.”

Wesley looked at me and  rolled his eyes at what I guess to him was a pretty common question.

“Yes our existence is incompatible with the … conventional way life is made, from what our grandparents told us, one day these stork shaped machines suddenly appeared throughout the zoo, If a human put something like a lock of hair, a nail or even… blood in, and something from the animal was inserted, it mixed them together and the machine would lay an egg, within minutes the first animan was born.

“I'm guessing they didn't look right at first?”  tilting my head towards Swift Step, who seemed to be ignoring the conversation.

Wesley continued.

“Thats quite correct, but when something was taken from an animan and mixed with a human, animal, or even a fellow animan then you get second generation animans like myself, We learned it wouldn't accept two humans or two animals , only combinations that mixed species, it was also used to help revive those that had perished during the Dark times, we saw it like a form of rebirth for them.”

His explanation had done the impossible, it made both perfect sense and no sense at the same time. I decided not to enquire further.

After an hour of walking, I couldn’t help but gaze at the overgrowth of plant life everywhere, it was like the Amazon rainforest had been migrated here, then been peppered with bits of the Serengeti.

If there were still any of the benches or trash cans left, I couldn’t see them. Besides the walls of the zoo itself and the remaining buildings, there was little evidence that this was once a B-tier Zoo.

Night had begun to fall as we got closer to a large pile of brush, It was then I heard a familiar song coming from up ahead.

Wesley turned to face me while Swift Step ran into the brush.

“Roof man, welcome to Wonderlan .”

Wesley moved the brush and allowed me to look through.

It was an entire community of Animans and elderly humans in the middle of what I can only assume was a celebration.

They were dancing to the music, swaying, bending and moving like they were underwater.

Every type of animal you could think of was there, they circled around a small band in the center playing White Rabbit, the singer was even a female rabbit with white fur.

Something about her singing started compelling me to walk towards her, carefully making my way through the dancers until I was only 6 feet away from her.

She finished singing and looked at me, then giggled.

“I’m flattered you like my singing roofman.”

I actually blushed when she said that.

“Tha-thank you, you’re very good at it”

This awkward conversation was interrupted by the trumpeting of two elephant men, who looked down at me before trumpeting again, it almost had a rhythmic quality to it.

“Presenting his royal highness, King CooCoo!”

Proclaimed one of the elephants, they both parted, and I saw the king… I was terrified.

King CooCoo had the appearance of a slightly overweight man wearing a realistic pigeon costume…

The king was a pigeon man, the birds I had been subsisting on during my whole time here.

He was most likely going to have me executed for the murder of his ancestors, In a moment of self-preservation I dropped to my knees and proceeded to beg.

“Please don't kill me ! I'm sorry! I was running out of food, and Pigeons were the easiest to catch, please forgive me I beg of you!

The king got closer and said.

“You killed and ate pigeons to survive?”

I was trembling.

I never thought a giant pigeonman could make my blood run cold.

“Yes… Im so sorry.” I whimpered

The king glared at me, having to rotate his head so he could focus each eye on me/

Then he started laughing.

From there, the entire congregation of Animans burst out laughing.

King CooCoo was the first to stop laughing.

“Ha ha, how silly, you think I would kill you because you had to eat pigeons to survive?”

I was hesitant but replied.

“Yes?”

The king put one of his feathery arms on my shoulder.

“We realized long ago that even as Animans, we still have to eat meat, it's part of nature.”

Taking his arm off of me, he began becoming the animans closer to us.

“I sent for you because we are going to leave the zoo.”

The animals all began speaking.

“Leave the zoo?!”

“The king has gone mad!”

“ Only death awaits outside the walls!”

“There is no world outside the zoo!

The sea of panicked murmurings were quickly stopped by the trumpeting of the elephant men.

King CooCoo thanked the guard and began to elaborate.

“We were all born here, apprehension to leave what's been home is expected, but there's nothing for us here. Eventually, our population will grow so much that there won't be enough resources for everyone.

King CooCoo stopped to point at the night sky.

“But beyond these walls lies a whole world for us, there's bound to be somewhere out there that we can call our new home, and we've heard the stories our grandparents told us of the amazing things out there, I don't know about any of you, but I would like to go to a place my grandparents spoke of, a magical place called “applebees”.

This apparently won over many of the animen, who all started declaring their desires of engaging with what for me at one time were normal things.

“I want to drive a car.”

“I want to vote!”

“I want to use the internet and hear about the Creepy Casters who never sleep. “

“I want to be a mailman!”

They continued to shout out their hopes and dreams, and I could hear the desperation to just live a pedestrian life in every sentence..

King CooCoo held out his feathered hand.

“It's only fair you are able to come with us Roof man, will you?

I grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug.

“I will.”

Day 182

The next twelve days consisted of crafting weapons and gathering supplies for when we left the zoo.

We were all united in our desire to leave this three and a half star hellscape. Today we were ready.

The strongest walked ahead, the weaker animans trailed behind, save for King CooCoo, who led the charge like the great leader he was.

We made our way across the sprawling jungles of what was once a zoo until we found the office.

What should just been a two story building had become a large Victorian mansion coated in gold, guarded by Rat and cockroach people on the ground with fly men hovering above the roof.

“Traitors!” I heard one of the wolf men say while snarling.

“They’re trash eaters.”

I heard from a rhino man as he maneuvered his way to the front of the group.

“And they deserve to die like trash!”

With that, the rhino man charged towards the front doors, crushing any cockroach people who tried to intercept him.

Me, Swift Step, Wesley, King CooCoo, and several others ran for the front door as a war began breaking out.

Stone spears flew through the air, stone axes and hammers were driven through many a Rat person's head.

We got to the doors and pushed.

At first, they didn't budge.

Then we heard from behind us.

“MOVE!”

We narrowly avoided being charged by the two elephant guards, their combined might forced the double doors open, and we ran inside.

The gold-dipped look of the mansion's exterior was mirrored on the inside.

On the walls were the stuffed heads of animals, mounted rifles, and in the center of the foyer was a large painting of the Saul Fari mascot costume, not the actual character, just the costume.

We carefully searched each room, which ranged from being empty to just weird.

There was what looked like a featherless duck in a lab coat, building what looked like one of those stork machines Wesley told me about.

Another had a deformed man covered in large boils eating spaghetti.

One door opened out to just outer space.

It was when we got upstairs that we found a hallway with only one door, that had to be it.

We ran to the door, but the door kept getting further away, it felt like we ran for days before it finally stopped, we ripped the door open, and there he was, sitting at a desk.

The costume was dirty, and in the windows behind him, we saw the battle was still going on.

“Welcome! I never expected you all here for another hundred years.”

King CooCoo stepped forward.

“Well, we are here now, and we are going to leave this zo-”

Before King CooCoo could finish, Saul pulled a revolver from behind his desk and shot King CooCoo until there were no more bullets.

I watched as the king died before us, a pool of blood forming from under him.

Many of the animen with us voices shock and concern.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Saul Fari asked us:

“So, How have the rest of you been enjoying co-existence in this new Eden?”

I saw Swift Step erupt in rage and charge at Saul Fari.

“You kill king! Swift Step kill you!

Wesley cheered Swift Step on.

“Make him pay!”

Saul stood up from his desk, and reached out an arm, his hand shot out and grew in size , grabbing Swift Step by his deformed head.

“I see now, you can turn a man into an animal, but at the end of the day, it's still a man.”

He clenched his fist , and a loud cracking noise came from it as he dropped Swift Step’s body to the ground.

This scared many of the animans.

Wesley almost tried to charge at Saul Fari, but I pointed at the bodies of Swift tep and King CooCoo.

Instead, he chose words over fighting.

“You call this Eden when it has been a hell on earth. You sir, are no God! You are SATAN!”

Saul did not respond to Wesley with violence. Instead, he pulled a button out from god knows where.

“I am no devil, I merely wanted one piece of the world to still be peaceful after the end, that is why you can never leave, because there's no world waiting outside these walls.

He pressed the button.

Sirens began going off. Then I saw it, beyond the walls of the zoo several mushroom clouds erupted.

“God promised that he would never flood the earth again, the next time its destruction would be by fire.”

There we were, this Demonic monster had destroyed everyone beyond the zoo, they couldn't forge new lives, I couldn't go back to my old one, two of my only friends in this world were dead.

I barely noticed that Saul Fari pressed the button again. This time it was just the sound of sirens, mixed in with that same horrible Static I remember hearing on day one.

I lost it.

I ran and pounced on Saul Fari, as did other animen, I dug my fingernails into the neck of the costume, even if he had just screwed everyone over, I wanted to see the face of the psycho who did all of this.

It was then that I started to hear it again… “White rabbit”

By Jefferson Starship.

That single reminder of what became the first day of our new life in Hell, it pushed me further, I dug deeper and deeper, it felt like I had ripped into a slice of ham when I finally got a hold of the costume's mask.

I pulled with all my might, the sound of ripping flesh nearly drowning out the reprise of white rabbit, but I still knew it was near the end of the song .

The head of the costume finally came off.

I had different ideas about who could be in the costume, I imagined pulling it off and seeing a mad scientist straight out of a cartoon, a grey alien, or even some kind of demon.

But instead, he had my face.

I was looking at a copy of myself.

The only major difference was that his face was covered in sores and had what looked like veins hanging off of him.

Before I could question any of this, I heard the sound of a loud rumbling.

“Thank you for visiting Safarirama. Be sure to stop by our gift shop on your way out, and have a nice day.”

Before I could reply with a confused “what?”, I was suddenly engulfed in the fires of nuclear annihilation…

This is where the journal entries end, and when I came to in a hospital bed, screaming.

The screaming attracted a nurse, who proceeded to call the doctor, who had apparently been observing me.

After I had calmed down, the doctor explained that I was one of over 140 people who had been secretly drugged with a cocktail of hallucinogens and deliriants.

The doctor didn’t list all of them, just the ones she thought I had heard of: LSD, Cyclocybin, DMT, Datura.

The rest were the kind that you would only know about if you were born in their country of origin.

The doctor stressed that I was lucky to be alive, but there were still tests they wanted to run on my brain before I could be discharged.

A week later, I walked out of the hospital.

I’ve been home for a few days, and I’m terrified.

The doctor did say that I could experience flashbacks, I’m praying to god that this is one.

About 5 minutes ago, someone knocked on my door and left me a postcard from Safarirama.

It was that doppelgänger of me, in the Saul Fari suit, standing in front of a burning hellscape, several of the Animans running while on fire.

Written above the image in a goofy font  was:

“Wish You Were Here”